tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89769987560034974402024-03-21T02:59:42.548-07:00this is my prayer.LPThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02196929077459862258noreply@blogger.comBlogger49125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976998756003497440.post-81075843742475761422018-02-14T07:33:00.004-08:002018-02-14T07:34:53.890-08:00A lovely day, indeed. It's a bitter sweet day.<br />
<br />
I'm fine with Valentine's Day. I don't expect any grand gestures of affection, or to be swept off my feet any time today (mainly because that's not who we are, and also because he's seven hours away on work travel), but all in all, I'm not opposed to the holiday in theory. I have plenty of people to love in my life, and feel plenty loved on most days. Most of all, I have a Savior who LOVES and pursues me endlessly, and that in and of itself is worth celebrating EVERY day.<br />
<br />
But today, February 14th, took on a new meaning six years ago.<br />
<br />
I haven't always been good at a work-life balance. Not that I've mastered it now, but now at least I'm more able to keep all the plates in the air at once and focus on the most important task of the hour. That hasn't always been the case. Six years ago, I made a fatal mistake that changed me. It changed who I am, who I would be, and the course of my family forever.<br />
<br />
Work was stressful. We had an 8am board meeting on a foggy Tuesday morning, much like today. I'd stayed up the night before worrying. My board was still new to me, and I was still working through some issues I'd inherited when taking on my role at the Chamber of Commerce. I had researched, and planned, and prepped, and although I cannot for the life of me recall what issue was so pressing at the moment, I was prepared for a fight.<br />
<br />
What I wasn't prepared for was losing the little life that was growing inside of me about three hours after that terrible board meeting. All the stress, and worry, and strategizing materialized into too much anguish for the tiny and precious being God had blessed Brad and I with just weeks before. It was the most horrific and painful experience I've ever been through.<br />
<br />
Here's where I'm supposed to tell you that it's not my fault. And while I know that this whole experience was part of God's plan, and nothing surprises Him, I have been dealing with the guilt for six years now, and I still hold on to the idea that I could have done some things differently. Different actions may not have resulted in a different outcome, but it sure would have given me a little more freedom.... I think.<br />
<br />
No one knew we were pregnant. No one knew when I lost that baby, except for a few of my closest friends and Mom. And because of that, no one knew how much I suffered. I wanted that baby so bad. I had dreams, and plans, and I could already feel the weight of holding her in my arms. I have no way of confirming it was a girl, but somehow, I just know.<br />
<br />
No one talks about miscarriages. It's something that's too taboo for polite company. It's seen as depressing, and maybe a bit dramatic and often times we are supposed to act like it never happened. It's like maybe there's an expiration date on our grief, and if we have another baby, or are a few years out, we aren't supposed to be hurting still. And to be honest, I can't tell you that it hurts every day. But it does hurt today, on this day where I'm supposed to be happy and overflowing with love for everyone and everything.<br />
<br />
So today, I'll praise my God while standing in the sorrow of loss. I'll say "Thank You" and "I'm sorry" and "Help me" and all the other things that I am constantly saying to the God of the universe who I am not even worthy to approach, but who sent His Son to die for me. What a beautiful picture of how much He loves us. What a comforting thought to the mourning mother, that I am loved, and cherished, and that a sacrifice was made on my behalf, a sacrifice so huge and incomprehensible that no more was or will be ever needed.<br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "verdana" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span>
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "verdana" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">Just as you cannot understand the path of the wind or the mystery of a tiny baby growing in its mother’s womb, </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "verdana" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">so you cannot understand the activity of God, who does all things.</span></i></span><i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="indent-1" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "verdana" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span class="text Eccl-11-5" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; position: relative;"><br /></span></span><span class="indent-1" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "verdana" , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span class="text Eccl-11-5" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; position: relative;">-Ecclesiastes 11:5</span></span></span></i></blockquote>
LPThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02196929077459862258noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976998756003497440.post-45032869652294580872016-11-18T09:34:00.001-08:002016-11-18T09:34:57.477-08:00The days are getting shorter now, and the years are flying by. Those Thompson Boys are growing, and it seems unavoidable now that they're not my babies anymore. Of course, I've neglected to write, not for lack of subject matter-- simply for a lack of time.<br />
<br />
Lately, I've been increasingly moved by the thought that I am preparing my sons to be men. I feel so convinced about the expectations I'm setting for them, and the examples I'm showing them, and the ideas they're being show right now, and how all of it will affect who they end up being.<br />
<br />
I want to raise gentlemen. I want to raise Godly men. I want to raise leaders, who are strong but gentle, caring and attentive. I want to raise men who serve and aren't afraid to work hard. I want to raise good souls, who know the value of other people. I want to raise responsible citizens. I want to raise men who detest apathy and who aren't afraid to look a problem in the eye. I want to raise individuals who care about their communities, and who are dependable.<br />
<br />
So, excuse me for not updating lately. I've been raising men.<br />
<br />
<i>"Father, help me point them to you. Regardless of grades, and assignments, and report cards, help me to teach them the important things in life. Help me to shape their hearts, in addition to their minds. Help me to remember they're watching, God. Help them to see YOU through me. Whoever you have in mind to enter their lives when they're older, be it friends, or a significant other, God, prepare those people, too. Help those people to recognize that you are the creator, sustainer, guide and best friend. Help my boys to love you more every day, and help me to be the protector of their hearts against this messed up world. God, I know you're in control. Now, help me let go and give it to you. Amen." </i>LPThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02196929077459862258noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976998756003497440.post-25391469152187402052016-06-15T13:53:00.002-07:002016-06-15T13:53:29.525-07:00Life keeps happening. Regardless of how much I would like to take the advice of every little old lady I've ever met and slow our growing up process down, the boys keep getting bigger, and learning more, and the days, and months, and years keep flying by. I just don't understand it!<br />
<br />
Summer is here, and we are relieved at the Thompson house. Kindergarten year for Porter has been conquered, not without its own troubles, but fortunately, with the help of many new friends and loving teachers and administrators dedicated to partnering with us and helping P get the most out of his education. Brad and I are so very, very proud of the little boy he is growing up to be. Here's a photo of him on his last day of school with his sweet teacher, Mrs. Katie Morgan. He absolutely loved her. In fact, on the last day, he told me: "Mom, next year, I want a teacher like Mrs. Morgan." Yes, son, I agree.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaWp6ZApWnGMRQTcnN69oqrK2-1cfIVqmCvjQkLk1CTXFG7zCulOx4ciCyx7uN96hTyuTiJ4SVjg0EkE8rlYedajdcmtloe7zGV58D6sc_zWKh-iCD2QexG68kW38a09rIkPFdi1iY3eU/s1600/13323399_10101318407622901_1735469005486835675_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaWp6ZApWnGMRQTcnN69oqrK2-1cfIVqmCvjQkLk1CTXFG7zCulOx4ciCyx7uN96hTyuTiJ4SVjg0EkE8rlYedajdcmtloe7zGV58D6sc_zWKh-iCD2QexG68kW38a09rIkPFdi1iY3eU/s320/13323399_10101318407622901_1735469005486835675_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
He's six now. He's lost all four of his front teeth, and he loves watching Power Rangers on his iPad and swimming. He is quickly mastering how to swim without floaties, but admittedly, I'm a lot more frightened about it than he is. He likes to get up early, still needs to take a nap, and has the kindest soul you'll ever meet. He asks everyone he meets if they know Jesus, which pretty much makes my heart SWELL with pride. "Do you know Jesus is Lord?" We are fairly certain he will grow up to be a preacher, a missionary or a politician... but he insists that he wants to be a pirate or a firefighter.<br />
<br />
We've had lots of struggles this year. He isn't on the same level developmentally as other children his age, but he works so very hard and is very talented socially, making friends everywhere he goes. He is currently working with a retired school teacher in our neighborhood who helps him with reading skills, and we're hopeful he will gain some ground this summer before 1st grade. Week after next he will attend a soccer camp, and after that we will take our first ever family vacation to Washington, D.C. around July 4th. It seems that Porter has a very exciting summer ahead, but for now he is completely content to get up each day, hang out with his best friend Fischer and his best friend, Daddy. This kid has my heart, y'all.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij1X16FFzawVD8Kpff9MXFmT03OyBNeTub5R4_rirFJAF37PYMYAWzm_upkSL-dPCEPydRI7y8iwsNqiCwzedbUrMTf05VGVN2BOOzGjUzJlsA10K467se749p5l1ygPQPzNMxJOnBoFI/s1600/13254596_10209934350302317_7338193227089374794_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij1X16FFzawVD8Kpff9MXFmT03OyBNeTub5R4_rirFJAF37PYMYAWzm_upkSL-dPCEPydRI7y8iwsNqiCwzedbUrMTf05VGVN2BOOzGjUzJlsA10K467se749p5l1ygPQPzNMxJOnBoFI/s320/13254596_10209934350302317_7338193227089374794_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
This kid is something else. I never knew what that phrase really meant, or felt the need to use it, until I met Fischer, and now all the sudden that's the only way I can describe him. He just finished up his first year at Williams, and had SUCH a good year in Mrs. Karla's class. He made wonderful friends, his little personality kept developing, and he has gained an extensive vocabulary and inquisitive mind. He's always asking questions, constantly remembering details, and mastering impressive concepts that I am not fully prepared to explain. He is tenacious, loyal, and full of life. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
This year during t-ball season, it broke his heart that he had to watch Porter and Daddy play and he couldn't play himself just yet. In a couple weeks, he will attend soccer camp as well, and I can't wait to see him go after the ball, run, play and get in the game. I have all expectations that he will be a fierce competitor. I foresee many fun days at the ball park/stadium/field in our future. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
My boys are my reason. They are the reason I push. They are the reason I keep learning. They are the reason I keep getting up and getting dressed every morning. They are the reason I try to love their Daddy more each day. They are the reason that I strive to be a better Christian, better mom, better daughter, better sister, better teacher, better employee and better friend. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKA6KayAXC-I9k2owH3HN1oTHxtletoeBvS1CAbfrDkFChxZ1HAVY37LlKyZpSkPk5uxNgp-eb4YdwyzgiYC9uArVgbBaSJX8uTTFifYPrdWhJmGgGxiGKS7M8l1fMdS8htVeg4_6HL78/s1600/12928426_10101255059078891_5713584820817942576_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKA6KayAXC-I9k2owH3HN1oTHxtletoeBvS1CAbfrDkFChxZ1HAVY37LlKyZpSkPk5uxNgp-eb4YdwyzgiYC9uArVgbBaSJX8uTTFifYPrdWhJmGgGxiGKS7M8l1fMdS8htVeg4_6HL78/s320/12928426_10101255059078891_5713584820817942576_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<b>This is my prayer. </b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
God, thank you for letting me be their mom. Thank you for teaching me and molding me each day into what they need. Sometimes I fail miserably. Sometimes I feel like I'm winning, but most of the time I feel like I'm only getting by because of your grace and mercy. You are everything I need. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Thank you for Porter. Help me accept your will. God, change Porter's situation. Develop his mind. Create in him a desire to learn. Give him focus, and knowledge, and the right people in his life to keep him moving forward. Help us provide the opportunities he needs. Please give him a thirst and hunger for YOU. Help Brad and I to be the teachers he needs, both teaching him about your great love and his faith, and also in traditional education. Help us to be supportive, patient, and help us to be the advocates he needs. Change his situation, if it's your will, God. Help him to grow up and be a productive, independent and happy adult. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
God, thank you for Fischer. Thank you for his sweet smile and his bright mind. Help him to love others God, and develop in him a love for you. Help Brad and I to be the spiritual examples he needs, and help us to protect him from all the disgusting and evil things of this world. Help him to grow up to be a strong man, with morals and character and honor and love. Help him to respect authority and work hard. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Amen. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<br />LPThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02196929077459862258noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976998756003497440.post-31216355360714765282015-09-23T15:52:00.002-07:002015-09-23T16:00:56.787-07:00The Adventures of Kindergarten If I could accurately put into words what I'm feeling about Porter and public school, I would have done it weeks ago. Y'all know me. But the truth is, that, for once in my life, I'm at a loss for words. With that being said, and we all know this is more for my therapy than it is for my readers' benefits, I've got to say a few things.<br />
<br />
School sucks.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0K4sFA-RkVZhOksjhx03YMXQQZgTUlDvqJl9gESqD15k9CspBGUR90R8qZKxloV_jqFbmd9yQackDkHqAiU1y1XCSktH7X9BpFmg6oRsc3Gn-8P6u6yGToaCmkQ91Vu3HkYmJxGUtp-Y/s1600/12003345_10101099497740061_8936016924094403605_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0K4sFA-RkVZhOksjhx03YMXQQZgTUlDvqJl9gESqD15k9CspBGUR90R8qZKxloV_jqFbmd9yQackDkHqAiU1y1XCSktH7X9BpFmg6oRsc3Gn-8P6u6yGToaCmkQ91Vu3HkYmJxGUtp-Y/s320/12003345_10101099497740061_8936016924094403605_n.jpg" width="240" /></a>There, I said. it. Me, the lifelong learner. The perpetual student and now happenstance professor, is admitting that school is absolutely terrible. Like, Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day... every day.<br />
<br />
<br />
Porter wasn't built for school. He wasn't built to stay in one room, in one chair, in one painter's tape square on the floor for six hours a day. He wasn't created for this. He doesn't do lines well. He can't wait his turn. He literally is unable to be perfectly still, no matter how enthralled he is in whatever he's supposed to be doing. The only time he's still is when he sleeps, and even then he's the ugliest, cover stealing, snotty and drooling bed partner you've ever seen.<br />
<br />
Porter was created to run, and laugh uncontrollably, and nap in the middle of the day. We nap, y'all. If you've ever heard his infectious, pure and unadulterated giggle, you know what I mean. He is the closest thing to innocence I've ever met. He was created to hug people with abandon, and lay on someone's shoulder, and wiggle to his heart's content. He was created for experiences. For making connections with people. He was created to WORSHIP his Jesus.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrkESWcCQJy21Pukzy-UhQU3Thkp7nG9bU0_dVtKtSG-HK9KFb8c3K_C1JSQi6CNxcJH0bqpGqdjz2Y-7Qyqx6L_0dGnKo63g0-D2B08UJkFxRn_4RHvmLfBjTK2SG7wi3PuCLv1sFclo/s1600/10403398_10205393431134774_6949887851622431994_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrkESWcCQJy21Pukzy-UhQU3Thkp7nG9bU0_dVtKtSG-HK9KFb8c3K_C1JSQi6CNxcJH0bqpGqdjz2Y-7Qyqx6L_0dGnKo63g0-D2B08UJkFxRn_4RHvmLfBjTK2SG7wi3PuCLv1sFclo/s320/10403398_10205393431134774_6949887851622431994_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
And my heart is absolutely breaking as we figure out what this monster, thief of joy, rigid, and lackluster reality of public school is going to look like for him. My mommy heart is breaking.<br />
<br />
Now, let me stop for a minute and make something painfully clear. I've got to say that his teacher and the employees at JKH Elementary are the best. They love this kid. They help him, are patient with him, work with him. They try their hardest to teach a kid who, by all means, is pretty near unteachable. So, it's no fault of the blessed and selfless angels who are working with him that we are struggling. THEY are the only reason I haven't fully lost it and ended up in a straight jacket playing checkers with some other poor mom who can't.... AH. Breathe.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWnWIy5cmC6vTE0VGIhnCS4j4Tx-IKxGSzbrClK8DGG7L2I2kMpMdH-KrGb5gP46sNLkrHGhFB31UYgwSRA1Pv7i5bPJ_HdCMw5bSrJYeRKSErBLLi4mCv77a4YGbGsVbhwZYmPyYc1R0/s1600/11427753_10155650511810717_1032231242229421655_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWnWIy5cmC6vTE0VGIhnCS4j4Tx-IKxGSzbrClK8DGG7L2I2kMpMdH-KrGb5gP46sNLkrHGhFB31UYgwSRA1Pv7i5bPJ_HdCMw5bSrJYeRKSErBLLi4mCv77a4YGbGsVbhwZYmPyYc1R0/s320/11427753_10155650511810717_1032231242229421655_n.jpg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjijY-o1BAZ_7n-SrBkdgNdE8Ery4vNZygrAxMRJyPVpSW-dpGp0OJHvn2DE6h3fMokaNk3gu6n8mwyEgdFyL9tt0iEEfCbb-Nvcpqjh2YC2aZTkQbv5T_VhQqYSilKzVf-GH0UzJb62pw/s1600/11107368_10100939128366571_4164494732660392792_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjijY-o1BAZ_7n-SrBkdgNdE8Ery4vNZygrAxMRJyPVpSW-dpGp0OJHvn2DE6h3fMokaNk3gu6n8mwyEgdFyL9tt0iEEfCbb-Nvcpqjh2YC2aZTkQbv5T_VhQqYSilKzVf-GH0UzJb62pw/s320/11107368_10100939128366571_4164494732660392792_n.jpg" width="240" /></a>I could go on and on about the trouble we're having. I could explain the behavior issues, the potty issues, the learning issues... but let it suffice to say that we're finding this transition to public school to be the most challenging thing we've ever faced as a family. EVER FACED AS A FAMILY. I know we're not alone, but something HAS GOT to give.<br />
<br />
So friends, if you love us, PRAY. Pray that Porter will get it together. Pray this his mommy and daddy will be able to respond appropriately, stress out less, and love Porter as much as he loves others. Pray that we can all adjust to public school and settle in for the next very long, very excruciating thirteen years. Pray for his sweet teachers and friends at school, that they will be patient and understanding as Porter finds his place at school. Pray that something will change. God can change this situation. He can fix it, and He will.<br />
