tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10905384546323958852024-02-20T19:04:34.021-08:00Bird's WordsBird's Wordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18172896311469204163noreply@blogger.comBlogger230125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1090538454632395885.post-25056231363604071262022-04-26T01:30:00.001-07:002022-04-26T01:30:00.170-07:00Life in the Balance...Honoring this Anniversary Date<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDzW061D7pVWXYsV8CoqNrf-FKY1rVpa5YG1Dr1JdKlRHAqabI9Qk9OIHyhXDk5PxXeur2RXHCVXCTvlQDOCouP2ov3_SdXrWBOWP-8qovU0yi5yxGU7VtTIQKx42tvFBkI01ew9XBUPbdTcuRiPeFHYsYErMvVjl7XMk4VZCRL4OsLuAmECS-uhpCJg/s650/rocks-balancing-on-driftwood--sea-in-background-153081592-591bbc3f5f9b58f4c0b7bb16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="433" data-original-width="650" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDzW061D7pVWXYsV8CoqNrf-FKY1rVpa5YG1Dr1JdKlRHAqabI9Qk9OIHyhXDk5PxXeur2RXHCVXCTvlQDOCouP2ov3_SdXrWBOWP-8qovU0yi5yxGU7VtTIQKx42tvFBkI01ew9XBUPbdTcuRiPeFHYsYErMvVjl7XMk4VZCRL4OsLuAmECS-uhpCJg/w451-h300/rocks-balancing-on-driftwood--sea-in-background-153081592-591bbc3f5f9b58f4c0b7bb16.jpg" width="451" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: left;">It's been a full year since I've written here. That wasn't intentional. I've been working on a new book which is both exciting and terrifying. I'm not sure it will ever be anything the public has access to, but it has been on my heart, so I have focused my writing efforts there. </p><p>Anyway...I'm here today. It's that time again. April 26th, the day I both look forward to and dread. Today marks 32 years since the day I was raped. It's funny to me how each year feels so different. Last year I wrote of how I am not the same as the victim I was back in 1990 in the parking lot of my high school. That remains true. And yet, this year I feel the sadness a bit more. I feel the weight of all I have carried since that day, and at the same time I feel the relief of allowing the Lord to carry the burden for me. Don't mistake my sadness for not healing. Not even close. </p><p>I carry zero bitterness or unforgiveness about that day. I know that sounds so ridiculous to some who will read this and think, "How in the world do you forgive someone for rape?!" I hear you. And the truth is, you don't. Forgiveness is something that I believe only the Lord can instill in your heart. Apart from my relationship with Jesus, I am a girl who would carry around hatred like a badge of honor. But Jesus took that need away. He replaced it with the knowledge of my own need of forgiveness and well...I'm changed because of Jesus. By his stripes I am healed from that. </p><p>And yet...I hurt. I am learning that hurting is ok. We are made to do hard things. We can carry hurt and still be free and healed all at the same time. We can balance memories that haunt and hope for the future together. We can feel both peace and confusion in the same moment. We are remarkable creations, made in the image of God himself, so quite capable of so much more than we recognize at times. </p><p>Today I feel melancholy, knowing the full truth of my healing and restoration all the while feeling the sadness of the brutality I experienced. And that's all ok. Our journeys don't have to take straight paths; we are allowed to not feel "ok" some days. Some will tell you that God isn't concerned with your feelings. I vehemently disagree. He designed us to be humans that feel, that experience emotions. How could he not care for them when he made them? I don't think he wants us to be guided by them because goodness knows, they are fickle! But our feelings and emotions have value. Today my feelings tell me that I have walked through trial and fire. They also tell me I've experienced loss too great for me to bear without Jesus. But they also cry out with joy for the victory I feel over shame and depression and defeat. So many feelings and emotions, so different, and so very important to me and to my Father. </p><p>I have chosen to take this day each year and do something fun. It's my way of making new memories for this date, to change the trajectory of how I approach this day on the calendar. And so I will spend the day with my favorite human ever (my husband!) laughing and celebrating and remembering that I am not defined by April 26, 1990. I am defined by the One who gave me life, then gave his life to ransom mine back again. How can I not celebrate that beautiful truth? </p><p>I know there are so many others walking this road of healing. Statistics paint a horrifying picture of the reality of sexual abuse and assault. If that is your story, please hear me say that I am so very sorry for the road you're walking. And please look at my life and see the healing that is possible. Memories cannot harm me; they are just memories. The time in that parking lot was just a blink amid the stunningly beautiful moments of my entire life. He took innocence and trust and safety from me for a moment. He doesn't hold them forever. </p><p>HEALING IS POSSIBLE BECAUSE THE HEALER LIVES. </p><p>I realize that some of you who will read this don't know or believe in the Jesus I love so much. But I know him to be a healer, constant and true and worthy and good and just. And he is for us. He is for me. He is for you. If you are hurting, he wants to heal. If you are broken, he wants to put you back together. My life is a testimony to his ability to do so. </p><p>So today, I celebrate and grieve all at the same time. I will laugh and I may cry. I will sit in silence and I will talk my husband's ear off I'm sure. I will feel the weight of that day and I will feel the ease of my security today. It's a delicate balance at times, but it's a beautiful life. God is so very good, friends. Celebrate with me today. </p><p>If you have been assaulted and need help finding a therapist or just want to chat with someone who has walked the road you're on, please reach out. Find me on Instagram at hollybird72 or email me at hollybird72@gmail.com</p><p>Keep walking. Keep feeling. Keep trusting. </p><p>Walking with you, <span> </span></p><p><span><br /></span></p><p><span>Holly~</span></p>Bird's Wordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18172896311469204163noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1090538454632395885.post-37812967127158241472021-04-26T05:00:00.001-07:002021-04-26T05:00:00.214-07:00FREEDOM<p><span><br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh62aAsVA2iLNGnsb3OkK1jt8ZJGoJcOkE-6Hp5B4qinNPnaKJm9aDx51tSmdSAm1v1nHm39UpiY85h5Fz4xeZ5n0ntCHNa0BEIw6BBBJ8_pJ1x4WWbKD92ybivN0ryJp5eEcEoDr4QMkPU/s315/Unknown.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="160" data-original-width="315" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh62aAsVA2iLNGnsb3OkK1jt8ZJGoJcOkE-6Hp5B4qinNPnaKJm9aDx51tSmdSAm1v1nHm39UpiY85h5Fz4xeZ5n0ntCHNa0BEIw6BBBJ8_pJ1x4WWbKD92ybivN0ryJp5eEcEoDr4QMkPU/w419-h184/Unknown.jpeg" width="419" /></a></div><br /><span><br /></span><p></p><p>Today marks 31 years since my life was changed. The day was remarkably similar to today...beautiful spring day, a little chill in the air. That's about where the similarities end. </p><p><span><b><i>I am not the same. </i></b></span></p><p>31 years ago, I walked out of my high school to find a lifelong friend in the parking lot. I left that parking lot a victim of rape, full of shame and hurt, the tendrils of bitterness already rooted in my heart. I entered that parking lot full of confidence, ready to face the world ahead of me and sure of what my future held. I left that parking lot full of fear, hatred, regret and sadness. Those things I carried for a long time. They're all natural results of the trauma of sexual assault. The problem wasn't my initial reaction to being hurt; the problem was that I tried to carry them on my own for way too long. </p><p>If you know me, you likely know my story. I bought into the shame of rape hook, line and sinker. I wore it like a cloak that would protect me. I hid behind it, believing the lies I'd been told during 20 minutes of horror more than the truth I'd been told the entire rest of my life. So many people have asked me over the years, "what was it that finally brought you back, that made you realize what you were believing was not true? How did you come back from the shame? How did you heal?"