<br />
This is my prayer:<br />
<br />
<i>God, you gave us Porter because we were the best parents for him. I am awed and humbled by this very gift. I am so, so beyond thankful that Porter is mine. I love him more than I knew I could love, God, and I am so grateful that you chose us. Please God, I need you now more than I've ever needed you before. I know that you gave me Porter because I was prideful about intelligence and academia, God, and I'm so sorry that I took these blessings for granted. I'm sorry, and I know you have a supreme plan for Porter's life, and mine. God, you are perfect and flawless and we need you now. Please fix it, Lord. </i>LPThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02196929077459862258noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976998756003497440.post-55395222126434597132015-08-18T07:52:00.001-07:002015-08-18T07:52:36.812-07:00Is summer really over?!It's coming. Quickly, without hesitating. The end of summer is nearing and in exactly one week #thosethompsonboys will be in school.<br />
<br />
Fischer will be starting Pre-K 2 at Williams this year, and entering school for the very first time. I am so very excited for him. I know he will have so much fun, and will learn so much from being around his peers. He will sorely miss being with his Daddy every day, but I have a feeling my smart and funny little boy will have no problems making friends and being the life of every party. I can't wait to see what amazing things God has planned for Fischer Henry this year. I am constantly praying for his sweet teachers, because they will need all the patience, humor, and will that God can pour on them.<br />
<br />
Porter will start Kindergarten at J.K. Hileman Elementary this year in Queen City. I feel prepared. That' s a big deal, considering that I have been dreading this day for a little over five years now. I am so thankful that we've had two years at Williams FUMC Day School, and so thankful for all the wonderful teachers and his amazing therapist at Pleasant Grove that have poured into him and prepared us for this big next step in his education.<br />
<br />
I think Porter is ready. We've talked a lot about his new school for big kids, and although I don't think it has really sank in yet, he seems to genuinely be excited for what is to come. I know we will have obstacles to overcome, and I know that we will struggle and work hard every day, but I am truly excited for Porter to move forward and learn so many new things. I am glad we know what to expect with his therapy, and I'm glad we will know so many of the sweet smiling faces at QCISD. Brad and I both have an overwhelming peace about him going to school there. God is so good and so faithful. I'm praying he will hold Porter in the palm of his hand, keep his tender and big heart protected, and help him to open up his mind and store away everything he learns. He's going to do so many great things.<br />
<br />
We are prayed up and ready.<br />
<br />
School supplies are purchased. School clothes are bought. We have everything labelled and laid out and we're ready to go. My head is ready. My heart is strong. 2015-2016 school year.... HERE WE COME!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOzY5tzR-KPYWaomHO3iXB0f3kSniznWPYqku-5_JDX92yxXTE7V8Cbl6NKlogsauZcSdJMTvwYfh2KJuS7jKkO1LH9AB4bT_k0mLWRwNWALlBDeAD9FScqtBxRUM6cNVPcPsFK9lddhI/s1600/e30e3384581837a6e90350df60e6cf99.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOzY5tzR-KPYWaomHO3iXB0f3kSniznWPYqku-5_JDX92yxXTE7V8Cbl6NKlogsauZcSdJMTvwYfh2KJuS7jKkO1LH9AB4bT_k0mLWRwNWALlBDeAD9FScqtBxRUM6cNVPcPsFK9lddhI/s1600/e30e3384581837a6e90350df60e6cf99.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<i>This is my prayer: </i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<i>Lord, you know every need. You have orchestrated this school year and I know that you have wonderful things in store for those who love you. The Thompson family loves you, and we want to honor you in every step of our day. Lord, protect them. Provide the right friends, the right influences, and the right material that will point them to you and your will. Help us to be loving, supportive parents who teach our sons right from wrong. Lord, calm our fears. Hold us in your strong and mighty hand and if you see fit, take the tears and worries from my mind so that the boys can have a fun and happy start to their school year. You are so good, Lord. You are so kind and loving and I cannot thank you enough for what you've done already in our lives. Help us to keep honoring you all the days of our lives. </i></div>
LPThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02196929077459862258noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976998756003497440.post-51970302402787877072015-06-08T13:44:00.001-07:002015-06-08T14:58:15.157-07:00Church. But more than that, really. <blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Ecclesiastes 3:</span> <span style="font-size: x-small;">There is an appointed time for everything,A time for every activity under the heavens: </span><a href="http://www.jw.org/en/publications/bible/nwt/books/ecclesiastes/3/#v21003002">2 </a><span style="font-size: x-small;">A time for birth and a time to die;A time to plant and a time to uproot what was planted; </span><a href="http://www.jw.org/en/publications/bible/nwt/books/ecclesiastes/3/#v21003003">3 </a><span style="font-size: x-small;">A time to kill and a time to heal;A time to tear down and a time to build up; </span><a href="http://www.jw.org/en/publications/bible/nwt/books/ecclesiastes/3/#v21003004">4 </a><span style="font-size: x-small;">A time to weep and a time to laugh;A time to wail and a time to dance; </span><a href="http://www.jw.org/en/publications/bible/nwt/books/ecclesiastes/3/#v21003005">5 </a><span style="font-size: x-small;">A time to throw stones away and a time to gather stones together;A time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing; </span><a href="http://www.jw.org/en/publications/bible/nwt/books/ecclesiastes/3/#v21003006">6 </a><span style="font-size: x-small;">A time to search and a time to give up as lost;A time to keep and a time to throw away; </span><a href="http://www.jw.org/en/publications/bible/nwt/books/ecclesiastes/3/#v21003007">7 </a><span style="font-size: x-small;">A time to rip apart and a time to sew together;A time to be silent and a time to speak; </span><a href="http://www.jw.org/en/publications/bible/nwt/books/ecclesiastes/3/#v21003008">8 </a><span style="font-size: x-small;"> A time to love and a time to hate;A time for war and a time for peace.</span><a href="http://www.jw.org/en/publications/bible/nwt/books/ecclesiastes/3/#v21003009">9 </a><span style="font-size: x-small;">What does the worker gain from all his efforts?</span><a href="http://www.jw.org/en/publications/bible/nwt/books/ecclesiastes/3/#v21003010">10 </a><span style="font-size: x-small;">I have seen the occupation that God has given to the sons of men to keep them occupied. </span><a href="http://www.jw.org/en/publications/bible/nwt/books/ecclesiastes/3/#v21003011">11 </a><span style="font-size: x-small;">He has made everything beautiful</span><a href="http://www.jw.org/en/publications/bible/nwt/books/ecclesiastes/3/#fn14106848">*</a><span style="font-size: x-small;"> in its time. He has even put eternity in their heart; yet mankind will never find out the work that the true God has made from start to finish.</span><a href="http://www.jw.org/en/publications/bible/nwt/books/ecclesiastes/3/#v21003012">12 </a><span style="font-size: x-small;">I have concluded that there is nothing better for them than to rejoice and to do good during their life, </span><a href="http://www.jw.org/en/publications/bible/nwt/books/ecclesiastes/3/#v21003013">13 </a><span style="font-size: x-small;">also that everyone should eat and drink and find enjoyment for all his hard work. It is the gift of God.</span></blockquote>
<span class="verse disableActiveState" style="border: 0px; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Y6CmMSXgSjnBADe_qkelOYcoVur6YXy7z-QljikEzPFUlbxMSJHv5frDlCJvSdAieuexhnxJS4hNSZpL4Q4LDm3aKN1UvRndKLU_t-Ty4-K3aLP3ye9tpJpTmmFSoikcq52yEZN4TTU/s1600/1929547_519868657431_4724_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Y6CmMSXgSjnBADe_qkelOYcoVur6YXy7z-QljikEzPFUlbxMSJHv5frDlCJvSdAieuexhnxJS4hNSZpL4Q4LDm3aKN1UvRndKLU_t-Ty4-K3aLP3ye9tpJpTmmFSoikcq52yEZN4TTU/s320/1929547_519868657431_4724_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">If you know anything about me, you know I love my church. Like, really love my church. It's not just the kind of love that I share for donuts, or chik-fil-a, or everything else that's Southern and good. No, I really, truly, deep down have a passion for First Baptist Church Queen City. The people, the spirit and livelihood of the church, the heart beat of what makes that church so special and amazing are what I love. I know that the walls and the building aren't what constitute the church, but I even love the walls and the carpet and everything in between. The stained glass.... it gets me. It has been the backdrop to my life so far. It has comforted me in some of my darkest hours. It has cheered me on as I walked down the aisle to meet the love of my life. It has met me Sunday after Sunday as I sit and stand to worship my living Savior. I love everything about it. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTbxnb2_fuwVSqa6WpTnA27hKzI4S9J5CpqP43qoZX5i_9zDjrJUabt_7zT8f11Fxa_ra2kN82UI51XeW32Lthzy4kKF7wlX5kXN6SMEJkHszHts0VIslDWweh2oRNgEVWfktg5vr31ZM/s1600/550970_984305577121_1255127552_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTbxnb2_fuwVSqa6WpTnA27hKzI4S9J5CpqP43qoZX5i_9zDjrJUabt_7zT8f11Fxa_ra2kN82UI51XeW32Lthzy4kKF7wlX5kXN6SMEJkHszHts0VIslDWweh2oRNgEVWfktg5vr31ZM/s320/550970_984305577121_1255127552_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px; text-align: center;"></span><br />
<div>
I've been at FBCQC for 29 years. This is me with my first and very best friend, Mary Beth, in the nursery. We were pretty much<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, Times New Roman, serif;"> inseparabl</span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, Times New Roman, serif;">e from the day this photo was taken until we graduated high school and went our separate ways. We grew up doing life together, with church at the center of it all. Now, we're still doing life together, as we are in the same life group. We meet on Thursday nights, eat dinner, let our children play, and learn about God's plan for our lives. I am so thankful for the influence these people have had in our lives the past five years. They have helped us through so many hard days, celebrated with us in the good times, and been an encouragement to keep moving forward. I love our life group. Like, love love them. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJe6JUvXaYWs3g96mZ-JD4oSZpvUI4s6bWFxkZkFYqasPzNnDFQGJI7zAl9udH0HJAXPhB7UpaS6Kw4b1Xzk3PrcrEbN8mfRIsSNegJF-fBrw7JsCtQiH2A0lmW7oWo6lw7rw9zQDzhvo/s1600/18285_10153216153043594_429439990075977642_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJe6JUvXaYWs3g96mZ-JD4oSZpvUI4s6bWFxkZkFYqasPzNnDFQGJI7zAl9udH0HJAXPhB7UpaS6Kw4b1Xzk3PrcrEbN8mfRIsSNegJF-fBrw7JsCtQiH2A0lmW7oWo6lw7rw9zQDzhvo/s320/18285_10153216153043594_429439990075977642_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;"></span></span><br />
<div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVyel1II6KBavCu-dF4LCKOjiLRaarvpvGUPn_qkpFpJECBkE9tL2JZjtbnasqHSCGLovQh2JCUVKiRH009f3hkaSFElMHa_PIQK3KmEq5FnRxqXzsr5huJrb1SGy9GQNn6UffzyIZwlE/s1600/10996020_10204174786873051_3939388728420619303_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVyel1II6KBavCu-dF4LCKOjiLRaarvpvGUPn_qkpFpJECBkE9tL2JZjtbnasqHSCGLovQh2JCUVKiRH009f3hkaSFElMHa_PIQK3KmEq5FnRxqXzsr5huJrb1SGy9GQNn6UffzyIZwlE/s320/10996020_10204174786873051_3939388728420619303_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">
<div class="" style="clear: both;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii-1cKyiCVobPpfNScS4KpSHvcjpwLioygb1nsIlow3CiWc3muu8_TeSrBMKKNJNVcqpTL2PbtcYluE0QwFEdSQvi9Y-b2i30NdfyySIXuJG1eBYBnbhFDbxpEmCFUJfWVUg-YVmE5gjM/s1600/11143113_10100954156834401_4195716381178258425_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii-1cKyiCVobPpfNScS4KpSHvcjpwLioygb1nsIlow3CiWc3muu8_TeSrBMKKNJNVcqpTL2PbtcYluE0QwFEdSQvi9Y-b2i30NdfyySIXuJG1eBYBnbhFDbxpEmCFUJfWVUg-YVmE5gjM/s200/11143113_10100954156834401_4195716381178258425_n.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="text-align: left;">When I was a child, I spent the summers at the church because my Mom was a secretary there. I'd work hard all morning at home to cross chores off my list so I could come play at the church all afternoon. No one entertained us. No one worried that we would be bored, or not understand the Gospel message as presented in an "adult setting". Oh, that's another post entirely! I spent my afternoons creating in some obscure Sunday School room, writing plays for the children's ministry, mixing concoctions from the leftover condiments in the fellowship hall fridge and daring the other kids to drink them. I had real conversations with the church members who dropped by during the week, to prepare a lesson, or restock their rooms, or organize the music closet. Those adults influenced me, even in the small and short passing conversations. Some will never know the huge impact they had on that little girl. Some have already joined our maker in heaven and I can't wait to catch up with them, and talk again. The youth minister used to have open gym where 10-12 students would show up and we'd play cards, foosball, or volleyball for hours. We lived at the church. I grew up at the church. Now, I'm getting the unique pleasure of watching my boys grow up there, too. Here's Fischer, my son, with Mary Beth's daughter, in the hall at church, feet away from where the photo of their mothers was taken more than 25 years ago. Amazing. </span></div>
</span></span></div>
<br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvGoDoaNnWFdqtdOeSVtn9E9NWchkbZObRx-IN5lJ0516YtsPpBnrZpsAf5Ny1Ya7c0wl0mqWAo80CMtMIloMXWAWP8JGx6kJQ3e-iCRrKrnfQqzQ4DxP1W5hLFtk44Pl2IZQLLReTqxw/s1600/1920253_10100742084683691_4400513547950844467_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvGoDoaNnWFdqtdOeSVtn9E9NWchkbZObRx-IN5lJ0516YtsPpBnrZpsAf5Ny1Ya7c0wl0mqWAo80CMtMIloMXWAWP8JGx6kJQ3e-iCRrKrnfQqzQ4DxP1W5hLFtk44Pl2IZQLLReTqxw/s400/1920253_10100742084683691_4400513547950844467_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">Nowadays my church is about introducing my boys to Christ. I've said for a while now that my most important job as a mother is to point them in the direction of the Gospel, and everything else will fall into place. We are so fortunate to have a church that focuses on the children. My boys are quickly learning what it means to be about the Father's business, and I couldn't be more proud of them. I already joke that Porter will grow up to be a preacher, because he's always sharing about Jesus, and you can just see the joy spilling out of him. I can't wait to see the plan for his and Fischer's life played out. Whether it's Thursday nights for life group, Wednesday nights for youth, Sundays for AWANAS and worship... my boys love to be in God's house, and FBCQC is the only church they've ever known. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;"><br /></span></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRyMdbgUm8R3EsyMae8ONsNYCjwM_Z4sQDowLcRqaCdhyrJ4lS94Ewhtaikr1jNxXUa0civX1CTqyWUo6FtNIqwSIftKHD5d6_NkMwQSLr9YrnSvbc8eyrpsfh-34Cw_gBe9sspYePe7w/s1600/10502274_10100673489324341_783821416260821795_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRyMdbgUm8R3EsyMae8ONsNYCjwM_Z4sQDowLcRqaCdhyrJ4lS94Ewhtaikr1jNxXUa0civX1CTqyWUo6FtNIqwSIftKHD5d6_NkMwQSLr9YrnSvbc8eyrpsfh-34Cw_gBe9sspYePe7w/s400/10502274_10100673489324341_783821416260821795_n.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFQcc-g33nOc7y1hzyXcVDiZvUS9t0O3kZEgz6XXkUuinkVaKslti6G9YNQ_b0Y_muamlX99KT9RkRQFAnlRqF4IYXlwcXwhhgJrurZnJZtphH-2wbW22e7cjY4OzkxmHSvTjC16iSCvs/s1600/1457613_10100447043912761_669070121_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFQcc-g33nOc7y1hzyXcVDiZvUS9t0O3kZEgz6XXkUuinkVaKslti6G9YNQ_b0Y_muamlX99KT9RkRQFAnlRqF4IYXlwcXwhhgJrurZnJZtphH-2wbW22e7cjY4OzkxmHSvTjC16iSCvs/s400/1457613_10100447043912761_669070121_n.jpg" width="300" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWvnYiNNxCYpJ_CD1Xhj7gogeUNQR6h9xBIpGUI3gFd9Rk8Cs1PU1PWw1A6T1GzCVjaJjbVLd7Kt85FwOUbBVWfcmE8WMKxgC3LWFInDkY_Gq57GhHSaJxcWZzn1hElM6x_can7CfzGJs/s1600/10418463_10100673486365271_6638484542729630132_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWvnYiNNxCYpJ_CD1Xhj7gogeUNQR6h9xBIpGUI3gFd9Rk8Cs1PU1PWw1A6T1GzCVjaJjbVLd7Kt85FwOUbBVWfcmE8WMKxgC3LWFInDkY_Gq57GhHSaJxcWZzn1hElM6x_can7CfzGJs/s640/10418463_10100673486365271_6638484542729630132_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
I started this post saying there was a time for everything, and I think the time for our church is change. In the past two years we have made major changes to our service times, said goodbye to a beloved pastor, bid farewell to our best friends and youth ministers, welcomed a new pastor, chosen a search committee for a youth minister and started discussions about homosexuality and what it means for membership in our congregation. We've seen a dip in youth attendance, maybe due to summer, maybe in the absence of a full time minister. We've seen a boom in babies born in the past five years. Times are changing at FBCQC, and while it is personally exciting for me, it is also nerve wrecking and challenging. I know God has a plan. I know he is good and faithful, and I know that as long as FBCQC serves Him, we will be just fine.<br />
<br />
Soon, there will be a time to celebrate at FBCQC. Soon, everything will feel normal again and we can get back to being a church moving forward. Soon, and very soon, we'll be talking about new changes, and only God knows what they will be. I'm excited.<br />
<br />
This is my prayer.<br />
<br />
<i>God, use me. Use First Baptist Queen City to minister to our community. Help us to be a bright light standing in a dark world. Help us to love, like you do, like Jesus does. Help us to rest assured in your plan for us. Help me to be the kind of church member you'd want me to be. Help me to hold my tongue, be slow to anger, and quick to love. God, I know changes are coming. Help me to embrace them, and if they effect me personally, help me to seek your face and find my place according to you. Thank you for my church, God. Thank you for the people there, and thank you for the opportunity to raise my boys in your house. Thank you for my wonderful Momma, who made sure I was there every time the doors were open, and sometimes when they were not. Thank you, Lord. </i><br />
<br />LPThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02196929077459862258noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976998756003497440.post-65339939551762696292015-05-20T10:11:00.002-07:002015-05-20T10:14:17.354-07:00This post is not about PorterI catch myself worrying that I'm not being fair. Many of my readers know about the struggles and challenges we face with Porter, and I'm pretty good about sharing the triumphs and celebrations that we enjoy when we have a win with him. What I don't do often enough is talk about the other kid in our house. Y'all, he's something else entirely.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeoVK9minGjWUkeg6XSTWXg9hcmqdJHbVLT_TVB54EQGS-G-uCDIs831CNBIs-CF0nlvVO38wo97OH6Av-e5fvyBc51mP8zFgob2S0AsP60DGbLfzqK8JgWPejImWYA7sNEziZ2vPDnxI/s1600/53.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeoVK9minGjWUkeg6XSTWXg9hcmqdJHbVLT_TVB54EQGS-G-uCDIs831CNBIs-CF0nlvVO38wo97OH6Av-e5fvyBc51mP8zFgob2S0AsP60DGbLfzqK8JgWPejImWYA7sNEziZ2vPDnxI/s320/53.jpg" width="213" /></a>Fischer Henry Thompson turned two in February. He could not be any different than his big brother. Fischer is strong willed and playful, independent and feisty. I have learned to love in a whole new way because of Fish. He is the balance to our crazy chaotic and messy world. He is, quite literally, our anchor.<br />
<br />
Before you start thinking he's a calm, and calculated kind of guy, he's not. Most often, you'll find him running and screaming, giggling uncontrollably, copying EVERYTHING his big brother does, asking a million and one questions, and of course, falling down. But what he does so well, so uniquely, is hold everything together when the rest of us are being nutty. Porter could be crying about something obscure, Brad could be mad about something routine, and I could be stressed out and about to literally lose it, but Fischer. Fischer is most likely the one who is taking it all in, giving his brother a hug, making a silly face, making us laugh and keeping everyone in line. This kid is going places, people.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk4wtor9Noz1eyBkKQXxq771WjF-z-k57eYjyu94q2mlSU2juirbnTNuFUvuJEOkGog9Ux1y9X_NRMVb4in53-TZ7AlYF1iVwkCMMwjBFEUnQxa6pGSRmRUO4W_fetR7CxogWO3j76IrI/s1600/10991309_10100892580019831_3704804466834447201_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk4wtor9Noz1eyBkKQXxq771WjF-z-k57eYjyu94q2mlSU2juirbnTNuFUvuJEOkGog9Ux1y9X_NRMVb4in53-TZ7AlYF1iVwkCMMwjBFEUnQxa6pGSRmRUO4W_fetR7CxogWO3j76IrI/s320/10991309_10100892580019831_3704804466834447201_n.jpg" width="320" /></a>He has his own sense of style. Tons of people ask me if the glasses are real. They're not. He likes to wear flat-billed hats, cocked to the side. He likes to wear glasses of any kind, and he insists on wearing shoes... cool ones. He is well-dressed, and full of joy. I am over-the-moon about this little guy. Every time I look at him I can't help but be a little more amazed that God has entrusted me to raise these two perfect and precious gifts. I pray every day for the wisdom and strength to hold it all together for them.<br />
<br />
Every worry and fear I have for Porter is followed by a "but Fischer...". God is so full of grace. He gave us a break with Fischer it seems. I know he's only two, still so small and new and there's still many years for him to cause us grief, but for now, he's just what our family needed.<br />
<br />
He walked at 9 months. He started talking soon after. He has hundreds of words and is stringing sentences together. He makes jokes, and plays games, and keeps up with the big boys. He is so much of what I need on a daily basis! He keeps me smiling and kissing and hugging and running. Oh, I am so very thankful for Fischer Henry.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd6_9XLgugJWECTBpeJ2CwGRev1Lfe6Dnom4SIuwekY_GXf6W7gmUnasCIC8rk9Wkl5p9Nam-ihSmUtkFfMdwTdh8RDa9DBslL7M69LaedGIzxYXik0P9mkLo0aXt8jviMOn5Zu5X45d0/s1600/1662539_10100973999903731_6021672612220005173_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd6_9XLgugJWECTBpeJ2CwGRev1Lfe6Dnom4SIuwekY_GXf6W7gmUnasCIC8rk9Wkl5p9Nam-ihSmUtkFfMdwTdh8RDa9DBslL7M69LaedGIzxYXik0P9mkLo0aXt8jviMOn5Zu5X45d0/s400/1662539_10100973999903731_6021672612220005173_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
He wants to be just like Daddy. And I hope he is. I hope his heart is just as big, and his smile is just as contagious. I hope he sees the kindness in his Daddy's heart, and I hope he wants to be a helper and a caretaker, just like his Daddy. But I think all parents want more for their children than they have themselves. I want more for Fischer. I want him to see the whole world, experience it, change it. I want him to conquer and rise to the top and be the kind of leader that I already see in him. He is fierce. He is competitive and has a drive unlike any other. He won't quit. I love that about him.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim-m-vyzGV8g1OZ-N546QJhsHw8YNgKaWyITnsXGs9Qf5iAZZYpXWNqtQhQa6RR07VvhdBJhrgi5uCv7j4ruUb5ltCQDeg4mcwPGdjPkkSl2CPFQHDCUQa9f06nnp5iOxYNibdBh7fBBM/s1600/11148643_10100982375284401_5720330426555415488_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEim-m-vyzGV8g1OZ-N546QJhsHw8YNgKaWyITnsXGs9Qf5iAZZYpXWNqtQhQa6RR07VvhdBJhrgi5uCv7j4ruUb5ltCQDeg4mcwPGdjPkkSl2CPFQHDCUQa9f06nnp5iOxYNibdBh7fBBM/s200/11148643_10100982375284401_5720330426555415488_n.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMGY6I894EHL3DCvE8uJOJ9z8Yc7qN6A3-VieWj8CvVkZLHw7iJZtEDM-Qk11XiD8YGD2QUzDWGRMJ0GgMKMjsb1dlGB9FNsaKyoQAMK-iTdNujAfc69BA3_1ucW4HXmOBNTziPh310vw/s1600/11249160_10100979011794861_7345251930071906335_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMGY6I894EHL3DCvE8uJOJ9z8Yc7qN6A3-VieWj8CvVkZLHw7iJZtEDM-Qk11XiD8YGD2QUzDWGRMJ0GgMKMjsb1dlGB9FNsaKyoQAMK-iTdNujAfc69BA3_1ucW4HXmOBNTziPh310vw/s200/11249160_10100979011794861_7345251930071906335_n.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWkkKQY0RZxJ-mkT7pjqnD-sJuJTA-KAbjiaSISJ_JIxSRRLz8xhDElcgr2-Q05bCLl9j-SYK-jZpn6pMBRmWudloFGKEYIOtYx8zLwXcOLwD8ZpwNJ9NXCasW5tYR4XyMc3xZ_HoMGyo/s1600/10374846_10100907103399861_2233886503804480761_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWkkKQY0RZxJ-mkT7pjqnD-sJuJTA-KAbjiaSISJ_JIxSRRLz8xhDElcgr2-Q05bCLl9j-SYK-jZpn6pMBRmWudloFGKEYIOtYx8zLwXcOLwD8ZpwNJ9NXCasW5tYR4XyMc3xZ_HoMGyo/s200/10374846_10100907103399861_2233886503804480761_n.jpg" width="200" /></a>He doesn't play t-ball yet, but he's ready. I see it in his eyes when we're sitting at the ball field watching his big brother play and his Daddy coach. He watches every move when the boys are on the field, and he is already running fast and catching balls. His swing is impressive. I can't wait to see him play the game and love the game. Oh, t-ball is a whole other blog post waiting to be written....<br />
<br />
My sweet Fish is quick to forgive. His heart, just like his big brother's, is golden. He's cautious about new people, which is totally different than P. I can't say I blame him though, as cold and harsh as our world has become.<br />
<br />
Fischer will start preschool this fall. For once, I can say that I'm excited for him. With Porter, I was nervous beyond words. I was worried and stressed and didn't want him to enter the big old world of private preschool. But Fischer... (see what I did there?) Fischer is ready. Fischer will dominate preschool, and the playground and honestly, any other situation he encounters. I can't wait to watch him excel! Swim fast, Fischerman. Swim fast!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />LPThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02196929077459862258noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976998756003497440.post-12387537425143628722015-04-28T10:05:00.001-07:002015-04-28T10:05:47.338-07:00Not a stay-at-home Mom <span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I blog about mommy stuff a lot. Honestly, I have a lot to say about being a mom, even though, all things considered, I'm still pretty new at it. My kids have taught me more in five short years than I have learned collectively my entire life. They are the best teachers on the planet. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What some people don't know, is that I have this entire other life. It's a life filled with the pressure to be perfect, deadlines, public scrutiny, and it requires an endless amount of God's grace and His mercy. My career isn't something I talk about often, because honestly, most people wouldn't get it. There is this fine line that I walk between public service, and hard business, that is extremely tricky, rarely easy, and occasionally rewarding. It doesn't pay well, but I'm not complaining. I rarely am acknowledged for accomplishments or achievements, and most of the time, by doing the right thing, I am certainly making at least half of the population angry. Literally, we never win. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Every day, I think about what is best for an entire city. I consider how every news article, every Facebook post, every buzz feed headline will make us look. I worry about colors, and fonts, and spacing on every document I see. I obsess over the language we use to communicate to our residents, and the phrasing we choose to explain the process, whatever process, to those who aren't familiar with our work. My desk is cluttered with hand written notes about unresolvable issues, promotional items, newspaper clippings, advertising tear sheets, drafts of documents that no one will ever care to read, photos of presentations, ceremonies, and hoopla, and gadgets and gizmos that make all of it easier. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I plan events. The events I plan aren't like a birthday party, or a wedding, but most likely a somber public meeting on a technical issue with an audience of three, or a town hall session to settle differences and make information available. The events I plan have to be accessible, informative, professional, and are often heated and intense. Apathy is my enemy. Apathy is also my blessing. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The very next day, and sometimes the same, I represent our city to leaders, dignitaries, businessmen and women, and community mobilizers who have very passionate opinions about the job we are doing. More often than not, I'm half their age, and the wrong gender to be taken seriously. All in a day's work. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My days range from fire station open houses, to community wide yard sales, to ordinance recodification, to website maintenance, and graphic design. One moment my audience could be senior citizens who are seeking meal assistance, and the next I'm addressing a Senator or Congressman. My job requires flexibility. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The funny thing is, that I seriously love my job. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A friend on Facebook asked this question the other day: "<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 19px;">If you could quit your job...if money was not an issue, would you do it? If so, what would you do instead?" </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; line-height: 19px;">I thought about it for a minute. I wouldn't quit. If money </span><span style="color: #141823;"><span style="line-height: 19px;">weren't an object, I would keep going to work. I would keep diving in to the career that I absolutely love. I would continue to better myself, receive training, and engage in conversations about my profession that further the trade. I would keep trying to make life better for large groups of people, through communication, logic, and collective and representative decision making. I would keep on. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #141823;"><span style="line-height: 19px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #141823;"><span style="line-height: 19px;">My job isn't something I do to make money. My job makes money, because of who I am and what I love to do. When I go home at night, when I show up at church, when I go buy groceries, or attend a Movie in the Park with my family, I never stop being the representative for the city. I am always, in some way, wearing my professional "hat". It's not just a career; it's a lifestyle. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Once you've worked in the public sector, you quickly decide if you have the heart for it, or not. I've seen lots of people take a job in various levels of government, education, non-profits, religion, only to figure out that it doesn't pay enough and the gig itself isn't easy. They'll tell you it was an anomaly, and that what happened to them was unfair, unjust, and crazy... but truth is, that's what public service is about. Most think that since the job is stable, and it isn't as competitive as the private sector, there isn't much to stress over. To a certain extent, they are right. Working in the public sector can be stable. Usually, benefits are paid for, or at least made accessible, and there isn't a cut-throat competitor breathing down your back. What folks fail to realize, is that being in the public sector opens you up to public scrutiny. Often, my decisions are left open to 70,000+ opinions on a daily basis. What we work on is often on the front page of the newspaper, on the nightly news, and on the web within moments of release. Who else wants that kind of attention? Who else gets that kind of pressure to be perfect? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've seen this life tear people apart. I've seen it rip families from each other, throw individuals into a spiral of disrepair, and I've seen good people lose everything because of a "mob mentality" that takes over when we remove the people from the decisions and lose site of the personal factor. It's a scary risk we take when accepting a job such as this. Don't get me wrong, it isn't the same kind of risk that Brad takes when he puts on his bunker gear and responds to the fire alarm, but it's a risk of family, quality of life, and peace that we all cherish and love. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, how do we keep on? How do we hold our head up, show up at work, stay in our office, keep answering the phone and opening emails, when we know that disappointment, frustration, and challenges are most of what is lying ahead? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For me, the answer is that I know this is a calling. I know that God wants me to be right where I'm at, and as long as He is blessing my work, it will be fruitful. There are two verses that I keep coming back to when I find myself in a hard spot professionally: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Galations 6:9-10 </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, <b><u>if we do not give up.</u></b> So then, as we have opportunity, let us do good to everyone, and especially to those who are of the household of faith.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Colossians 3:23-24 </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord <b><u>and not for men</u></b>, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward. You are serving the Lord Christ.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here's my prayer about my work life: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>God, sometimes I don't make it home before they go to sleep. When I sneak into their rooms and watch them sleep, I cry out to you silently, because I need your help with the guilt. Sometimes I travel for two nights of the week and I don't get to participate in donut Friday. More often than I'd like to admit, I find myself checking my work email and responding to an "emergency" when I should be playing with them. God, sometimes that 40 hour week turns quickly into 80, and honestly, I know the strength I have to keep going can only come directly from you. Please take the guilt away. Thank you for the assurance that I'm right where I need to be. Thank you for the continued blessings on my career, and thank you for the supportive husband, and sacrificial mom who keep allowing me to follow this path. God, I know you have big things in store, and I can only imagine that these years of preparation will pay off in a big way later on, but God, I need your help to keep on. I need your help to respond with grace when I have no patience left. I need your help to love on those people like Jesus would. God, please help me be more like Him. Help me to see the needy and the broken with mercy, instead of justice. Thank you so much for the skills you've given me to be effective. Help me to improve the areas that I fall short. Thank you for being the ultimate communicator, and being the perfect example. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>LPThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02196929077459862258noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976998756003497440.post-28582303043630376362015-04-15T08:33:00.001-07:002015-04-15T08:55:20.570-07:00#boymom: not for the faint of heart <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKzJWmGK7AeUIGsdRIiL9kwjxknvLdv-ikD3Me2O2XpJUkwYqphUDWPWNzRycrVH1a1e5DTPKqA64HBTMrvy_Ei1mflZ7AqJ_qbcbeGSf7xsXYNdTci-yycL_hheSyXZIBAFUL-jzAMsw/s1600/11025169_10100901458008271_3818131961378269863_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKzJWmGK7AeUIGsdRIiL9kwjxknvLdv-ikD3Me2O2XpJUkwYqphUDWPWNzRycrVH1a1e5DTPKqA64HBTMrvy_Ei1mflZ7AqJ_qbcbeGSf7xsXYNdTci-yycL_hheSyXZIBAFUL-jzAMsw/s1600/11025169_10100901458008271_3818131961378269863_n.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">Some days, life is all strawberry snowcones and rap music. And some days, it's not. Motherhood, and lately the circle of life in general, has really been presenting some large challenges, and while I feel like I'm up for the battle, my heart keeps getting caught up in the crosshairs. I'm praying constantly that God will show me the way. His way.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj3I7GZW2bOQqvBh3oRoDkZPgfzv180TG0CJvBcR5tDsgr0nQ-QZO3hPtTlZt1D3D-knETJUKhfYCr5_EgsLidMFX06XzBg1YGT87TTW6tDrPTDBMxO1J8QyQk6PW8NiOH2NBOSdiXjI0/s1600/11012034_10100948180156711_79534440413247219_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj3I7GZW2bOQqvBh3oRoDkZPgfzv180TG0CJvBcR5tDsgr0nQ-QZO3hPtTlZt1D3D-knETJUKhfYCr5_EgsLidMFX06XzBg1YGT87TTW6tDrPTDBMxO1J8QyQk6PW8NiOH2NBOSdiXjI0/s1600/11012034_10100948180156711_79534440413247219_n.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a>