</p><p>Psalm 40 tells it so well. "I waited patiently for the Lord; he turned to me and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand. He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our God. Many will see and fear the Lord and put their trust in him". (Psalm 40:1-3)</p><p>It may seem strange to you to hear that Jesus healed me, but I assure you he did. His sacrifice on the cross for the forgiveness of my sins has allowed me to be free, not only from sin but from fear, shame, resentment, bitterness, depression... all of it. Because He forgave me, I have been able to forgive the one who hurt me so much. </p><p>I know that a wall just went up for some of you because I said the word "Forgive". I know because I've been there too. When I was new in the journey of healing from sexual assault, I thought forgiveness was ridiculous. How could I ever forgive this guy? He didn't deserve it! But then I realized that I didn't deserve the forgiveness I'd been given either, and I saw that to be like Jesus, I needed to learn to act like Jesus. It wasn't a quick thing; not even close. It was a daily decision to choose forgiveness verbally until my heart began to feel it and embrace it. </p><p>And you know what? Embrace it, I have! I write these words to you with a heart that holds zero anger, zero resentment, zero regret, zero shame. I write these words with a heart that feels compassion toward the one who hurt me more than I ever dreamed possible. I write this from a life that longs to show others the beauty of living a life of forgiveness because it brings us closer to the Lord. Forgiveness isn't even between me and the one who hurt me; it's between me and Jesus. The one who forgave me commands that I do the same. And I promise you that He never asks me to forgive more than I've been forgiven. He won't for you either. </p><p>Today I am free. I'm free of shame. I'm free of rage. I'm free of depression. I'm free of the chains that held me in bondage. I'm free of hurt. I am free to love, and love I do! I am free to live without fear. I am free to walk with my head held high, unashamed of who I am. I am free to believe the Truth of who Christ says I am- chosen, loved, adopted into his family, sealed with his grace, purposed by him, and so much more. I am free to trust others and myself. I am free to use my gifts for good in this world. I am free to try new things. I am free to fail and try again. I am free to love like Jesus in this world. </p><p>I don't spend a lot of time thinking about that day anymore (thank you Lord!). But on days like today, I <i>choose </i>to remember. Remembering doesn't make me a victim again; it simply reminds me of how far the Lord has brought me. I remember so I can acknowledge how great God's healing has been on my life. I remember so I can be reminded of the chains I once wore that are now broken. </p><p>And then I move on. Remembering is just memories. And memories can't hurt me; they're just memories. In remembering I acknowledge the scars I carry internally and the healing those scars prove.<i><b> I love those scars. They represent so much grace and mercy and healing. They represent freedom to me.</b></i> </p><p>My guess is that you have some scars too. Probably you have some like me, inflicted my others. Perhaps you have some self-inflicted scars. Let me remind you that scars are a sign of healing. And forgiveness is how I learned to realize that truth. Maybe, just maybe, the same is for you. </p><p>Maybe the world needs to see your scars. I am so very grateful that showing my scars have allowed me the honor of walking through the journey to healing with so many others who've endured sexual assault. Maybe someone needs to see the scars you carry to know they aren't alone either. Maybe someone needs to see healing is possible, and your story is the one to tell them that truth. </p><p>If you are reading this as a fellow survivor of sexual assault and feel like you're alone in this world, let me assure you that you do not have to walk alone. I'd be most honored to walk with you to healing. If you don't believe that healing is possible, I'll believe it for the both of us until you're ready. If you need help connecting to a counselor, I'd be happy to help you find one. But whatever you do, don't stay silent. Silence is the enemy of healing. And you're worth so much more. </p><p>Today, I celebrate Freedom. All praise be to God! </p><p>H~</p><p><br /></p><p><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span><span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></p>Bird's Wordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18172896311469204163noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1090538454632395885.post-124578026601158412020-06-02T16:34:00.001-07:002020-06-02T16:34:15.374-07:00My thoughts on racial equalityIt's been nearly 11 years since we brought our daughter home from Ethiopia. I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I had no idea what racism really looked like until she was ours. I naively thought that everyone who loved us would love her, or at the very least that everyone who accepted us without question would do the same for her. She had been with us for less than a month when we encountered our first episode of racism. A little girl in the grocery store called her a monkey, to which her dad responded, "That's not a monkey, that's a n*****, and we don't even look at those". I was appalled, to say the least. I'll admit that I didn't say a lot other than "Don't ever say that. This is my daughter". I didn't know what else to say. I was not prepared. I failed.<br />
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Fast forward a few years, and an older man spit on her in a store. When I approached him, he said "I don't like her kind". I won't go into that story here further for the sake of time. But just let yourself for a moment go there: <b>A grown man spitting on the back on a child</b>.<br />
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There were kids at school who told others not to play with her because she was black, kids who said they didn't want to be friends with a black girl. There have been adults who've questioned "Why would you go get a black kid from another country when there are plenty of white kids here in the USA who need a home?" We've heard it all.<br />
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Two years ago when we made the move to our current city, we were excited to be in a place with more diversity. Until then, Ellie had been one of just a few black kids in her school or church. We wanted her to be surrounded by more people who looked like her. Our church here is full of people of all ethnicities, and that's been great for our family, Ellie in particular. Her school here was a rainbow of colors of children, and we were excited. Again, I was naive in thinking that we'd maybe not see as much racism in a place as diverse as we are now. I was wrong again.<br />
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I got a call one day from her principal telling me that there had been an "incident" where a kid had posted a mean picture of Ellie on Instagram with her face "X'd" out. Ellie's friends had seen it and told parents or adults (Ellie didn't have a phone at the time, so she hadn't even seen it herself). The principal said it had been done on a school account and they were taking care of it. When we picked her up that afternoon, it was obvious that this was so much more. We walked inside to talk to the principal after Ellie burst into tears as soon as she got into the car. What we discovered was that someone had hacked into a friend's account (we had evidence of that) and posted not only pictures of Ellie with her face marked out, but had made some gross racial and sexual remarks about her, then ended with a threat to end her life. This was way more than simple girl drama. This was criminal. Reading the screenshots that the principal had that day made me sick to my stomach. The thought that someone had made a threat of violence against my daughter simply because of her skin tone was something I could not grasp.<br />
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Law enforcement was called, both within the school and by us personally. The officer quickly was able to question some students that he knew personally and knew the child who was responsible, but the school's attorney blocked the police's ability to get information because it had all happened on school accounts. It's a long story that I won't go into here, but I can't help but wonder if things would have been different if my daughter were a white child that had been threatened by a black child. Where was the justice for my daughter in this? The officer was wonderful to work with and expressed his grief over the fact that his hands were tied. Thankfully the student moved away, and we were able to at least know that Ellie was safe.<br />
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In all of this, Ellie's response was simple: "I wonder how bad her life must be to want to hurt someone she doesn't even really know. That just doesn't make sense".<br />