<span style="font-size: large;">We've started t-ball again this year. I love t-ball. I love the dirt, and the uniforms, and the big huge smile and sheer joy that covers Porter's face when he hits the ball. After he hits, he runs to first base, at turtle speed, giggling and shrieking the whole way. In that moment, he's just the picture of honest, innocent, pure happiness- makes my heart jump right out of my chest. I love watching Brad coach the littles with patience and encouragement, and suppressing his competitive spirit for their sake. He's such a white hat. I love sitting in the crowd with Fischer, who is his brother's biggest fan, and my Mom, who is now the biggest supporter of my sweet son, just like she was for me. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUzvMwZx-mcGXTS5C0YC4FfUBz2P0G2ElO6r6Xkxs-glok7bbe8AybN-Ylq9RJ24uitOA48WkRB7AB9kfivfksdsvNRN4U5N7xlywXo2bbuNqSxIAYQUpEEvMaSMTMCQkLARuWTpydwjM/s1600/11014917_10100928004938011_7693184686921817014_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUzvMwZx-mcGXTS5C0YC4FfUBz2P0G2ElO6r6Xkxs-glok7bbe8AybN-Ylq9RJ24uitOA48WkRB7AB9kfivfksdsvNRN4U5N7xlywXo2bbuNqSxIAYQUpEEvMaSMTMCQkLARuWTpydwjM/s1600/11014917_10100928004938011_7693184686921817014_n.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx4SJUZytgeJWgMa7HP4qpuHF3ljQR8R3fhW3deGji7xv6lkJBS40PeFlxgmQThyphenhyphenzJuQ7maZxfXkjmspLA81MyxIGniUOKx9D4bOpKKYVUnKoV1KUmXmrGBlkYFxh0hj7NPmTnw9YUx20/s1600/11014889_10100928004888111_3997154250410754545_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx4SJUZytgeJWgMa7HP4qpuHF3ljQR8R3fhW3deGji7xv6lkJBS40PeFlxgmQThyphenhyphenzJuQ7maZxfXkjmspLA81MyxIGniUOKx9D4bOpKKYVUnKoV1KUmXmrGBlkYFxh0hj7NPmTnw9YUx20/s1600/11014889_10100928004888111_3997154250410754545_n.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">What I don't love is how our league takes it so seriously, like toddler MLB style. I hate the coaches who yell and cause the littles so much stress and anxiety, even under the guise of "teaching". I hate how we forget to have fun, forget to be silly, forget that in the end, the gatorade and snack for the team is probably more meaningful to the five and six year olds than what is on the scoreboard. Honestly, Porter can't even read the scoreboard, so unless someone tells him (DON'T), he'll never know that we haven't won a game yet. I am semi-ashamed to say that I begged him not to play. I just want to protect him and keep him safe, and I know that every activity, every interaction has the potential for pain. The other part of me thinks there's a possibility that any event could make it "click" for him. Maybe t-ball could wake him up. Maybe riding a horse will make something change. Maybe public school will be good for him. I hate that he has to grow up. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I hate that at every milestone I feel like I have to defend him. I want so much for him to just be on top, in something, anything. If he were the best at picking up sticks, I would celebrate it with a fierceness. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">We registered for kinder last week. There aren't words to express what I'm feeling about the whole thought of him in public school. In a school with tests, and benchmarks, and expectations that he won't even understand. All I can say is that my prayer is "please, God" and I KNOW that He is listening. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">There are already bullies. Mean kids who don't have any manners and who aren't held responsible for the way they make others feel. I am prepared to experience a lot of this in the future. I refuse to teach my kid to be ugly, since so many others get it naturally. Porter will be okay in kinder, because he has a heart of gold. But there will undoubtedly be some heartbreaks along the way. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Last Tuesday he had a melt down at practice. Crying, fit throwing, and general ridiculousness. I tried to ignore. I tried to talk him down. I tried encouragement and comforting. None of it worked. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">On Friday, he took a scary fall off of a merry-go-round at the park. He hit his head, an immediate goose egg popped up. It was frightening and frustrating and just not something that I can live through again. </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZC2k1ZfayCX94vsJvPhQqU5eBsTcOX7OCuvTskPzszhNMl3cCFMbuIqRG68t-DLHdAloGv3kezw2_TfDR2BE3AkyPrHHxYi4qAB9q0nvZ34m-n5pMSPZqs36WRYzjRSsIi6y0PiMRquE/s1600/11130112_10100943285575491_3630803835162534517_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZC2k1ZfayCX94vsJvPhQqU5eBsTcOX7OCuvTskPzszhNMl3cCFMbuIqRG68t-DLHdAloGv3kezw2_TfDR2BE3AkyPrHHxYi4qAB9q0nvZ34m-n5pMSPZqs36WRYzjRSsIi6y0PiMRquE/s1600/11130112_10100943285575491_3630803835162534517_n.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">On Sunday, we went to pick him up from Nana and Papa's for church. He screamed and threw a fit because I tried to put his shoes on without socks. And because he didn't want to leave. And because there aren't as many rules and "no's" when he isn't home. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">On Monday he had to come to work with me after school. He was watching movies in my office, happy as a lark, while I sat in a meeting across the hall. After his movie ended, he freaked out... I guess because he was alone? I heard him (and could see him) hyperventilating and crying at the top of his lungs. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Last night at his game there was an incident. It ended with spankings and too much crying to continue at the park. We waited out the game in the parking lot, and my heart was broken more so than his. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">It just been one thing after another. Literally, days and days on end of crying, fits, and more drama than this mama can handle. I can't do it anymore. Seriously. Can. Not. Do. It. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">But that's the point, right? I can't do it. I never could, and I never will be able to. But God. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
John 15:4-5 (ESV)<br />
<br />
<br />
4 Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me. 5 I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">God can. He will. He does handle things on my behalf. He does show up when nothing else will do. He does have a plan for Porter's life. He does hold us in the palm of his loving hand. He does. </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirCrEWu3sqei0BoCdZcsR6je1-cqtEyaYXagdq8-dlVgXRjOYydn7l3R92KhZbR1O75vfzx46TVjWnG5Ef_CyUcYVYqVY4ngNEjCT9FkmoqEj42c82k6At71oSnV08KGyCWaav9juDoX4/s1600/11150326_10100945977640571_8065123923173130272_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirCrEWu3sqei0BoCdZcsR6je1-cqtEyaYXagdq8-dlVgXRjOYydn7l3R92KhZbR1O75vfzx46TVjWnG5Ef_CyUcYVYqVY4ngNEjCT9FkmoqEj42c82k6At71oSnV08KGyCWaav9juDoX4/s1600/11150326_10100945977640571_8065123923173130272_n.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">In saying all of that, I still have Fischer. I have this crazy-smart, witty, fun-loving and adorable two year old who is a ball of energy, running around and loving on us all. For every second that I spend worrying, reprimanding, and correcting Porter, I spend two laughing at and delighting in Fischer. He is my relief. He is joyful and calm and courageous. He forgives quickly and catches on quicker. I think God gave us Fischer because he knew we would need something easy... some sort of distraction in the midst of chaos and frustration. Fischer is our windfall. </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbNuPKAwmjBp-zj4XHM0E9V4mfxvtaJNkAdiDLWbRqdellmuGsK4W5uEPD3-OXIrXREzFz3jDTQcOdAeyHe72WZ-OjNACSZrZY6R0pIHJ3lgDp-QDJXe1xOEv1WEYLnnMu8mwik1NcasE/s1600/10959784_10100884089599701_6536419339942914313_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbNuPKAwmjBp-zj4XHM0E9V4mfxvtaJNkAdiDLWbRqdellmuGsK4W5uEPD3-OXIrXREzFz3jDTQcOdAeyHe72WZ-OjNACSZrZY6R0pIHJ3lgDp-QDJXe1xOEv1WEYLnnMu8mwik1NcasE/s1600/10959784_10100884089599701_6536419339942914313_n.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjTN8dXQi477y0M554DB0INOfMUYOZNsT3uwd6RWmDbSRVe8BMdqe5nTRhotfKjtWO6XXo8TEHmBag2Lwukxwu9JfY4FV8E39o2hxAIoeT2DaU1CIYlcwRKwBCFain2U0vplslOfaKXGY/s1600/10991309_10100892580019831_3704804466834447201_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjTN8dXQi477y0M554DB0INOfMUYOZNsT3uwd6RWmDbSRVe8BMdqe5nTRhotfKjtWO6XXo8TEHmBag2Lwukxwu9JfY4FV8E39o2hxAIoeT2DaU1CIYlcwRKwBCFain2U0vplslOfaKXGY/s1600/10991309_10100892580019831_3704804466834447201_n.jpg" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Porter is so caring and kind. He doesn't know mean, and he wouldn't harm a fly. He cuddles so well, and has the unique ability to wrap himself around my leg, look up in my eyes, smile that beautiful grin with his whole face and make my soul shake. Just last night... </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I don't have a favorite. Just like God doesn't have favorites. I know that there will be a time when the tables are turned and Fischer is causing more problems (probably as a teenager), and Porter is our angel, but for now, this is our season. </span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidgBKHcODSkBCaZZgvbTWap-b2XaKNOPHV1BD75VNpktMvRObB9ONjmgkCNwNTU2eHQQBmFIHGjh8R3z2GusR69QYJtAd9YXGI2aqC84mM6WtlwqGFNDAZ2EGruwH0ky43kzprOHlHKUI/s1600/10407036_10100904127114361_2807488456018201622_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidgBKHcODSkBCaZZgvbTWap-b2XaKNOPHV1BD75VNpktMvRObB9ONjmgkCNwNTU2eHQQBmFIHGjh8R3z2GusR69QYJtAd9YXGI2aqC84mM6WtlwqGFNDAZ2EGruwH0ky43kzprOHlHKUI/s1600/10407036_10100904127114361_2807488456018201622_n.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Our season is tears, dirt, bickering, picky eaters, unflushed toilets, little sleep, rushing from here to there, and late night baths. Our season is giving our anxieties to God daily, carving out time for our marriage, and encouraging development and growth. Our season is not easy, but I wouldn't have it any other way. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">This is my prayer: </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>God, please take it away. God, please open his eyes to the world around him and help him to learn. God, help me to be the Mom he needs. Give me peace. God, help Fischer to be kind. Help him to love others and seek you. Help our house to be filled with love and understanding and forgiveness and help us to point them to you every day. Every single day. </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
LPThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02196929077459862258noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976998756003497440.post-79177726134047180372014-07-29T11:56:00.002-07:002014-07-29T11:56:14.457-07:00The Mommy Guilt, AKA a losing battle.... <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
<o:AllowPNG/>
</o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
</xml><![endif]--><br />
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:View>Normal</w:View>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:TrackMoves/>
<w:TrackFormatting/>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:DoNotPromoteQF/>
<w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther>
<w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian>
<w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:SnapToGridInCell/>
<w:WrapTextWithPunct/>
<w:UseAsianBreakRules/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
<w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/>
<w:EnableOpenTypeKerning/>
<w:DontFlipMirrorIndents/>
<w:OverrideTableStyleHps/>
</w:Compatibility>
<m:mathPr>
<m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/>
<m:brkBin m:val="before"/>
<m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/>
<m:smallFrac m:val="off"/>
<m:dispDef/>
<m:lMargin m:val="0"/>
<m:rMargin m:val="0"/>
<m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/>
<m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/>
<m:intLim m:val="subSup"/>
<m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/>
</m:mathPr></w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="false"
DefSemiHidden="false" DefQFormat="false" DefPriority="99"
LatentStyleCount="371">
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="0" QFormat="true" Name="Normal"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="heading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="heading 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="heading 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="heading 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="heading 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="heading 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="heading 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="heading 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="toc 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal Indent"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="footnote text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="annotation text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="header"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="footer"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="index heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="35" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="caption"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="table of figures"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="envelope address"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="envelope return"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="footnote reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="annotation reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="line number"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="page number"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="endnote reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="endnote text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="table of authorities"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="macro"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="toa heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Bullet 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Number 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="10" QFormat="true" Name="Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Closing"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Signature"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Default Paragraph Font"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="List Continue 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Message Header"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="11" QFormat="true" Name="Subtitle"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Salutation"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Date"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text First Indent"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text First Indent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Note Heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Body Text Indent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Block Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Hyperlink"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="FollowedHyperlink"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Document Map"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Plain Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="E-mail Signature"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Top of Form"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Bottom of Form"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal (Web)"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Acronym"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Address"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Cite"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Code"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Definition"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Keyboard"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Preformatted"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Sample"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Typewriter"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="HTML Variable"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Normal Table"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="annotation subject"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="No List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Outline List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Simple 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Classic 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Colorful 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Columns 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Grid 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table List 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table 3D effects 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Contemporary"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Elegant"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Professional"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Subtle 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Subtle 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Web 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Balloon Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="Table Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" UnhideWhenUsed="true"
Name="Table Theme"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Placeholder Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" QFormat="true" Name="No Spacing"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" SemiHidden="true" Name="Revision"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" QFormat="true"
Name="List Paragraph"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" Name="Light List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" QFormat="true"
Name="Subtle Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" QFormat="true"
Name="Intense Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" Name="Bibliography"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" SemiHidden="true"
UnhideWhenUsed="true" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="41" Name="Plain Table 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="42" Name="Plain Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="43" Name="Plain Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="44" Name="Plain Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="45" Name="Plain Table 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="40" Name="Grid Table Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="Grid Table 1 Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="Grid Table 1 Light Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="Grid Table 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="Grid Table 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="Grid Table 4 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="Grid Table 5 Dark Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="Grid Table 6 Colorful Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="Grid Table 7 Colorful Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46" Name="List Table 1 Light"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51" Name="List Table 6 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52" Name="List Table 7 Colorful"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="46"
Name="List Table 1 Light Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="47" Name="List Table 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="48" Name="List Table 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="49" Name="List Table 4 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="50" Name="List Table 5 Dark Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="51"
Name="List Table 6 Colorful Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="52"
Name="List Table 7 Colorful Accent 6"/>
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-priority:99;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin-top:0in;
mso-para-margin-right:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:8.0pt;
mso-para-margin-left:0in;
line-height:107%;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:11.0pt;
font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";
mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;}
</style>
<![endif]-->
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maybe I’m the only one, but lately I’ve found myself with a
lot of Mommy Guilt. I sit around with it, throw it up in the air, bear it on my
shoulders, let it force my head to hang. The Mommy Guilt is heavy. It's thick
and complicated; it’s kind of like an albatross of sorts that I take with me
wherever I go. Sometimes it even keeps me so frozen, paralyzed in my own
self-awareness, that I can’t enjoy the things I am getting right. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I’m at work, I have a whole new set of responsibilities
that I feel like I’m falling behind. When I’m at church, I feel guilty about shortcomings
in my relationship with God. When at home, well the Mommy Guilt almost screams
me into the pile of dirty clothes ever-gathering on the bathroom floor. It’s
everywhere. I can’t escape it, and even if I did, I would feel so bad about escaping
that I would inevitably crawl back in and waller around just to make up for
lost time. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The dirty nasty part of all this Mommy guilt that I don’t
like to tell people about is that the whole habit tends to keep me from doing
the things I should do, the things that make me proud of who I am. It goes a
little something like this: </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I feel guilty that I didn’t make an appointment for Fischer’s
15-month well-baby check-up. We owe the clinic some money from a recent visit that
I haven’t had time to pay, plus it keeps landing on the end of a pay-period.
That bill just keeps getting overlooked. So I feel guilty about owing them
money. I don’t want to make the appointment, because I’m embarrassed we owe
them money. I’m embarrassed that we missed his appointment, and probably some
important 15-month vaccinations, and I’m sure all my stay-at-home mommy
friends, and superwoman mommy friends have never missed an appointment. They
probably never owe money to the clinic, but even if they do, they probably pay
it off and are debt-free. That’s probably why Porter has developmental speech
issues to work through, because I’m too busy and embarrassed to keep up with
all his milestones. I didn’t even write down when he got his first tooth, or
started walking. I’m a horrible Mom. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPUmlE1CMFerGaDFLeJPW4QQTWKcTHez9FjzXRIJqWzniuqSZ2v49BhbADvx1aRvQbK8hy9kahLRXrOS8fngqUZP1RMsnFWcmrsMQGwN9taNgDFJDd9h7VUNrnerSiGnjywlIjhh5yfyA/s1600/7.28.14+029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPUmlE1CMFerGaDFLeJPW4QQTWKcTHez9FjzXRIJqWzniuqSZ2v49BhbADvx1aRvQbK8hy9kahLRXrOS8fngqUZP1RMsnFWcmrsMQGwN9taNgDFJDd9h7VUNrnerSiGnjywlIjhh5yfyA/s1600/7.28.14+029.JPG" height="320" width="213" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4BphUnMuVxfeM71qiJlDBoJe9ke1Mig5UJ5T5WxTZFwfVLmyR3asi3jk5XFY1DMbd8tG-QENclE9KLjGhWW5xKJ39pigvuj4EcWphE2FWfLX-eT4kAACrq-mSVz2Eb0TAIACDpmvlKQw/s1600/7+025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4BphUnMuVxfeM71qiJlDBoJe9ke1Mig5UJ5T5WxTZFwfVLmyR3asi3jk5XFY1DMbd8tG-QENclE9KLjGhWW5xKJ39pigvuj4EcWphE2FWfLX-eT4kAACrq-mSVz2Eb0TAIACDpmvlKQw/s1600/7+025.JPG" height="320" width="213" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I could keep going. Honestly, that isn’t even a tenth of
what I feel and what goes through my mind when I think about missing Fischer’s
15-month appointment. The funny thing is, I shared with my husband that I felt
guilty about it and this is how our conversation went: </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: We missed Fischer’s 15-month checkup. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Brad: Oh yea. I didn’t even think of that. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: I feel awful. I’m such a horrible mom. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Brad: Yea, that stinks. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me: We owe the clinic money. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Brad: We can pay them after Friday. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Me. Yea. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I can guarantee you that he never thought about it again. I’ve
been stressing over it for days. This is the Mommy Guilt I carry. It’s heavy,
and emotional, and sometimes it’s all consuming. Sometimes, I feel like I can’t
breathe when I start to let the guilt creep in. Sometimes, I feel like I would
be better off not trying at all, rather than try and not accomplish what I need
to. Did pinterest make me this way? Was it facebook? Maybe it was all the
little old ladies at my church telling me to “cherish every moment”? I can’t
put my finger on it, but I know it’s real and I know I have to let it go. Wait.
Frozen. I knew there was something I missed! I feel awful because Porter asked
to watch that movie this weekend, and I told him we would. I guess the swimming
and popsicles and movie time with mom and dad and real popcorn had us too busy
for Frozen. Oh, I’m a terrible mom. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeImDuykWiH4zpCqa7sLTeSlpr8ZqganMozpOhmCIiEvvUN77Yg6MfOprJYTWx3z7CWmgo6DQte2FnE5mOw4F-CXv_vrh2JWyAuaSNq6Owo_BQhdSY8S3pVnfofx-QTE3gxyXW-N45Hwo/s1600/71514+072.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeImDuykWiH4zpCqa7sLTeSlpr8ZqganMozpOhmCIiEvvUN77Yg6MfOprJYTWx3z7CWmgo6DQte2FnE5mOw4F-CXv_vrh2JWyAuaSNq6Owo_BQhdSY8S3pVnfofx-QTE3gxyXW-N45Hwo/s1600/71514+072.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib7AdsZsTKGqRMfeGMbcHk8HR8dY6Zcbr5iURZvILMorqUPaqlk3ELvM56VGZjT6mvKrqNNiDirjWsD1tJmhD6L1maz0e7rwUYgN1KGJbpUvO3shJZJd2brZ5mKLc8mA6yhi2cbpLWgR8/s1600/7+035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib7AdsZsTKGqRMfeGMbcHk8HR8dY6Zcbr5iURZvILMorqUPaqlk3ELvM56VGZjT6mvKrqNNiDirjWsD1tJmhD6L1maz0e7rwUYgN1KGJbpUvO3shJZJd2brZ5mKLc8mA6yhi2cbpLWgR8/s1600/7+035.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m making a list. I’m making a list of all the things I
feel guilty about. Some are relevant, and validated. Some are completely
ridiculous and should probably land me in a padded room. Either way, I’m making
a list because I feel like airing it out will do some good. And maybe, just
maybe, you can identify. And at least we can know that we’re not alone. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m on my phone too often. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fischer goes to sleep with a cup of milk. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My kids eat sugar. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My kids eat carbs all the time. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My kids rarely eat anything except spaghettiohs and
pb&j, <s>three meals a day.</s> Two meals a day. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometimes they don’t eat breakfast. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The planter in the front of my house is without flowers. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We leave our trashcan by the road overnight at times. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We have laundry piled up for days. Most of it is clean.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My sink has perpetual dirty dishes. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I haven’t ordered school supplies yet. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I haven’t planned a baby shower for my friend yet. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I forgot to send thank you cards for Fischer’s baby shower. And
Porter’s. and probably my wedding gifts. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t pray enough. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t read my bible enough. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t always set a good example. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t check in with my friends enough. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sometimes I don’t answer the phone when my friends call. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I work when I’m at home. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I do family stuff when I’m at work. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I say no too often. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I say yes too often. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I don’t make enough money. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am not organized enough. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We have unfinished projects at home. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We have a broken window on the back porch. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our inspection sticker is expired. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our windshield is cracked. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The cars need to be cleaned out. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My wallet needs to be cleaned out. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The boys need a dentist appointment. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Porter’s eyes could be bad. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Porter needs a haircut. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Brad needs a haircut. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I should cook at home more often. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I should drink less coke. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I should eat less. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I should work out more. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I should drink more water. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I should clean out our closets. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I should waste less electricity. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I throw away too much food. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Literally, this list could go on infinitely. I can find a
million things to feel guilty about, by no stretch of the imagination. I should
stress out less and relax more, but there I go again, telling myself what I “should”
do. I can’t stop. It’s just this panicky, fear-stricken, chill-inducing yucky
feeling that permanently rests in the bottom of my gut. I can’t shake it. I can’t
drink it away. I can’t exercise it away. I can’t even put it down when I’m
asleep. It’s there. For good. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, my guilt is definitely not something that I can cure on
my own. I can’t even turn to family and friends to help me escape, because then
I’ll just feel guilty about being a burden. But there is one person who can
make it all better. This person keeps nudging me, even as I’m writing this
list, saying that I already know the solution. My solution is My God. My Savior
and Lord keeps reminding me, ever so softly, gently, that I AM HIS AND I AM
ENOUGH. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There. That’s it. That’s all I have to say. All the guilt,
all the pain, all the shortcomings and insufficiencies can be wrapped up and
snuffed out with just one thought, one claim, one triumph. My God is bigger, my
God is stronger, my God is higher than any other. He’s better than my own
self-loathing and better than the best of punches I can throw at my own face.
He’s better than any workout program, development strategy, and even better
than the most perfect Mommy and wife. He is ENOUGH and through Him, so am I. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So today, fellow mommies struggling with Mommy Guilt, let’s
stop the bashing. Let’s put down our boxing gloves and together admit that we
are not sufficient. None of us are perfect, and honestly, how boring would that
be? If we all paid our clinic bills on time, some poor girl in the collections
office would be jobless. We are never going to be footloose and guilt-free, but
we can be REDEEMED, and today, I’m resting in that promise. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Resting in the assurance that I am enough. I am the Mommy
that God chose for Porter and Fischer. They were created in His image, and are
perfectly wonderful. I am the wife that God chose for Bradley. I am the
perfectly cut puzzle piece that fills the whole in my extended family picture.
I am a good friend, with excellent listening and relating skills. I am enough. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHiWUc7K73jx60hAqbm8QZUSm_VSTxekbqxMPGVK7IyTbBS_ojf0owsvzbz2RYkNeF918pZ0hx1FnlRAMt_3p5foBEMLPSeNch4wAZAPUqWAqA-2O_3z-oxEOikI6-QacgmmMhcCDaOJc/s1600/1962220_10100529192162011_811464076_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHiWUc7K73jx60hAqbm8QZUSm_VSTxekbqxMPGVK7IyTbBS_ojf0owsvzbz2RYkNeF918pZ0hx1FnlRAMt_3p5foBEMLPSeNch4wAZAPUqWAqA-2O_3z-oxEOikI6-QacgmmMhcCDaOJc/s1600/1962220_10100529192162011_811464076_o.jpg" height="233" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
LPThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02196929077459862258noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976998756003497440.post-17199264424640407012014-01-17T07:22:00.000-08:002014-01-17T07:22:11.263-08:00four. There is nothing more heart-wrenching than seeing my son "stressed out". It's just not natural. It's not okay that my vibrant, funny, charismatic and SMART four year old gets anxious and his shoulders sag when we start practicing our letters and writing. It's not fair that he tells me it's hard, and that he's sad. His head goes to his hands and he won't make eye contact. He gets jittery and can't sit still. None of this should be happening. Learning is supposed to be fun. He's four. <br />
<br />
From the time we started thinking about school, I began to worry about expectations for Porter. I've always wanted to keep him small, protect his childhood, give him time to be a kid. But our society says that our children need to learn more, be smarter, know everything, and of course, do it now. He's expected to read and write before kindergarten. Unfortunately, that's doesn't work for our little man. He's just four. <br />
<br />
I've never heard anything so repulsive than hearing him say "I can't." This phrase goes all over me. I want to blame people. I want to scream at someone. I want to hold him in my arms, look him in the eye, and say "Yes, you can." I want him to know that he is smart and capable and that he's going to be okay. After all, he's only four. <br />
<br />
We sat down last night to practice writing his name. Mostly, I wanted to encourage him to trace letters, because they've been going over tracing his name at school. Every time he brings a paper home, he hasn't even attempted to do it.... again he's four. <br />
<br />
I made sure our practice was light-hearted and fun. I explained that the letter "P" was just a line and a circle. We practiced drawing some lines and then some circles. Daddy helped out, too. He did great, although his attention span is short and we had to keep showing him how to hold the crayon. He was way more interested in the Star Wars Angry Birds stickers in his crayon box than writing a "P", but that's to be expected. He's four years old. <br />
<br />
All in all, our practice lasted less than 10 minutes. It's literally all his little body could do to stay in one area of our house for that long. At first I was frustrated that we only got ten minutes of practice in, but then I considered that it was after 8pm, which is normally bed time. He had to wake up at 6:30 for school that morning, eat breakfast in the car, and I'm sure he struggled to take a nap. He had a long 9 hour day at "school" and then a full afternoon of dinner, bath and a tiny bit of play time. His little body was exhausted, and here I was asking him to practice writing letters before bed. What was I thinking? He's four years old! <br />
<br />
The recurring theme of our practice session was his anxiety and fret. He was worried because he couldn't do it right. He was nervous because Mom and Dad were both watching him perform. His tiny fingers gripped his crayon so tight and pressed down on the construction paper as he shakily drug the crayon down, and then his eyes would quickly scan my face for approval, or his worst feat, disapproval. What are we doing to this tiny guy? He's FOUR! <br />
<br />
Last night's experience shed a bit of light on all the struggles and battles we have with Porter. My mom mentioned earlier in the week that he had a lot of "stressors" in his little life, and while I knew she was right, and I always trust her opinion, I couldn't readily think of any stresses other than school. But last night made me thing about it more. Maybe he's always waiting on the next time to mess up. He is under a lot of pressure at school, to be like the other kids, to say the right words, to color the right way, to play the right way, to potty the right way, to listen and walk the right way. Then we take him to church, and it starts all over again. He has to learn his bible verse, and listen to a story, and play nicely and use his manners, and walk not run in the church, and be quiet during the prayer and do and say all the right things all over again. Then it happens at home, too. It's a lot for his four year old brain! <br />
<br />
It makes perfect sense that he would act out. It makes perfect sense that he would be strong willed, and stand his ground on the small stuff, because honestly, those are the only things he can control.<br />
I don't know exactly why he feels this way, or how we got to this point, but I do know that it's not God's will for him. I know that God has a better plan for Porter Jay. He has a life full of promise and hope and encouragement and I know that God can fix this situation. <br />
<br />
Now, let me say that I have been very intentional about encouraging Porter and helping him, but not putting too much stress or work on him, and I am sure that his school and his teachers try to do the same thing. I'm not pointing fingers, and I'm not saying I'm blameless, but I am saying that something has got to give. I cannot watch my sweet son STRESS. Not yet. Not now. <br />
<br />
So, from now on, and really from birth until now, I'm praying that Brad and I can make the right decisions for Porter. I'm praying we find a balance between FUN and learning. I'm praying that I can stay calm and take his stress away. Please pray with me. LPThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02196929077459862258noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976998756003497440.post-11768627535014055192013-12-20T10:17:00.001-08:002013-12-20T11:06:47.134-08:00Married to a fireman <br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When I was small, I was afraid of the dark. I was afraid of
heights. I was afraid of men, and snakes, and guns. Afraid of thunderstorms and
lightning strikes. Afraid of kidnappers and intruders. I was even afraid of
flashing head lights at oncoming cars that didn’t have their lights on because
they were going to hunt you down and kill you as part of a gang initiation
ritual (in rural Cass County, Texas). It’s safe to say I was generally afraid. I
have theories about why I was so paralyzed by fear, none of which are rational
or lucid. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Not sure who, maybe my Aunt Bobbie or maybe my Mom, but
someone taught that scared little girl a bible verse that I’ve tucked away in
my heart and repeated so so so many times over and over. “What time I am afraid,
I will trust in You” Psalms 56:3. I love the simplicity and child-like faith
that this verse conveys. It’s proved so useful over my lifetime. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As an adult, I’ve made huge strides to overcome all this
fear. Most of the time, I choose not to dwell on scary things, and often times
this can be perceived as a general disregard for life and limb, but believe me,
everything is calculated. A couple years ago there was a big, beautiful snow in
Atlanta and some friends got together to sled down a hill out in the country.