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Y'all, I don't have adequate words to express how my then 12 year old daughter's words changed my heart. Not even a teenager, she had already learned something a lot of us could use today. She had learned the gift of empathy. You see, while she was not AT ALL condoning the wrong done to her, she was able to see a different side. She was trying to understand a perspective different than her own. Ellie was <i>practicing</i> empathy.<br />
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Please hear me out. The ONLY PERSPECTIVE ABOUT RACISM IS THAT IT IS WRONG. I'll say that again in case you misunderstood. ALL RACISM IS WRONG AND THAT'S THE ONLY PERSPECTIVE WE CAN HAVE ABOUT IT.<br />
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Lately, my social media feed is filled with posts and articles about the looting and rioting happening in our world. I get it. Seriously. I don't agree with violence of any sort. I am pro-life from womb to the tomb, so I can't get behind the violence happening. However, it is my own opinion that posts like this are taking away from the heart that started the protests to begin with.<br />
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Just like Ellie was able to see that a kid had likely had so much trauma in her life that she'd respond in a way that was hurtful and unacceptable, maybe we need to give space for some understanding that our brothers and sisters who are black have gone through so much pain and trauma that they too are crying out now. And sometimes that crying out may not look exactly like you and I would do it. It may not sound the same.<br />
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BUT CAN WE AGREE TO TRY AND HAVE SOME EMPATHY AND SIMPLY LISTEN TO THE HEART BEHIND IT ALL? CAN WE GIVE ENOUGH DIGNITY TO PEOPLE TO STOP FOCUSING ON WHAT HAS USURPED THEIR POINT AND GET TO HEARING THEIR HEARTS?<br />
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Our family marched in a peaceful protest this past weekend. It was awkward, and admittedly uncomfortable for me. I had never marched before. The chanting felt awkward, not like me. But I think I was SUPPOSED to feel awkward and uncomfortable. My life has been easy; I haven't had to worry if it's safe for me to run in the neighborhood or walk out of a store or get pulled over for a traffic stop.<br />
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But my daughter will grow up with those concerns.<br />
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She will have to worry that even though she may be the best candidate for the job, her skin color may keep her from being hired. She will have to concern herself with the fact that the white boy she has a crush on has parents who won't "allow" him to like a black girl or ask her to the dance. She will have to worry about being followed in a store by employees who think the black kid is probably trying to shoplift when her white friends won't have that same kind of scrutiny. She will have to worry about a speeding ticket turning into a fight for her life.<br />
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So, I'm trying to have some empathy today and in my life overall, for people who are hurting in ways that I can't begin to understand. I'm trying to remember that it's not about me or how comfortable I feel in this situation. I'm trying to remember that we don't have to agree on every single thing to still stand on the same side of justice and liberty for ALL. I'm trying to remember that this is a new fight for many of my white friends who have never experienced racism personally. I'm trying to remember that people all around me are hurting, and I want to be an agent of change for them and for this world. I believe that as a follower of Jesus, that is what I'm called to do.<br />
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A few days ago, I reached out to some of my black friends and asked if I could just listen to their hearts in this. I asked what it is that they would love to see from me. And I've had a few of my white friends reach out to me and ask "what is it that you need as a mom of a black child?". Let me share some ways we might grow our empathy for our black friends, how we can join together with them in unity.<br />
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1. <b>Listen</b>. Try to empathize and understand a perspective that isn't your own. Don't try to change the narrative. Let people say "Black lives matter" without changing it to "all lives matter". I heard it said that if your house was on fire, you wouldn't want the fire truck to come to all houses on your street but to yours. Think about that. Let's put the emphasis where the need is right now. Saying Black Lives Matter does not take away from anyone else at all. It never has. Listen to that narrative.<br />
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2. <b>Have hard discussions</b>. If you see racism, call it out. And call it out immediately. That doesn't mean posting on social media. It means one on one talks with the people in our lives.<br />
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3. <b>If you have kids who are friends with black children (please please if your kids are friends with my girl!!), tell them to watch out for their black friends</b>. If they hear other kids saying racist things, tell them to speak up to an adult. If they see racist posts on social media, tell them to get a screen shot immediately then tell the parents or teachers. This one act likely saved our daughter from more immense hurt, and possibly even a dangerous threat to her safety.<br />
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4. I<b>f you are a follower of Jesus, make racial unity a matter of prayer</b>I. Prayer does change things.<br />
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5. <b>Look for ways to get involved</b>. March with your black brothers and sisters. Do it peacefully. But do it. Give to organizations that are trying to make a difference. If you need ideas for that, contact me.<br />
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I believe in a world where my daughter and all those who look like her will be accepted because of who they are. I have to believe in that. And I will fight for that day to come. She is worth it. All people of color are worth it. Because Black lives DO matter.Bird's Wordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18172896311469204163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1090538454632395885.post-81797407531842530422020-04-24T13:41:00.000-07:002020-04-24T13:41:31.658-07:0030 years<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Thirty years is a long time. No doubt about that. It's true that it really does fly by, but that doesn't take away from the fact that it's still a long time. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Thirty years ago this weekend, I was raped. Most days it feels like 30 years, and it honestly never crosses my mind. I'm thankful for that grace. But the truth is that if I do stop and think about it, I can still recall every single moment of that event. I can still smell the smells and hear the words and recall the fear. Our minds are crazy like that. We are hard-wired to remember. It's how we are created. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i>But remembering does not equal experiencing.</i> That's important. I can remember and not be taken back to the hurt. I can remember and yet not be a victim anymore. I can remember and not be defeated. In fact, it's in the remembering that I have found the most victory. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Remembering increases my gratitude for the fact that I not only survived, but I have thrived. Remembering makes me more compassionate toward others who have experienced trauma. Remembering makes me more aware of the dangers of this world, but also makes me more aware of the beauty. Remembering makes me real, authentic. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I've heard many people over the years tell me "I just want to forget" when talking about trauma or hurtful things they've experienced. I get that. Truly I do. I felt that myself for a long time. And yet, trying to forget is futile. It's not possible. We can stuff it down and ignore it for a season, but eventually everything is going to come out. And usually, when we've tried stuffing our memories and feelings, the way it comes out is not healthy. But when we embrace the memories and sit with them, we can start to see that they have no hold over us anymore. And more importantly than that, we can start to see where the Lord can actually bring good from our deepest hurts. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Yes, I said good. What good can come from rape, you ask? Well, let me tell you. My rape has led to plenty of good in my life. For one, it's given me a platform to relate to a world that is hurting. No, not everyone is hurting because they've been raped or assaulted, but everyone hurts in some way. And because I've walked through some serious hurt, I can relate. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">It's also led to some incredible friendships with people. When you have similar stories, you can really relate in a special way. I have so many deep friendships because of the shared experience of sexual trauma. I'm eternally grateful for those ladies in my life. I'm not sure I'd have the full healing I have if it weren't for some of you. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Rape has made me brave. Seriously. If I can get through this, I can get through anything. Sometimes I look in the mirror when I'm walking through a difficult season or even just a bad day, and I think, "you survived a rape. This day has nothing on you". But it's also made me more brave to put myself out there and tell my story. One thing is certain: I am not alone in this journey. Statistics will tell you that 1 out of every 4 women have experienced sexual abuse or assault in the US. So, I'm not walking this road alone. And yet, when you're walking it, that's just how you feel. Alone. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Sexual trauma has a way of cloaking you in shame. You can say to yourself all you want, "I'd never feel ashamed over something I didn't do", but until you've walked it, you'd be wrong in assuming that. Shame is a natural response to rape, and I wore it like a prized possession for longer than I ever want to recall. It ate away at my very soul, trying to destroy me completely. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">But God....</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">God took what was shattered and made it my mission. He took was what broken and made it whole again. He took what I thought could never be redeemed and gave me a ministry to other ladies who've walked this journey. He took the scars that I have and made them memories of how far He's brought me, how much He has restored. He took what was meant to harm me and made it for good (Genesis 50:20). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Let me say this, on this 30th anniversary of my assault. There was a time when I thought this thing would beat me, would be the reason I chose not to continue living, the reason I'd never be worthy of a husband, the reason I'd never have children, the reason I'd never have joy again. There was a time when I let rape define ALL of who I was. There was a time when I chose to walk around in that cloak of shame as if I had no other option. </span></div>
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<i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>But that time is no more</b></i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">. Today, I can remember and rejoice- not because I was raped, but because <i>I LIVE.</i> I can rejoice not because I felt shame, but because I now <i>FEEL FREEDOM</i>. I can rejoice not because I experienced the bondage of refusing to forgive, but because I now feel the <i>HOPE</i> of letting go and letting God fight that battle for me. I can rejoice, not because I'm defined as a rape victim but as a <i>CHILD OF GOD</i>, fearfully and wonderfully made and loved wholly. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Friend, if your story involves sexual trauma (abuse, rape, assault, violence, or anything else!), let me assure you that healing is possible, and it's for you too. I remember today, and I may even grieve a little over what I lost that day long ago. But I'll also remember what I've gained, and I'll celebrate that forever. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">If you need help dealing with trauma, please reach out. If you need help getting connected to a counselor, please contact me! If you just need a friend to walk the journey with you, I'd be honored to be that friend! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Peace and joy to you! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Happy 30 years to me! </span></div>
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Bird's Wordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18172896311469204163noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1090538454632395885.post-81807913107761565242020-02-20T13:42:00.001-08:002020-02-20T13:42:28.525-08:00It's real. It's really real<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I went to a nail salon today. It's not a typical thing for me, but I had a free morning so I thought I'd take the opportunity. I really like this salon. The Vietnamese girl who owns the place is so sweet and always provides great conversation. Today was no different. We chatted about a recent trip to Vietnam she had made and about different news stories that were playing on television as she worked. An older lady came in and sat next to me, starting up a cheerful conversation as well. </span><div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The news aired a story that shook me. In Las Vegas, a kindergartner came home to tell her mom of a new "game" her teacher had played with the class. She said it was "kind of like duck duck goose, but different". The game was called "Hunter Chase the Slave" and the little girl went on to say that you could have a gun or dogs or whips if you catch your slave. I was appalled. In the story, the little girl's mother, a black woman herself, was interviewed and explained her horror at this being played with children at her school. She met with the school principal who immediately took action (the teacher was removed from the classroom pending a full investigation). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the salon, we talked about the story. I'll admit I didn't say anything for a moment, as I was trying to hold back tears at the thought of such a horrific thing. My nail tech said, "What was that teacher thinking?" The lady beside me then sighed heavily and said, "Well, here we go again. Another story of a black lady just wanting people to feel sorry for her so she can get something for free or her five minutes of fame". She went on to say "It's crazy that people actually try to get us to believe that racism is still real. This is not slave days anymore. Do they think we're stupid?". I was completely shocked at that point, and stated, "I disagree. Racism is real. I'm looking at it and hearing it right in front of my face in this very moment". </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She was defiant and angry at that. How dare I suggest that she was racist? And so I told her that I was the mom of a beautiful black daughter who had endured racism personally. I explained to her that I knew it was real because we had experienced it. My voice faltered a little as I spoke, and she chuckled that I was "actually convinced this was real". </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Last year, while a 6th grader, our daughter was victimized via social media. Another student, using an account at the school, posted pictures of our daughter with her face "X"'ed out and statements about how ugly she was. They also posted vile and graphic statements, both racial and sexual in nature about her, and finally they ended with a statement about how they wanted her dead. Not everything that was said about her was racial in content, but enough of it was. And it was so hurtful. Thankfully, Ellie did not have social media at the time and thus did not see all of the posts. Some of her friends saw and reported it to their parents and teachers (Thank you students for handling that so beautifully!). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I won't go into details about the case, but law enforcement had to be involved as a threat was made to her life via a school account. And I'll tell you that the school swept it under the rug and caused a great difficulty for law enforcement to even investigate fully. In the end though, we were sure of who the culprit was, and that student has moved out of state. But the hurt remains. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In all of this (as in instances in previous years), Ellie remained loving, graceful, compassionate, forgiving, and altogether heroic. I wanted to rip someone's eyes out of their head, if I'm blatantly honest. I was angry. But Ellie simply said, "How bad must someone's life be to want to hurt me like that, mom?". Geez. Talk about putting me in my place! Ellie taught me in that moment a couple of things. 