While it looked awesome and exhilarating, and I loved being there to take it
all in, I couldn’t bring myself to hop on that trash can lid, grab the handle
and be pulled by a winch down that frozen hill towards a not-frozen pond. Why?
Not because I was afraid, because I was. However, I could have put that fear
aside and rode that sled regardless. No, I couldn’t do it because I am a
mother. I am needed. Sometimes, I am the only one around to take Porter to
school, and change dirty diapers. Sometimes, there is no back up. Sometimes, a
sick day is not an option. It’s all part of being married to a fireman. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Married to a fireman. Most people think they understand what
that means, and by all accounts, the statement is made in pretty plain English.
But, does anyone stop to think about what it really means for the ladies and
children who have a fireman (insert police, nurse, and other essential personnel
here)? By no means will I attempt to tackle explaining the entire lifestyle
that comes with Daddy being a fireman today, but I do have to share what it
means for our Christmas season. It’s something I have to get off my chest. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Before I start, I’m not writing this for pity, and I don’t
need invitations to join your family for a meal. Although I think that’s
kind-hearted and super nice of you, let’s face it, it would be awkward for everyone.
Not to mention that I do have my own family outside of Brad to hang out with.
No, I’m not writing this so you’ll feel sorry for me, but because I’ve recently
learned a valuable lesson that I thought I already knew. Stay tuned, it gets
good later. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Back to that sick day. Yesterday I woke up around 2am. Now,
accept this as a rule: If I say I woke up at 2am, know that either one of the
kids was involved, someone is in serious trouble, or I’m sick. Yesterday, it
was the third of those options. Yesterday, a stomach bug straight from the
depths of hell took over my body and I literally thought I would rather claw my
eyes out with a dull butter knife than wrestle with that particular bug again.
It was awful, I was a mess, but lo and behold, Brad had to work. So, he got up,
showered and left before the light of day which left me with two very energetic
and rather helpless little boys to shepherd. I did my best. I didn’t go to
work, but I still had responsibilities: mouths to feed, school commute to
complete, diapers to change, and bodies to bathe. My mom is an ANGEL, sent
straight from God’s hand, she helped me out a ton and I am so thankful for her,
but I say all this to reiterate—sometimes there are no sick days. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For the third year in a row, Brad is working all the
holidays this year. When I say all, I really mean every last one of them. He
worked Thanksgiving, he will work Christmas, and New Year’s Eve. It doesn’t
stop there, this also means he will work Valentine’s Day and even our baby boy’s
first birthday in late February (and on my birthday, too, but that’s the least
of my worries). Now, when I say he’s “working” I don’t mean that he has to go
in and work eight hours and we can expect him home for a late dinner. No, I
mean that he has to be at work at 7am and he will work 24 hours, which means by
the time he gets off our family and friends and loved ones, and even I will
have to go back to work the next day. To say it’s a bummer is an
understatement. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Usually, this shift only comes once every three years. Since
firemen work 24 on and 48 off, their schedules rotate and his Crew would only
work one out of three years on all the holidays. However, Brad was moved around
a few times and we’ve had the fortune of catching holidays for three years in a
row now. Among other things, I’m so very thankful that our boys are still too
young to care what day Christmas falls on, as long as they get to open gifts at
some point. I find some comfort in that fact, but waking up alone on Christmas
Day still feels a little bit terrible and I still find myself searching for the
fairness in the whole deal. Usually, I pack up the boys and we head to my Mom’s
for the day. Being with family makes it easier, and I know she enjoys having us
around, but as any mother, I still long to celebrate Christmas at home with my
little complete family. I still want to snuggle up with the man I love after a
long day of playing and giggling and tearing open packages. But I can’t. He’s
at a cold, work-driven fire station along with three other guys that we don’t
know all that well. I’ll be lucky if I get a phone call that ends with “I love
you.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It would be different if he was going in to a job that was
mundane and easy. Maybe my heart would be a little more at rest if deep down I
didn’t know there was a chance of some catastrophe. But honestly, I’ve given
that to God a long time ago and I try not to dwell on it. Again, not living in
fear. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His job is dangerous, but life in
general is dangerous. My God is going to watch over and care for Brad and the
rest of the people who are serving our community, on Christmas and every other
day. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So how do I deal with it? How do I process and find peace
about missing out on all the holidays with him, again? I will tell you that it
has not been easy. The first year, I accepted our fate with grace and patience
and knew that it wouldn’t be every year. The second year I was a little more perturbed,
but I rearranged our schedule, Santa came early and we made the best of it. But
this year, this year I had all but pouted about it. I had made up my mind that
God must have forgotten our family, because He sure wasn’t making concessions
so that we could be together and celebrate the birth of His son. Yes, you read
that right, I was bitter about Christmas this year. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then yesterday, as I laid on my couch freezing and sweating
all at the same time, praying I could keep down the Sprite I had taken two sips
of, I caught an old rerun of Grey’s Anatomy. Now, before you throw rocks at me,
I know it’s not a wholesome, moral show and I know that I wouldn’t watch it if
Jesus were lounged in my living room, but yesterday it helped me come to terms with my
Christmas plight, and for that I am thankful. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">On the show, Meredith (the story’s lead) was working at the
hospital on Thanksgiving, not because she had to but because she said there was
nothing to be thankful for. At first, I scoffed, thinking…. “psh, I would never
act like that!” and the longer I watched the more I realized that this was
exactly how I was acting! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">You see, Christians have long made a big deal about Jesus
being the Reason for the Season, so much so that perhaps we say that without
always thinking about it and understanding what it really means. We all know
that commercialization and gifts and Elf on a Shelf isn’t what Christmas is
really about. We all claim that Christmas is about spending time with loved
ones and celebrating Jesus’ birth. That’s the thing though, Jesus is not just
the reason for the season, He is THE REASON. For all of it. He is everything.
He is the beginning and the end, and the middle. Jesus is it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So, for me, this Christmas cannot be about spending time
with the ones I love, although I will do plenty of that, but it will be about
Jesus’ birth and the story of God’s gift to us, which is eternal life. I’m not
saying I won’t miss my handsome husband while he’s gone, or that I won’t wish
he could be home with us. But I am saying that I won’t be bitter, because I
know THE REASON and I will have a Merry Christmas!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
LPThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02196929077459862258noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976998756003497440.post-89006026451596187862013-12-18T11:55:00.001-08:002013-12-18T13:26:10.671-08:00“what ifs” and “will he-s”<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Severe
language impairment… the words seared into my brain much like a waffle iron
molds the batter with heat into that perfectly squared shape, my brain was
being molded around those words. They would forever be imprinted, and they
stung—once batter becomes a waffle, it never goes back. I quickly skimmed past
them, hoping with everything in my soul to read that the tests were inaccurate,
that there had been some misunderstanding, that perhaps they had tested the
wrong kid. Surely there had been a mix-up and they pulled the wrong child from
class and monitored him to find that he wasn’t speaking with clarity, and
didn’t have a large vocabulary. I was positive that it was just a fluke. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But no,
there it was, in black and white that my Porter Jay Thompson, my four-year old
blessing, my handsome, perfectly dressed, bubbly and excited heart-stealer had
a severe language impairment. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was
standing in our kitchen alone. There were dirty dishes in the sink behind me
and a counter piled with preschool artwork, baby shoes that didn’t fit but had
never been worn, and odds and ends that I never seemed to find a home for—a
loose screw, a clothespin, a letter from our insurance company. My purse was on
the floor, there were dirty clothes and spit up rags in front of the washer and
the thick aroma of peanut butter loomed from our never-changing dinner routine
with a picky four-year-old. Around me, my world permeated in chaos and bumble,
but I couldn’t take my eyes off the paper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I read every word on the document, a draft that I had convinced the
speech therapist to send home the day before our meeting, because I wanted to
avoid being caught off-guard. I let every word sink in, even the ones that I
wasn’t trained to understand. I committed every score to memory, tucking it
away as if preparing for battle. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m not sure
what was worse. Sitting down at a table with my husband, and our ten month old,
and a speech therapist and a few people I didn’t know and didn’t know our son,
or standing in my kitchen alone when I read the diagnosis. Either way, it
rocked me to my core. Severe. Language. Impairment. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">To be
honest, each of those words, on their own, were bad enough, much less the sting
of putting them together and trying to swallow it all at once. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Severe. It
wasn’t a small impairment, it wasn’t a moderate or mild impairment. There was
no partial issue to tackle, or a small habit to correct. No… it was severe. In
my mind, that translates to the worst of the worst. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Language. This
is where my heart takes the drastic plunge from its perch at the top of my
throat to the pit of my being. There are so many other things that could have
been wrong. He could have had nine toes. He could have had a horrifying
physical disability. He could have had a speech impediment, like a stutter, or
maybe he could have been legally blind. While all of those things are
debilitating, and hard to deal with, and seemingly incomprehensible, they are
tangible to me. I can wrap my head around them, and I know what they mean for
those who suffer with them. I’m not wishing that Porter had any of these
disabilities, I have prayed many times to thank my God that Porter is a healthy
and able-bodied little boy. At the same time, it is curious to me that Porter
struggles with one of the things that I consider myself most proficient at.
Language is to me like a second way of breathing. I study it, I think about it,
I play with it, I use it to my advantage, I love it, and I consider myself a
master at it. Now, I’ve been told that my son, my own flesh and blood, created
from my womb, will wrestle with it for years to come. How is that possible? <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So there I
was, in my kitchen, in the middle of the afternoon, with a million other
errands to run and feats to accomplish and I couldn’t move. I was stuck. You
may think I’m being facetious, but I literally could not pick up my feet. It’s
as if the weight of this burden, all my fears, and failures as a parent and all
the struggles that I saw on the horizon for my Porter Jay had nailed my feet to
the faux wood floor and I was concreted in place. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’ll have
you know, that I did not cry. I did not shed a tear. I didn’t even fight back
tears or have the urge to boo-hoo. I was stone cold and straight faced, not
because I wanted to be, or because I had made a decision to be strong. I wish I
could tell you that I was such a courageous, superhero, Tiger Mother that I
made a solemn vow right then and there to suck it up buttercup and move
forward. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No, I was in my house, alone,
without a soul to see and I easily could have shed a tear or a thousand, because
I certainly felt like someone was ripping my feelings out of my chest and
shredding them with razorblades and a cheese grater, but I didn’t. I was too
scared and angry and shocked to cry. The tears would wait. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The rest of
that day is seared in my mind, much like the SLI phrase. The remarks made by
the therapist to Brad and me in the meeting the following day are seared there
as well. The phrases used to describe my pride and joy were like little chips flung
into the ebb and flow of my spirit. “He has potential,” she’d say and I would
cringe. “He’s a smart boy, but…” she’d comfort, and all I hear was the doubt in
her voice. “He’s sensitive,” she said, and even though I’ve admitted it a
hundred times it made my mind spin in circles knowing that someone else
noticed, and it was a problem. Those phrases, however well-intentioned and
carefully planned, pinged away at the dreams I’d had of a well-rounded,
charismatic, chiseled young man who made good decisions and dated a polite, yet
passionate girl who made good grades, planned their Jr/Sr prom, and was most
likely president of student council. That dream I had of a slender, tall,
light-haired young man with piercing baby blue eyes and wisdom beyond his years
was quickly melting with each boiling hot pebble she threw at me. And again,
the pieces of debris and chunks of that dream were ricocheting off the
imaginary wall that I’d built for myself and pelting back at me with each
passing comment, and it stung. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">You might be
wondering why the SLI diagnosis made me jump to conclusions about how he’d
shape into a teenager and eventually an adult. After all, this diagnosis wasn’t
degenerative. It wasn’t like he was going to get worse and worse until he
shriveled up and died. It wasn’t like she had said he would never talk, or
would never read. No, saying he has a Severe Language Impairment was not literally the end of the world. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But you see, I’ve always been a planner. I
plan parties, and vacations, and outfits. I plan where to eat, and what to eat,
and even when to eat. I plan our lives, because if I don’t my mind starts
wandering and all the sudden death and doom are certain. Even the most
miniscule decisions, especially about my childrens’ lives have always been of
the utmost importance, because their future rested on each move. When Brad and
I chose the name Porter, it had to pass the Supreme Court Test. In other words,
could he be a Supreme Court Justice with the name Porter Jay? Well, of course
he could. It was strong, and masculine, and it invoked trust and respect. But
all of the sudden, along with his trustworthy name I had to consider that he
might not have the words to succinctly craft a dissenting opinion in the great
civil rights case of his generation, much less to graduate high school with
Honors. What if he never grasped the concept of conjugating verbs and he never
understood the need for pronouns? You may well find it silly, but it was my
reality. It was suddenly, in my mind, the issue that his entire future hinged
upon. If he has trouble with words, will he ever learn to express his feelings?
Most men don’t, but it’s not because they don’t have the right words. Would he learn to love reading. He already has hundreds of books in his personal collection. Would he be a good test taker? Everyone knows that success in education depends on it. Would he....? I had
always been set to make him an extraordinary man. I wanted him to be a
gentleman, a scholar, an athlete, and most of all, madly in love with our
Savior. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then it hit
me, all in a total of probably thirty seconds, while I was still superglued to
the floor in my drafty kitchen, after I’d run through scenarios about his high
school girlfriend and how he would or wouldn’t say the Greek alphabet while he
was pledging a fraternity in college, and even which career path he could
choose with such an impairment, it hit me that above and beyond all of that, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>he didn’t need words or language to love
God and accept Him as Lord. </u></i>Even more than that, God our Father is the
one who <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">gives</b>, and the one who <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">takes away</b>, and just as easily as He
could take away my sight tomorrow, He can take away Porter’s words, and even
more than that, He can GIVE them too! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;">Over and
over again, I’ve seen God use unusual circumstances to work in miraculous ways.
That’s what God does. He’s still in the miracle business. In the bible, Moses
tried to use his speech impediment (I’m drawing some conclusions here) as an
excuse to disobey God. Spoiler alert: it didn’t work. Jeremiah tried the same
thing when he said:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><i><span style="color: black; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">“But Lord G<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">OD</span>, I
don’t know how to speak. I am only a boy.” </span></i><span style="color: black; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;">(Jeremiah 1:6) Again, God wasn’t interested in excuses. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">That’s how God sees Porter,
too. He sees him as a perfect and flawless creation. One who can be used for
God’s glory, if Porter, and most importantly, Porter’s Mom, can get out of the
way long enough for that to happened. Oh, how I want this! Oh, how I’ve prayed
for God to use Porter Jay! He has so many wonderful qualities, and a stellar
personality, and I just know that God has a mind-blowing plan for that little
boy. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So what now? What happens now
that we have a diagnosis and Porter’s mom has come to terms with it? Well, I’d
love to say that I’ve accepted the term SLI and I’m dealing well with it, and
that all those fears and worries have disappeared because I’m trusting God and
believe in his provision. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">While that’s true, I do trust
God and I am believing in His perfect provision for Porter, I still struggle
with worry and doubt. a lot. I still struggle with all the “what ifs” and “will he-s”.
I still turn really red and start sweating when someone brings up Porter’s
language issues, and I still want to run and grab him up and take him home and
play in a blanket fort for years on end until I can retire and hold his hand
all day long when I think about the trials and teasing that is possibly headed
his way. None of that goes away with the realization that God is in control, at
least, for me it hasn’t gone away yet. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But. But it does help to know
that God can use Porter Jay, in spite of, or because of whatever impairments
and struggles he may have. How lovely it is to think that God may have given
Porter this impairment so He can use it later on. Who knows… maybe this is all
part of the beautiful story that God is most certainly writing for my beautiful
little boy. I can hear the charmingly penned words that Porter fashioned
himself now: “It’s amazing to think that God has used a son of a fireman from a
small town in Northeast Texas who had a language impairment to write books,
speak to millions all over this world, and ultimately be given the honor of
leading the free-world as President of the United States of America, but He
did, and for that, to God be the Glory!” <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica; mso-bidi-font-style: italic;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-size: 16pt; line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">James 1: 19-- But everyone must be
quick to hear, slow to speak and slow to anger. <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
LPThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02196929077459862258noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976998756003497440.post-59450242143103056472012-11-01T14:11:00.004-07:002012-11-01T14:11:46.372-07:00Lord, <div>
Help me to seek your will for my child's life. Help me to discern what's best for him, and act as his protector and champion. Lord, help me to accept his shortcomings. Help me to understand that Your plan is better than mine... even when it hurts. Lord, help me to be patient and cooperative with the other people who come in and out of his life, whether permanently or temporarily. Help me to trust you, Lord, because you know I struggle with this. How silly of me! Why would I struggle with trusting you, when you've NEVER, no, not EVER, failed me?!! Help me to rest in the promise that you hold us in your hand and you will care for us. Help me to be strong and brave and keep it together. Amen. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Obviously, I have a heavy heart today. I suppose I should catch you up. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
-Expecting Baby BOY Thompson 2.0 on February 27th, 2012. Everything is going well with this pregnancy, although it has been very different than when I was carrying Porter. Baby is healthy, and we are very excited about his arrival. He doesn't have a name just yet, but we're working on it. After a miscarriage earlier this year, and a rough few months, we are so overjoyed and thankful that God has once again blessed us with a new bundle of joy and can't wait to meet him! </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
-I've officially been working at the Chamber of Commerce for a year now. It's been a wild and crazy ride so far, but I feel like we've accomplished so much in this year, and it can only keep getting better. Year #2 should be interesting, with the arrival of 2.0 and even more challenges and adventures on the horizon, but I can't wait to see what's in store. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
-Brad has completed all of the school and clinicals for his paramedic certification, and this has been a major feat for the Thompson household. Not only has it put a financial strain on us with him driving to Texarkana four times a week, and having to pay a babysitter when he'd typically watch Porter, but it has completely turned our schedule and routine upside down. So, the only thing that he has left is his tests, and all prayers are appreciated in this area. I'm so proud of everything he's accomplished so far, and him receiving his official license will only be the icing on the cake. I do love cake. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, I think that catches you all up. We went in for Porter's annual check up yesterday, and in the process of talking to our pediatrician it was decided to have him tested for speech/language delays. I have known for a while that this was a possibility, but somehow it is a whole new ball game when you actually begin the process. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My pediatrician recommended that we start with the school district that we live in, so I made that call this morning and it kicked off a roller coaster of emotions, hard conversations and a general uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Honestly, I am okay with Porter possibly needing speech therapy. I do not mind admitting that he may need some extra help mastering language and I recognize that his conversational skills are not as honed as I would prefer. I am not, however, okay with the feeling that he could be labelled as "special needs" from here on out based on an assessment of him at age 3. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Brad and I made a conscious decision to keep him at home and not send him to school at age 2. We made this decision with the belief that it was what would be best for Porter. We wanted to keep him little. We wanted to let him sleep in, wear his pajamas, play all day, and spend as much time with Dad and Mom as possible. I am still convicted that we made the right decision. However, I realize that this decision is probably what has led us to asking questions about his speech development. I'm just not comfortable with all of the sudden expecting him to know so many objectives when I'm not sure that we've done our job teaching him those things. We've tried to keep him little for so long, and now, because he is 3 years and one month old, we expect him to be grown and talk like an adult. I'm not sure that's fair. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I just keep thinking, "He's three. He didn't do anything wrong. He doesn't deserve to have all these expectations on him." In the bottom of my stomach, I feel like I have an obligation to be realistic about his development, vigilant in preparing him for a formal education, but I also want to protect him for as long as possible from the labels that society and the public education system may have for him. I can't imagine that I'm alone in this train of thought. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, after talking to the school district all morning, I called my pediatrician back and asked for a referral to a private therapist. We're going to have him tested in a private clinic setting and go from there. I feel much better about this path and am hopeful that we can have Porter carrying on intelligent and entertaining conversation so soon. Please help me pray for wisdom and peace about our decisions. I am already so thankful that God led me to call back and ask for the private referral. I feel so much better already. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
LPThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02196929077459862258noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976998756003497440.post-52810988688712341752012-03-01T12:09:00.000-08:002012-03-01T12:09:06.486-08:00mistakes are acceptable.Making mistakes is not the end of the world.<br />
<br />
I'm reading a daily devotional: The Confident Woman by Joyce Meyer. It's free on you version, an app I downloaded on my phone. Today, the devotional told me that "Making mistakes is not the end of the world." I'm going to be honest-- I struggle with this one.<br />
<br />
I'm not a perfectionist by any means. I want to do things well, and often, I want to do too many things in general, but when it comes to tedious projects and fleshing out painstaking details, I'm out. My style is much more laissez faire than that.<br />
<br />
Now, with that being said, often I find myself paralyzed by fear, especially when it comes to make a big decision, or even a small decision. Sometimes I'm just not confident enough in what I'm doing to move decidedly in one direction. God doesn't like this! In fact, He wants me to know that if I do decide to take action and it ends up not being right for me, as long as I acted in faith and with prayer, He's going to honor my intentions and He will forgive me for whatever mistakes I made.<br />
<br />
How awesome to know that I serve a GOOD and FAITHFUL and MERCIFUL God! How wonderful to know that His love is not contingent on my perfectness, or in my case, my feeble attempts at perfection. He loves me.<br />
<br />
Today, this is my prayer:<br />
<i>Lord, give me confidence. Give me the spiritual and emotional courage to make decisions for You and act according to Your will. Thank you for the experiences in my life that have shown me that you will never leave me, nor forsake me. Thank you for loving me unconditionally. Help me to show Your love to others, so that they may know You through my actions. Amen. </i>LPThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02196929077459862258noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976998756003497440.post-71105113104041825592012-02-24T11:15:00.000-08:002012-02-24T11:15:46.072-08:00Lent: It's not just for Roman Catholics anymore!I'm observing Lent this year. No, I haven't made some radical shift into Catholicism recently, but rather, I felt like this was an appropriate time in my life to reflect on God's sacrifice of His son, think of something that I can sacrifice to improve my devotion and faith to Christ, and spend time in prayer and thanksgiving for the miracle of Easter. <div><br />
</div><div>I realize that Lenten practices are not the most popular in southern Evangelic churches today, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that Easter deserves as much attention and preparation as I put into Christmas and Thanksgiving, and what better way to prepare than to take time to prepare my heart. I read several blogs about Evangelic Christians observing lent. Here's a couple I particularly found useful:</div><div><br />
</div><div>http://www.crosswalk.com/faith/spiritual-life/evangelicals-remember-lent-1187468.html</div><div><br />
</div><div>http://blog.beliefnet.com/markdroberts/pages/series/how-lent-can-make-a-difference-in-your-relationship-withe-god.html/</div><div><br />
</div><div>So, what to give up for lent? Get ready for the simplified version of my thought-process, because taking the time to spell out my entire rationale is not feasible. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I thought about it for a day or two, and was sort of in a tough spot. There aren't really any substances in my life that are creating a barrier for me to experience God. There's no physical objects or foods/drinks that I need to eliminate. Sure, I could give up donuts or bread, or caffeine, or candy, and YES, I could definitely use some self-control in those areas, but how would that help me get closer to Him? I think, on the contrary, it would just make me cranky and leave me feeling lethargic. </div><div><br />
</div><div>So, I decided that the areas in my life that needed the most attention include my relationship with Him, my opinion of myself, and my relationships with others. I tried to think about what part of my daily walk with God was suffering. At what time in my day, or my schedule, do I start to feed selfish desires and leave God out of it? Honestly, it's when I get home from work. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Usually, when I get up in the mornings and hustle and bustle about, there's not enough time for selfishness. I get dressed, I come to work, I answer questions, network, write, develop, etc. and most of the time there's no thought about "me". However, when I get home at the end of a long day, I just feel so drained and frazzled. I started to realize that often times the reason I feel so bad about myself after a long day at the office is because I've not accomplished everything on my to-do list. I know this seems petty, because after all, how important is that to-do list anyway. But anyone who understands my over-achievement addiction will know that an undone to-do list is not okay. So, back to the point, why was I feeling so bad? It wasn't because the newsletter didn't get sent out, the logo wasn't designed or the document wasn't revised. Rather, I felt so bad because I had spent all evening making excuses as to why those things didn't get done. </div><div><br />
</div><div>"I couldn't call the school today because I need to get the newsletter mailed before I call them, and I havne't done the newsletter because I'm waiting on a better photo to put on the third page. I'll have to wait until it's warmer to take the photo, so maybe the trees will be prettier." </div><div><br />
</div><div>This petty excuse and others like it are starting to cloud my perception of reality. God can't speak to me if I refuse to accept the truth about my life. In all actuality, "I didn't call the school today because I didn't have a second to sit down," would have been more accurate. Or, maybe I could just admit, "I didn't call the school today. I need to do it tomorrow." </div><div><br />
</div><div>Are you following me? God needs me to cut-to-the-chase so He can show me the important things in our relationship. So, for lent, I gave up excuses. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I'm not going to make excuses for myself, for others or for situations. It is what it is, and I'm finally willing to admit it. Rather than making excuses, I'm going to focus on the reality of my relationship with God, with others, and with myself. I'm going to accept the truth, and if necessary, I'm going to work to change it. With that being said, how are you preparing for the Easter holiday?/ </div>LPThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02196929077459862258noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976998756003497440.post-59917961053476319242012-02-13T10:49:00.000-08:002012-02-13T10:49:01.499-08:00Hold me nearEcclesiastes 3: 1-22 says that there is a time and a season for everything. My God promises that He has made a time to be happy, and to be sad, to be born, and to die. I've been resting in this promise lately. <br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq"></blockquote><blockquote class="tr_bq">Ecclesiastes 3:1-22 ESV <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; ... </blockquote><br />
<br />
As a family, we're going through a season of mourning. It's a season to break down, and hopefully soon, there will be a healing season for us. It's also been a time to embrace. Time to embrace the loved ones that God has put in our lives. Time to embrace the promises that He has set out for me and you. Time to embrace the blessings that He's so richly poured into my life, and a time to embrace the understanding of mercy and grace that I humbly accept. Thank you, Lord, for all of these things, and even though I am sad and broken, thank you for the season that you've given me. <br />
<br />
In the old testament, God gave me this promise: <br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">Daniel 2:21 ESV <br />
<br />
He changes times and seasons; he removes kings and sets up kings; he gives wisdom to the wise and knowledge to those who have understanding; </blockquote><br />
<br />
So thankfully, there will be a new season coming. I'm looking forward to this new season. I'm looking forward to the promise of laughter and dancing and a time for birth and new life. <br />
<br />
This is my prayer: <br />
God, let my body be a temple for You. Let my prayers be guided by Your will for my life. Help me to accept what plans You've made for me, knowing that Yours plans are far better than what I can imagine. Take my heart and mold it into Your image. Help me to be the best example of You and your perfect son's sacrifice for our sins. Thank you, thank you, thank you for what You've done in my life and what You are going to do. I am believing in your sovreignty and feel You near right now. Thank you.LPThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02196929077459862258noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976998756003497440.post-88634229878991787242011-09-22T13:32:00.000-07:002011-09-22T13:32:03.070-07:00If I attempted to catch you up on life lately, I would fail miserably. So, I'll just say that the last few months have been a topsy-turvy adventure that I fear is not yet over. There have been MANY changes at the job. Porter is growing EVER-SO-FAST and will soon be two. My walk with Christ is of course changing as well, because the rest of my life has been so drastically fluid. In this season of change, I still know this: God is so good.<br />
<br />
I'm not promising to update more often, because the reality of being a full-time mom, full-time professional, and full-time friend, daughter, sister, and volunteer is setting in. Just know that I'm constantly moving, changing, learning and loving!LPThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02196929077459862258noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976998756003497440.post-59574861478839764462011-08-04T12:47:00.000-07:002011-08-04T12:47:29.494-07:00Season of IshIt seems like the older I get, the more "trying"times I go through, so I can't help but wonder if this is the new normal. Maybe God didn't intend for my life to ever be easy. He never promised me that it would be simple... so why am I always caught off guard when I can't have things my way?<br />
<br />
Another season of difficulty is upon our little family. I'm not complaining, and I'm not saying that things couldn't be worse, but I am trying to deal with the uncertainty and trials in a different way than my nature would have me. Of course I want to kick and scream when things get tough. Of course I want to sulk up and take long baths, and retreat to my room for hours. But that's not the kind of attitude that God wants me to have, and it definitely wouldn't be healthy for me or my family.<br />
<br />
I'm not going to pretend that this whole "trials and tribulations" thing is new for me. I haven't had the easiest life, and I don't expect it to magically get easier over night. The thing that I'm struggling with now is how to find joy, even when my spirit is crushed. Here's a verse I found that helps me remember it's all going to be okay:<br />
<br />
<br />
<div id="abw" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: white; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border-top-color: rgb(255, 51, 0); border-top-style: solid; border-top-width: 3px; font-family: inherit; font-size: 12px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin-bottom: 0.75em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 15px; padding-right: 15px; padding-top: 0px; position: relative; text-align: left; text-decoration: inherit; width: 930px;"><div class="clear" id="abm" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: relative; text-decoration: inherit; zoom: 1;"><div id="abc" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: -336px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: relative; text-decoration: inherit; width: 930px;"><div id="articlebody" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin-bottom: 1.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 351px; margin-top: 1.5em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; position: static; text-decoration: inherit;"><b style="font-weight: bold;">Luke 12:22-34</b><br />
<i style="font-style: italic;">Then Jesus said to his disciples: "Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat; or about your body, what you will wear. Life is more than food, and the body more than clothes. Consider the ravens: They do not sow or reap, they have no storeroom or barn; yet God feeds them. And how much more valuable you are than birds! Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life? Since you cannot do this very little thing, why do you worry about the rest?<div style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin-bottom: 1.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 1.5em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: inherit;">"Consider how the lilies grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today, and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, how much more will he clothe you, O you of little faith! And do not set your heart on what you will eat or drink; do not worry about it. For the pagan world runs after all such things, and your Father knows that you need them. But seek his kingdom, and these things will be given to you as well.</div></i><div style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin-bottom: 1.5em; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 1.5em; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: inherit;"><i style="font-style: italic;">"Do not be afraid, little flock, for your Father has been pleased to give you the kingdom. Sell your possessions and give to the poor. Provide purses for yourselves that will not wear out, a treasure in heaven that will not be exhausted, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.</i> <a href="http://christianity.about.com/od/faqhelpdesk/p/newinternationa.htm" style="color: #3366cc; cursor: pointer; font-family: inherit; font-size: 12px; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-decoration: underline;">(NIV)</a></div></div></div></div></div><br />
Here's what I have to remember: my purpose in life is not to be a stellar public relations professional. It isn't to be pretty, or savvy, or even make lots of money. No, my purpose in life is to serve a living Savior and to bring glory to His name. When I look at life this way, it's easy to see that God's plan is better than mine. He surely knows how I should serve him better than any of my plans could suffice. I long to be content with His plan and trust in Him.<br />