1. We can't fight injustice with just anger. Love must be our weapon. And y'all, that girl is FILLED with love. It oozes from her. 2. My being angry didn't change things; My actions could. Jeff and I worked with law enforcement, and when given the opportunity, we were able to speak to the principal about our disappointment in how things were handled on her part and how she could do it differently in the future. BECAUSE IT WILL HAPPEN AGAIN. That's a guarantee. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've looked for where I'm supposed to speak into these issues. I am convinced that we've walked through this experience and others in previous years for a purpose. We have a voice. And today, that voice was needed to speak TRUTH to a lady in a lofty position of whiteness and arrogance and ignorance that racism is still very real. It hurts and destroys and maligns, and if left unanswered it spreads like a cancer. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have come to believe that a big part of what's wrong in this world is that we refuse to acknowledge and believe each other's stories. If that lady today had been willing to just listen to our story, maybe she could have seen something different than her current belief. And don't get me wrong: I've been guilty too of not hearing people out. But y'all, when we take the time to really listen, we hear the heart of a person. And that's where change happens The people in my life who are the least like me are so very dear to me because we've taken the time to hear one another's hearts. That changes things. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, who do you need to listen to today? What is it you've been refusing to acknowledge as truth because you haven't experienced it yourself? How can you make a change in the direction of understanding and empathy today? Perhaps if we each take one small step toward each other every day, we can truly come together eventually. </span></div>
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Bird's Wordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18172896311469204163noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1090538454632395885.post-41883107090734394312019-08-08T06:19:00.000-07:002019-08-08T06:19:43.727-07:0026 years<br />
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26 years ago yesterday, we said "I do". It's been one heck of a ride, and I can't imagine a better roller coaster partner than my man. So... in honor of 26 years, here's 26 reasons I still do....<br />
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1. He says "I love you" with words and actions.<br />
2. He always keeps his word.<br />
3. He cleans the kitchen after I cook dinner. <i>Every. Single. Night.</i><br />
4. He has fun <b>with </b>me, but never fun at my expense.<br />
5. He still opens the doors for me. All of them. Every time.<br />
6. He has laundry folding parties with me.<br />
7. We are still honeymooning. Yep, that's exactly what I mean.<br />
8. He goes along with my wild ideas, particularly with decorating.<br />
9. He hears my dreams and makes them happen.<br />
10. He never lies to make me feel better. He's honest with me always.<br />
11. He knows I'm a strong woman, but still takes care of me as if I needed it.<br />
12. He does the bills and gives me a "report" of where we are financially. It's not because he thinks I'm too dumb to do it. He just knows I hate doing it, but wants to make sure we are on the same page.<br />
13. He calls me "Bird".<br />
14. He's the best human I know. Seriously. The VERY BEST HUMAN EVER.<br />
15. He made me my farm table, then helped me find a house that it would fit in when we moved.<br />
16. He cries with me.<br />
17. He holds my hand.<br />
18. He dates me.<br />
19. He writes me love letters.<br />
20. He is the best dad around, and teaches me how to parent well.<br />
21. He is interested in the things I enjoy.<br />
22. He is my #1 fan in everything.<br />
23. He tells me I don't look like a hooker when I'm wondering if my outfit is ok.<br />
24. He sends me texts throughout the day just to tell me he's thinking about me.<br />
25. He takes care of himself physically so that we can live a long life together.<br />
26. He's all mine, every day of every year. And it just keeps getting better.<br />
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Love you, Jeff. Here's to the rest of our years together! I will always choose you.<br />
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<br />Bird's Wordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18172896311469204163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1090538454632395885.post-19935178458655964152019-04-17T11:44:00.002-07:002019-04-17T11:45:47.076-07:00Thoughts on Holy Week...<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: "Lucida Grande"; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">We are in the midst of Holy Week, the most significant week ever for those of us who profess to follow Jesus. I’ve been a follower of Jesus for 28 years now, and I have been in church my entire life, so suffice it to say that I’ve had a lot of Holy Week teaching in my years. But if I’m brutally honest, a lot of it has just skimmed the surface of my heart. Sure, I know all the right things to say. I know that the week signifies when Jesus entered Jerusalem riding a donkey just as the prophecies foretold. I know that he cleared the temple when he found money changers cheating people. I know that Jesus went to the Mount of Olives. I know Judas Iscariot made negotiations to betray Jesus. I know about the Last Supper with his disciples and how he washed the feet of those men that night. I know how Jesus went to the Garden of Gethsemane to pray, and it was there that Judas betrayed him with a kiss. I know Jesus was taken to Caiaphas, the High Priest, where the Pharisees began to make their case against him. I know that he was eventually sentenced to death on the cross- a horrific and torturous death. I know about the nails and the crown of thorns. I know how he breathed his last breath, then was buried in a borrowed tomb, and three days later arose from the dead just as He proclaimed he would. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Chances are, you’ve heard the story as well. And that’s precisely the problem.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">We still think of it as just a story. We treat it as a made-up story with tragedy and a fairy tale ending, and we miss out on the heart of it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I’m experiencing Holy Week differently this year. I’m trying to sit with the reality of what happened during this week all those years ago and how it’s still so real and beautiful and transforming today. I’m trying to grasp the GRACE of Holy Week. Too often, we miss this part. We are too busy trading the Cross for Easter baskets full of eggs and candy, and trading the crown of thorns for frilly dresses and bonnets. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Please don’t hear me say that I’m a hater of Easter traditions. If that’s all you hear from this writing, you’ve missed my point entirely. I’m just saying that I’ve been guilty in the past of focusing on the outward and man-made traditions of Easter that I miss the holiness. I don’t want to be guilty of allowing a bunny or dresses or baskets or honey-baked ham or “Up From the Grave He Arose” be what is worshipped instead of a Savior who <b>gave himself up out of obedience to the Father for the atonement of sin once and for all. </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">When I think of Easter, I think of healing. Isaiah 53:5 tells us that “by his stripes we are healed”. It’s true. The work is already done; the healing is ours for the taking. It seems too simple, doesn’t it? I get that. But let me tell you this: </span><span style="font-kerning: none; text-decoration: underline;"><b>I have experienced His healing- physically, spiritually and emotionally. I KNOW it’s real. </b></span><span style="font-kerning: none;">My life is a living testimony of the healing power of Jesus. And Easter is what made it possible. When Jesus died on that cross, it was because he was being obedient to his father to carry the sin of the world on himself. He who knew no sin bore ours. But if the story ended there, that’s not Easter. You see, Jesus defeated death when three days after he was crucified, he rose again to life. No other god of any religion can say they worship a living God. The same power that resurrected Jesus from the tomb can resurrect a marriage that is dead, a relationship that has lost its life, an addiction that is killing you slowly, a mind that tells you that you’ll never be ok. You have healing, and I have healing, because Jesus is alive. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">But Easter also makes me think of redemption. Sometimes life hands us things we’d rather not hold. Sometimes we find ourselves facing situations that seem daunting, impossible even. And there are days when we feel the air has been sucked out of the room, and we are just struggling to survive. And it’s in those times when the redemptive power of Easter is alive. Just as the resurrected body of Jesus was restored to fullness, we are too. When we surrender to him, all the broken pieces of our hearts and lives are redeemed. We find purpose in our pain, ministry in our messy-ness, testimonies that point to the power of a loving God who restores. We find that our scars tell a story of his power, emphasized in our weakness. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Friends, Easter is real. And it’s not a bunny or painted eggs or pastel dresses and pictures in front of the freshly planted flower beds. It’s a bloody Savior, broken body on display for a crowd who hurled insults at him. It’s a council of Religious leaders that preferred to kill an innocent man than admit they were wrong about their teachings and religious practices. It’s a mother watching her son die in agony. It’s the Messiah, feeling the weight of humanity’s sin and feeling separated from His Father for the first time ever. It’s darkness, death and destruction.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">But it’s also light bursting forth from the tomb when death was defeated forever. It’s victory when Jesus said, “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do”. It’s beauty of obedience even to death. It’s LIFE arising from death. It’s <b>PURPOSE</b>. It’s <b>HOPE</b>. It’s <b>GRACE</b>. It’s <b>HOLINESS</b>. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none; text-decoration: underline;"><b>And it’s ours.</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">May the reality of Easter envelop your heart this week. If you don’t know this Savior Jesus, I’d love to introduce you. </span></div>
Bird's Wordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18172896311469204163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1090538454632395885.post-88582961208143809172019-01-21T08:49:00.000-08:002019-01-21T08:49:24.056-08:007 Years...<br />
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It's been 7 years, but I can remember it like it was 7 hours ago. I sat at the kitchen table with my son, going over his homeschool assignments for the day As I looked over his work, I asked him a simple question without ever looking up. He didn't answer me. When I looked up, I didn't see defiance or a sullen teen who simply wasn't answering his mom. I saw defeat, deep sadness, hopelessness. I saw tears running down his face. Something was not right. And then I heard these words, "Mom, I'm not ok. I need help".<br />
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Those words began a journey that saved my son's life. He was in a deep depression, and told us later that he had a suicide plan he intended to carry out. That day, something within him fought for help, and he put aside his pride, fear, and doubt, and let it out. To say I'm thankful for his cry for help seems so small.<br />
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What I'm thankful for is a son who is about to turn 23, who smiles and laughs and is pursuing his dream. What I'm thankful for is the opportunity to watch him heal, to watch him learn to love life again, to watch him love others fiercely who have walked or are walking through this kind of pain. I'm immensely thankful for the chance to hear him play the drums, to hug his sweaty neck, to hear his heart about the things he's passionate about. I'm thankful to pick up my phone and see a text from him saying "I love you mom". I'm thankful, alright. My heart is overjoyed that I can celebrate today as an anniversary of the greatness of God who brought healing to my son rather than the anniversary of the day we lost him.<br />
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Let that sink in. It isn't lost on me that today could hold such vastly different emotions for us as parents. Today we could be reminiscing on a life that was, and instead we have the joy of celebrating a life that IS.<br />
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I'm so proud that my son made a man's decision that day- to fight against the idea that 'real men don't cry' or that it's weak to ask for help. He made a plea that day, and because of it, he's alive today- thriving in his dream of pursuing his music, in love with a beautiful young lady, and surrounded by family and friends who love him like crazy.<br />
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Bryan, I'm so glad you made that choice 7 years ago. I'm so thankful to see how far you've come. I'm proud of how you are there to help others walking through depression and suicidal thoughts because you get it. I'm proud to call you mine, and I'm forever grateful to God for allowing me the blessing of being your mom.<br />
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If you're reading this and struggling with depression and suicidal thoughts today, please don't wait to ask for help. You're worth it.Bird's Wordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18172896311469204163noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1090538454632395885.post-12254035560773543822018-08-22T08:51:00.000-07:002018-08-22T11:40:18.829-07:00Fearless<div style="text-align: left;">
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">When I was a little girl, my brother used to tell me there was someone or some<i>thing </i>hiding in the closet. It was an effective way to get me to be quiet for sure, and perhaps that’s why he did it. Suffice it to say, I was scared of what may come creeping out of that dark closet. As I grew, I began to understand that there was nothing to be scared of in between the clothes and toys, and that sometimes brothers are just mean to younger sisters (believe me, I’m sure I deserved it!)</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">As I got older, fear of dark closets was replaced by a fear of bees, wasps and really anything that flew around and buzzed. My neighbor, Charlie, amazed me at his ability (AND DESIRE!) to hold a wasp in his bare hands without ever getting stung. I vividly remember asking him to do it again and again. I thought he was one of the bravest people around for that stunt. Today, I kinda just think he was nuts!</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">When I got to college one of my biggest fears was spiders. Ok, I’m <i>still</i> afraid of spiders. My first year of college, I went on a date with a guy I met at school. We were both from Louisville and home on the same weekend, so we made plans to go out. He asked me over to his house to meet his family, then had plans for a movie. I met his folks and they left for the evening, so he and I were hanging out until time for our movie. I was standing in his hallway looking at family pics and trophies from his younger days when I felt something on my shoulder. I thought he had just tapped me, so imagine my shock when I looked to find a <b>GIGANTIC TARANTULA</b> on my shoulder! </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">We spent the next hour doing my laundry in his house after I showered and borrowed a pair of his sweatpants. No movie that night.. or any night after that. (My momma didn't raise a fool)</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Fear is a funny thing (or not), isn’t it? I have an aunt who is crazy fearful of cats. I know people whose lives are crushed by the fear of being in a crowd. My daughter has a fear of dogs that prevents us from going to houses with dogs unless she is 100% sure they are put up. It’s an understandable fear for her, but it disrupts her ability to be with people sometimes. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">That’s what fear does; it disrupts. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Two years ago when I prayed about what my word for the year would be, I felt the Lord tell me “fearless”. I embraced it. That year, among other things, I put on a bee suit and worked with a friend who has beehives, actually finding the queen in the midst of hives! I started thinking in terms of “conquering fears”, and it felt good. Really good. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">In December of 2017, I felt the Lord telling me to keep that same word for 2018. It didn’t make any sense to me. I’ve never kept the same word two years in a row, and I couldn’t understand what the Lord was doing. I thought I had done well with embracing fearlessness in 2017. Was the Lord telling me that I hadn’t done well after all? What was up? But whatever the reasoning, I knew He was telling me “Fearless is your word. Trust me”. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><i>Little did I know what was coming. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">We were in the midst of making some awesome plans for an anniversary trip to Hawaii, and I decided that getting in a shark cage would fit in perfectly with my “fearless” year. So, I found a place, and we made reservations. And I assumed that was that; I’d prove my fearlessness in a cage surrounded by sharks. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">But God had other plans. He began to move in our hearts as we prayed in January “God, are we where you want us to be?”. For 19 years, He’d answered that prayer with “yes. You are in Richmond KY where I want to use you”. And it was good. So very good. But in January of this year, He began to stir in us that there was something else, <i>someplace else.</i> And so we prayed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"> Little did I know how much a simple text from one of the pastors at Hillvue Heights Church would change my life and challenge all I had learned about what it means to be fearless. This church was asking for Jeff to come to Bowling Green KY to serve on staff. Not only were we talking about a move across the state, but we were talking about Jeff going back to church staff! <b>I was afraid</b>. Our lives were comfortable, and I had loved the past 6 years of Jeff serving in ministry outside of a church staff. What if things weren’t as good and as comfortable? (this cracks me up now. Following Jesus isn’t supposed to be comfortable!!) What if the church didn’t like me? What if the church expected me to have the same gifts that Jeff has? What if Ellie didn’t make friends? What if I didn’t make any friends? What if we never met anyone else who would play Settlers of Catan?? What if BG didn’t have a good coffee shop? (ok, they don’t have a Purdy’s, but I digress) What if there was no place for me there? What if I lost myself in this move and crashed into depression and resentment that I’d followed Jeff somewhere and was left without anything? </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Fear had crept in. It was crippling me, if I’m honest. We obeyed the call that we KNEW was from the Lord. And we showed up in Bowling Green with a suitcase and some toiletries and nothing more because our house hadn’t sold yet. We walked into the church that first week, and I was terrified. It had been almost 20 years since I’d walked into a church where I didn’t know almost everyone. </span><span style="font-kerning: none; text-decoration: underline;"><b>And the Lord met me there</b></span><span style="font-kerning: none;">. As the music started, I heard His sweet whisper saying “thank you for obeying. It’s going to be an incredible ride”. When waves of fear crept up, I could literally feel him crushing them back down with a simple “I’m in control; I’ve got this. You can trust me”. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">And I can. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">And so can you. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Don’t get me wrong; I don’t have this down yet. I still feel the fear sneaking in sometimes. In the stillness of the night, as I’m laying in bed, I still feel the lump rise in my throat, and more times that I like to admit, the tears roll down my cheeks, and I just cry into Jeff’s shoulder. But I’m finding more and more that those tears are for homesickness and not fear. And for that I’m so very grateful. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><u>I don’t know about you. I don’t know what fears you’re wrestling with. Maybe you’ve been called somewhere new. Maybe you’ve been called away from a job you know and love well. Maybe you’re being called back into the workforce after a time away, and it terrifies you to think about that. Maybe you look at your bank account and wonder how it will ever be enough, and you feel the fingertips of fear around your throat, threatening to choke you. Perhaps the doctor has looked at you with sadness and regret at having to tell you the bad news of a diagnosis that you never wanted to hear, and you feel the smothering cloth of fear covering your mouth to suffocate you. Maybe you’re watching with trembling as your children make decisions that could have devastating consequences on their lives, and you feel the grip of fear rise out of the depths of water to pull you under. I don’t know your story. </u></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><b><i>But I know my God. And He is able. </i></b></span></div>
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He is able to conquer my fear and yours, my friend. He is able to destroy the walls that fear builds around your heart. He is able to crush the mountain of doubt and terror that stands in front of you and seems impossible to get over or around. He is able to navigate the path out of fearfulness that is hidden by the overgrowth of fear and unbelief. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">“The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid? When the wicked advance against me to devour me, it is my enemies and my foes who stumble and fall Though an army besiege me, my heart will not fail. Though war break out against me, even then will I be confident”. (Psalm 27:1-3)</span></div>
Bird's Wordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18172896311469204163noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1090538454632395885.post-84307513240366334632018-08-15T11:39:00.000-07:002018-08-15T13:42:37.204-07:00Lessons from the lotus flower...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="s1">When we were in Hawaii recently, I saw may beautiful things (duh), not the least of which were the gorgeous flowers around the islands. The smells were incredible, so sweet and strong. But one of my favorites was the lotus (I believe some in Hawaii call it the water lily as well). I’ve been thinking about that flower a lot, as I’ve recently done some reading about it. And then last week, a friend sent me some gorgeous photos of lotus flowers she had just taken, and I knew I had to write out some thoughts.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">It’s no secret that life has been a bit “hectic” for us lately (hello, captain obvious!). Three weeks ago, we moved to a new city, new church, new school, new <i>everything</i>. We left behind a life that we absolutely loved. I have done my fair share of grieving these past few weeks. But amid that sadness and homesickness, the Lord is using the lotus flower to teach me some pretty incredible things.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">The lotus flower will only grow in the mud. It lies buried under the water until sunlight comes in the morning, and the plant rises through the mud and the pond water and ultimately blooms into a beautiful pink or white flower. It’s not hindered by the mud and water around and over it; in fact, it THRIVES on those things. When the sun goes down, the flower closes and the stalk sinks back under the water for the night, only to rise again the next day.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Maybe you see where I’m going here. I’ve discovered that I really don’t embrace change as much as I thought I would because it’s terribly uncomfortable and well, if I’m honest, I’d prefer to live in my comfort any day of the year. But beauty doesn’t often come from comfort, does it? In my life, I’ve come to see that the most beautiful things I have are those which came through pain, trials, effort, tears, sweat, fervent prayers, aches, work, waiting… Things like a marriage that has endured the ups and downs of life and is thriving. Things like children born through pain, given through hardship, and loved fiercely through the fires of life. Things like confidence in who I am because I’ve walked through the murky waters of self-doubt and fear. Or the beauty of true JOY because I know what it’s like to walk through sadness and depression and not wanting to be here anymore.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I can celebrate joy of knowing I’m seen and loved wholly as I am because I’ve thrown off the cloak of shame over my life.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">The “mud” in our lives often leads to the most beautiful things we could imagine. And yet, time and time again I would choose not to walk through it. It’s hard to walk through mud, isn’t it? Literally and figuratively, it’s just hard. It requires effort and strength. Sometimes we feel like we just don’t have it within us to get through that mud, don’t we? Well, I’m sorry to burst any bubbles here, but we don’t. On our own, we can’t do it. It’s just not possible in our strength.