<br />
So here's my prayer for today:<br />
G<i>od, I'm not really sure why all of these things are happening. I want to trust that your plan is greater than mine. Please help me trust you. Please help me hold my head up and understand that you are at work, even when it's difficult for me to see you. Help me be a witness to the people around me who know what I'm facing. Help me to have a Christ-like attitude and to glorify You about ALL ELSE. Help me to leave my pride, selfishness, bitterness and all the rest of the yucky stuff behind. Fill me up with your love and your word. God, just take the burden off of me, and off of Brad and just let us be your servants. I know you're taking care of my today and my tomorrow. </i>LPThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02196929077459862258noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976998756003497440.post-61139146806321267902011-05-25T14:08:00.000-07:002011-05-25T14:08:56.816-07:00self imageInspired by a lovely blog post over at <a href="http://www.notyouraverageordinary.com/2011/05/five/">not your average ordinary</a>, I've made a list of five things I love about myself. Not going to lie, when I first accepted the task, I sat at my desk, pen poised, and froze inside. But, after a few moments, I realized it isn't that hard to love a few things about me... after all, I'm pretty amazing.<br />
<br />
I feel better already--<br />
<br />
uno.<br />
the back-side of my hands. because they look like my mothers. they have veins that stick up and scars that could tell stories. They remind me of my mother's hard work, loving touch, and steady faith. They remind me to be like her.<br />
<br />
dos.<br />
I am smart. There, I said it. My gosh, I'm so glad that's out. I am an intelligent, well-spoken, driven, strong-willed, confident, fabulous go-getter. and I love it!<br />
<br />
tres.<br />
I have a way with words. I understand them. I like them. I use them. communication and language are the keys to the chaos that is my life.<br />
<br />
cuatro.<br />
I got culture! no really, I am cultured and open-minded, but I have opinions and I'm not afraid to stand up for what I believe.<br />
<br />
cinco.<br />
my pain tolerance. I'm not a wimp. my body is strong and healthy, and although I'm not invincible, I have a high threshold for something to bother me.<br />
<br />
For a long time I've been passionate about self-image. In our society, women especially struggle SO much with negative feelings about who they are and mostly, what they look like. While my list wasn't really about looks, it was a fantastic exercise just to think of things that I love about myself.<br />
<br />
I don't know what God is saying to me yet about this issue, but I do know that he wants to use me to communicate to young girls and women that they are special, beautiful, loved, important, valuable and precious in His eyes.<br />
<br />
Today, this is my prayer:<br />
<br />
<i>God, use me. Help me make those around me feel special. Help me be an encourager, because I know that's a gift you've given me. Help me to realize the special things about myself, and help me to help others feel special as well. God, thank you for loving me, and creating me just the way you wanted!</i>LPThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02196929077459862258noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976998756003497440.post-36738883147038405662011-05-23T09:04:00.000-07:002011-05-23T09:04:01.013-07:00peace-of-mind: Monday's ramblings...It seems life never stands still. This is a concept that I'm getting used to, slowly. Just as soon as I feel like I've got a handle on a situation, or as soon as I think I have learned one lesson, it's time to conquer another! <div><br />
</div><div>For the most part, I like challenges. I love to learn new things, and take on a new adventure, but then again, as I told you guys last week... change scares me. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Let's be real. </div><div><br />
</div><div>There have been so many tragedies lately. We've had people predicting the end of days (which is a totally different post). We have had a particularly tough tornado season. There have been earthquakes, hurricanes, volcanoes erupting. People are dying at a rapid pace, and for some reason, it seems like it's happening more than ever before. </div><div><br />
</div><div>As my husband so gently reminded me last night, people have always died in mass casualties. This is nothing new. I guess it's just that I am getting older and pay more attention to the news. Not only that, but as we are more of a globalized society, we have more interaction with people across the world. I don't have to wait until the 6 o'clock news to hear about a suicide bombing in Afghanistan anymore. Because of social media and our globalized society, I can hear about an epidemic outbreak of swine flu AS it is happening. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Wow, I could seriously get wrapped up in the communication phenomenon of today. BUT, that's not the point. </div><div><br />
</div><div>The point is this: </div><div>God is in control. </div><div><br />
</div><div>He always has been. He flooded the earth and completely destroyed all living things. </div><div>He still is. He spares lives everyday. He saves souls everyday. He is still in the miracle-doing-business. </div><div>He always will be. He will one day send his son Jesus back for His people. </div><div><br />
</div><div>As scary as the rapture sometimes seems, the alternative is much, much worse. Can you imagine staying on this terrible planet forever more? Can you even fathom what mankind would do to this planet 2000 years from now? Would we have clean air to breathe? Would we have any green plants or open fields? Would we know how to muti;late and alter God's perfect and grand creations beyond recognition? I hope and pray that I, nor any of my family's family ever has to know. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Back to that thought about the rapture seeming scary: I'm not going to lie. Every since I was a little girl, and my good-old-Southern-Baptist Sunday school teacher started talking about the heaven's splitting open and the dead-in-Christ rising, I've always gotten completely weirded out. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I don't want to see dead people. I don't want to be lifted off the ground and float to meet anyone in the air. BUT, I DO WANT TO MEET MY CREATOR. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I DO WANT TO DWELL IN HEAVEN WITH HIM FOREVER. I DO WANT TO SEE JESUS FACE-TO-FACE. </div><div><br />
</div><div>And there's nothing scary about diamonds and rubies in the streets, everlasting praise songs, and a mansion built just for me! So, for today, this is my prayer: </div><div><br />
</div><div><i>God, help me to be prepared for your second-coming, but until then, help me to be a good servant here on earth. Help me to raise my son to know you and to honor you in everything he does. God, give me the knowledge that you intend for me to pass on about the end of days. Help me to be ever-aware that you could return at any moment. Give me the strength and the peace-of-mind to lovingly wait on you. </i></div>LPThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02196929077459862258noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976998756003497440.post-17408329332341021102011-05-17T11:42:00.000-07:002013-12-20T11:10:16.994-08:00today, not tomorrow.<h2 id="passage_heading" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; font-weight: bold;">
Romans 8:27-31 (New International Version)</h2>
<div class="result-text-style-normal" style="font-family: "Charis SIL", charis, Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;">
<sup class="versenum" id="en-NIV-28144" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; line-height: normal; vertical-align: text-top;">27</sup> And he who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for God’s people in accordance with the will of God.<br />
<sup class="versenum" id="en-NIV-28145" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; line-height: normal; vertical-align: text-top;">28</sup> And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 6px;"> </span></span>have been called according to his purpose. <sup class="versenum" id="en-NIV-28146" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; line-height: normal; vertical-align: text-top;">29</sup> For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brothers and sisters. <sup class="versenum" id="en-NIV-28147" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; line-height: normal; vertical-align: text-top;">30</sup> And those he predestined, he also called; those he called, he also justified; those he justified, he also glorified.<br />
<br />
I haven't posted in a while, but that doesn't mean I haven't been praying. I have. My prayers lately have been focused on the things in life that are the most precious to me. My husband, my Porter, my Mom and brothers, my close friends, and then there's my career.<br />
<br />
God is answering prayers, and it's EXCITING! This past week at church, Brother Mike talked about how most of the time we are surprised when God answers a prayer. That's how I've felt lately.<br />
<br />
One big concern that I've shared with my frogs (Friends who follow my blog) is that my job was getting unmanageable.<br />
<br />
Prayer answered.<br />
<br />
Things are quickly changing at my place of employment, and I know it is a direct result of, not only my prayers, but the prayers of MANY people. God is working, even in the secular, worldly and messed up realm of higher education. I can't wait to see what is going to change because of the dedicated and faithful prayers of my fellow believers.<br />
<br />
At the same time, I'm pensive. Even when I pray for change, and God grants change, I'm still nervous about change. *GASP* Lisa? Afraid of change? Really? The girl who loves to pack up and road trip at the drop of a hat? The girl who could go days on end not knowing where I'll sleep each night? The girl who makes her toddler switch outfits at least three times a day? The girl who hates to take the same route to work every morning? The same one who can't stand to wear the same headband two days in a row?<br />
<br />
Yes, change sometimes scares me.<br />
<br />
So, I asked God for a verse that would help me accept the changes, without worrying too much. I read this a couple of days ago in my devotional.<br />
<br />
<br />
"So do not worry about tomorrow; for tomorrow will care for itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own."<br />
Matthew 6:34<br />
<br />
Wow, God. Each day has enough trouble of its own. Isn't that the truth?<br />
<br />
With that being said, here's my prayer for today:<br />
<br />
<i>God, you know I've got enough trouble for today. I have to find a babysitter. I have to fix something for dinner. I have that tough meeting first thing, and God, please help me stand up for myself and hold my own. I know Porter will be grumpy by the time I get home, and he must be going through a phase now, because it really hurts my feelings when he doesn't want anything to do with me. I've got that reception this afternoon, and then the commencement ceremony tonight. Please help me be kind and gracious when I'm interacting with those people. Help me and Brad to get along. Help us to see life from each other's perspective and help us to fall for each other over and over again each day. Make our marriage stronger to glorify you today. Make our communication skills stellar, so we can be better parents and better partners. God, help me to stay focused on your will today. You know I get dreamy sometimes and carried away on most days trying to control every nook and cranny of my life. So, please God, today, help me to defer to your will for my life. </i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>So, it seems that I have enough to do today, God. Could you please take care of tomorrow? </i></div>
LPThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02196929077459862258noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976998756003497440.post-33040180133654661842011-03-25T13:57:00.000-07:002011-03-25T13:57:01.230-07:00end the chaos.Before I begin, I should preface this by saying that I there is a point to this blog. I am not simply ranting about my job, or complaining. There is a lesson, and I am in the process of learning it. Read at your own risk (seems I'm saying that a lot more frequently these days).<br />
<br />
Most of the time, I say work is stressful. On most weeks, by the time Friday rolls around, I am thankful that I have two days off to rest, recuperate and spend time with my lovelies. Like most people, I have things about my job that I'd love to change. There are issues that I never can resolve fully, and there's always a few things that I leave hanging to finish on Monday, even though I hate to do it.<br />
<br />
However, this week has been different than most. In most surveys, including CNBC and Career Cast, the public relations officer is ranked among the top 10 most stressful jobs in America. Firefighters top the list, and advertising agents are also included.<br />
<br />
Lucky for me, I am in a position that combines public relations with advertising and I live with a fire fighter. Awesome.<br />
<br />
Needless to say, I'm used to stress. I deal with it. I thrive on it. I stare stress in the face and keep going.<br />
<br />
But this week, this week has been different. This week I have truly aged at least five years. Easily more. This week I have felt hopeless, valueless, frustrated, stuck, unheard, misunderstood, and down. This week has not been good.<br />
<br />
So, today my prayer is this:<br />
<br />
"Lord, lift me up. Send those eagles to lift me up and soar me through the sky, because you know that I am not able to fix this one. This whole situation at work is bigger than me. I am just asking you to resolve this mess. Fix this chaos. Please help me to see the larger picture. I know you've got a plan. I know that you are, always have been, and always will be in control and I fully trust that you will provide a way out of this crazy situation. Please don't let this affect my family, my friends, or my mental health. Help me to separate the work from our home. Father, Thank you for giving me a job. Thank you for giving me the ability and opportunity to provide for my family. Help me to be good at what I do, and help what I do to make me a better person, a better witness, and most of all, a better follower of you."LPThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02196929077459862258noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976998756003497440.post-5243354223111193012011-03-01T09:24:00.000-08:002011-03-01T09:24:21.268-08:00health and hearthWARNING! Today's entry explains how to be healthy by eating this:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5ZCXKbmLK9gYG47Cqj6TJkRbA4OeW-Qz49Y-9Cdxmtcndh_Z8BYFETcQI804PdO_7Ht78I573RLSLFndt9MCV4U7dNSxvs4cGvD4Y8UKldidAOnBtW5Yz3K9MQ-gdv_TYmUe9HC52_Yk/s1600/DSC_0240.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5ZCXKbmLK9gYG47Cqj6TJkRbA4OeW-Qz49Y-9Cdxmtcndh_Z8BYFETcQI804PdO_7Ht78I573RLSLFndt9MCV4U7dNSxvs4cGvD4Y8UKldidAOnBtW5Yz3K9MQ-gdv_TYmUe9HC52_Yk/s320/DSC_0240.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So, if you are fuzzy about how good chocolate is for the soul, either read on to be convinced, or tune out now and check back tomorrow for a different entry! </div><br />
<br />
This morning I work up (really early) and rolled over to find my sweet husband still snoozing, even though he was to report to work in about 35 minutes. Begrudgingly, I began to stretch and prepare for the dreaded moment that I muster enough energy and motivation to bring my back off of the pillow top and swing my legs over the side of the bed. Every morning, this is the moment of truth.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoYo87J6UMEY0f4fhyS2y7rzcK0s9jAR9Yl2FTRTPos2k_Xo8DeGiORf-5nf9tOwjS_LrE6ODSv_nsbhuVRaGUIdfMlFJ7ppJYSHN_9Z0Na5wtc5BmyN7c7E8MjK-9n1OOH1OfeaesccY/s1600/comfy_bed1258799600.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoYo87J6UMEY0f4fhyS2y7rzcK0s9jAR9Yl2FTRTPos2k_Xo8DeGiORf-5nf9tOwjS_LrE6ODSv_nsbhuVRaGUIdfMlFJ7ppJYSHN_9Z0Na5wtc5BmyN7c7E8MjK-9n1OOH1OfeaesccY/s1600/comfy_bed1258799600.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Unfortunately, my body had other plans. Suddenly, as I lifted my arms into the air and reached out, my neck cramped and a stiffening crick took over. Is this what 25 does to you?! Maybe if my bed looked like this one that I spied on <a href="http://bluegrasslove.blogspot.com/2011/01/friday-confessions.html">Bluegrass Love,</a> I wouldn't get neck pains!<br />
<a name='more'></a><br />
<br />
As some of you know, I recently hit the quarter-century mark, and although I'm not convinced that I physically feel the effects of 25 yet, the birthday did serve as a reminder that I'm getting older. With this reminder, came a renewed dedication to maintaining a healthy lifestyle.<br />
<br />
I'm really not into fitness. Honestly, I'd rather teach a class naked, throw all of my strawberry laffy taffys down the drain, and sign my child over to Somalian pirates than start a hard core workout routine. (Okay, truthfully, I could stand the gym a day or two a week if it meant keeping custody of my son.) Anyway, you get the picture. I don't like to work out. Running is my nemesis, and I'm just not good at getting in the gym and crowding around the mirrors to watch myself jiggle in places that I like to forget exist.<br />
<br />
I have, however, worked hard since puberty to maintain a positive self-image. Sure, there are things about myself that I would love to change. I'd like to erase the stretch marks, take off some lbs, and I would love to have silky, thin, naturally beautiful hair. But, let's be real, there are things about everyone that they don't like about themselves. Therefore, I've made a conscious decision to love myself. Accept myself. and not focus on the small stuff.<br />
<br />
With that being said, I recently realized that even though I won't go to the gym every day, it is still important to make healthy food choices, get sufficient rest, stay active, and keep a balanced life. And while celebrating another birthday, I decided to refocus my energy on the above. I will stay healthy, not for my selfish ego, but for my family's sake, and so that I can set a good example to my children, family, and friends.<br />
<br />
In order to keep that lifestyle balance that I was speaking of, it's important to reward yourself every now and then. And THAT is exactly why I threw myself a birthday party this past weekend. It isn't that my husband wasn't willing, it's just that sometimes you have to take the initiative and make things the way you want them. So, I invited all my friends, gathered yummy-sounding recipes, and hosted myself a throw-down (with children and grandparents invited, so yea... it wasn't that much of a throw-down). Anywho, one of the yummy-sounding recipes I've been dying to try is called Cake Batter Chocolate Bark. I'm pretty much in love with anything containing cake mix, but I've gotta admit, this was extra delish! Check out the recipe on <a href="http://www.howsweeteats.com/2010/12/03/cake-batter-chocolate-bark/">How Sweet It Is</a>.<br />
<br />
Happy Day, Happy Day!LPThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02196929077459862258noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8976998756003497440.post-69338067146716906772011-02-28T12:31:00.000-08:002011-02-28T12:31:56.780-08:00that I may be a woman patterned after His word.praying for God to move.<br />
in a big way.<br />
<br />
Small groups starting this week. We are hoping to grow this time around, as we begin a study called "Fearless" by Max Lucado. I feel God stirring in our community, our life, our home, our small group, our church.<br />
<br />
God is at work! and I can't wait to see what He's got in store for us as we work through this study together.<br />
<br />
Life at home keeps zooming by at a dizzying pace. Porter is growing by the moment. He's learned to walk, learning to talk, and honestly looks more like a little boy rather than a baby each time I glance at him. It makes me sad, but mostly it makes me proud that we've made it this far. I feel accomplished that we've held it together for this long.<br />
<br />
My prayer is that God will tune Porter's heart into His will and His word very early on in life. I cannot wait to see how God will use Porter Jay for His good works and glory. Porter has such a sweet, loving, charismatic personality already and I pray every day that he always uses his charm for good. Oh, how I'm quickly learning the joys and fears of motherhood! God is teaching me so much about myself and about my relationship with Christ through this process.<br />
<br />
Also, as usual in the Spring, I begin to feel a bit nostalgic about my childhood, and have lately been trying to think of ways to cherish my Mother. I love her so much, and honestly, no matter how many times I say it, try to show it, or communicate it, I just don't think I can adequately express how much she really means to me. So, I'm praying that God will show me ways to honor her in this season of life. I know we're both busy, but since I'm a mother now too, I am constantly thinking of my Mom and how much she sacrificed for me.<br />
<br />
My prayer is that I will have the foresight and creativity to show my Mother how much she means to me.<br />
<br />
Finally, I'm praying that God works on my marriage, but primarily, that He works on me so I can be better at my marriage. I am trusting in him.LPThttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02196929077459862258noreply@blogger.com1