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">My God is so faithful. Just as he raises the lotus flower, he raises me. Just as he made that beautiful flower to flourish in the mud and murkiness of the pond water, he has made me flourish amid the “muddy” and “murky” things in my life. </span><span class="s2">And he has made you that way too</span><span class="s1">. His strength provides the means to rise above what could hinder us in life. His love provides the ability to hold our heads above the water and bloom where we are- even if that happens to be in the middle of a dirty pond. His sacrifice on the cross allows us to see this life with eternal perspective, knowing that what we are enduring is just for a little while- the morning will come, and we will rise to bloom again.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">So, if you’re like me right now and find yourself in a season of uncertainty- if you’re just not quite sure of why God has planted you where you are, and if you’re wondering if he has forgotten to reveal his purpose to you, HOLD ON. The morning is coming, and just like the lotus flower, he will lift us up out of the waters and make us bloom. Our lives will give off the sweet smell of a God who loves us wholly and eternally and perfectly. No storm can rip us from his grip. No trial can imprison us from his will. No chains can hold us down. No doubts can erase his purpose and plan for us.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">In a season of uncertainty, I’m so very grateful to know that I am in my Father’s steady arms. I know this because I am his adopted daughter, one of his very own children. If you don’t know that for yourself, I’d sure love to tell you more about it. God is for you, my friend. He loves you with an everlasting love. You can trust him.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Go bloom, friends. I’m praying for you today…</span><br />
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<span class="s1">Photo Credit: Shannon Wyatt</span></div>
<br />Bird's Wordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18172896311469204163noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1090538454632395885.post-1065930728076260872018-04-26T06:49:00.001-07:002018-04-26T06:53:40.826-07:0028 years...<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px;"><i>“Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the over wrought heart and bids it break.” </i>(William Shakespeare, Macbeth)</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px;"> It's been 28 years today</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px;">336 months</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px;"> 14</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px;">60 weeks</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px;"> 10,220 days</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px;"> 245,280 hours</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px;">Suffice it to say, it's been a long time since I was raped in the parking lot of my high school. Today's weather is remarkably similar, a slight chill in the air but sunny nonetheless. I'm listening to a bird sing outside my window right now, and I can actually remember hearing the same thing the morning I was raped as I walked out of my house to go to school. Little did I know how that night would end. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px;">If I sit here long enough, I could likely detail every moment of that day...the test I took in Mr. Weidmar's class, the songs we played in jazz band, the clothes I was wearing that day...all of it. And yes, I can recall every detail of the act of rape itself, even after 28 years. If I allow myself to dwell on those memories, I can get to a really dark place. Just because time has passed, don't think that the hurt isn't still there. It is, and it's raw and gnawing. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px;">In years past, I've approached this day with more joy, feeling grateful for my healing and so thankful for how the Lord has restored me completely. I've rejoiced that my suffering hasn't felt like it was in vain because I've had the honor of sitting with countless other ladies who have walked this road too, and I get to tell them that healing is possible. <b>I STILL FEEL ALL OF THOSE THINGS. </b></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px;">But this year has been different for some reason, Maybe it's the "me too" movement. Maybe it's all the media about sexual violence. Maybe it's something altogether different; I really don't know. But what I do know is that I'm sad this year. I'm not depressed and ready to kill myself. I'm not weeping hysterically all the time. I'm not secluding myself in my room and eating chocolate until I fall into a sugar coma. I'm just carrying about my life with a sadness in me. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px;"><i><u>AND THAT IS OK. </u></i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px;">I'm learning that it's ok to walk through these kinds of seasons. My sadness doesn't mean I'm not healed. On the contrary! <i>I would argue that my sadness is a sure sign of healing</i>- I'm allowing myself to feel the pain I stuffed down for years as I struggled to make sense of what I'd endured. No more stuffing here. I'm sad, and it's ok to say that. It's ok to <i>feel</i> that sadness. It's ok to cry (gasp!) It's ok to let others see that just because I'm healed and whole and redeemed and no longer a victim, I can still feel great sadness over the loss I endured at the hands of that man. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px;"><b>Healing isn't removing all the memories or pain. Healing is learning that those memories and pain have no power over you anymore. </b>And today, I can assure you, these memories have no power over me. The Lord has overcome, and He has healed me. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px;">A friend shared a song with me recently, and it has become my anthem of healing. It's called "I'm No Victim" by Kristene DiMarco, and it is beautiful. Here is the bridge:</span><br />
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<span style="color: #181818; font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><b style="background-color: #a64d79;">I am who He says I am</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #181818; font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px;">I can choose to be defined by the act of rape or the words whispered to me during that act. I can choose to be defined by the choices I made in the aftermath of the rape, the dysfunctional ways I handled the trauma. I can choose to be defined by what some in the world would call me- damaged, defeated, wounded beyond repair, a victim. I can choose to be defined by my own fears and frustrations. I can choose to be defined by only the memories of the pain. And yet... I CHOOSE to be allow the Lord to define me. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #181818; font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px;">I choose to believe that <i>I am fearfully and wonderfully made</i> by him (Psalm 139).</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #181818; font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px;">I choose to believe that<i> I can live fearlessly</i> because He is my light and my salvation (Psalm 27).</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: merriweather, georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">I choose to believe that<i> I am a friend of God </i>(John 15:15).</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: merriweather, georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">I choose to believe that <i>I am made new </i>(2 Corinthians 5:17). </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: merriweather, georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">I choose to believe that <i>I am found holy and blameless</i> before the Lord (Ephesians 1:4). </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: merriweather, georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">I choose to believe that <i>I have been made alive in Christ</i> (Ephesians 2:4-5). </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: merriweather, georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;">I choose to believe that <i>the peace of God guards my mind</i> (Philippians 4:7) and that <i>He will suppl</i></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: merriweather, georgia, serif; font-size: 14px;"><i>y all my needs</i> (Philippians 4:19).</span></div>
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<span style="color: #181818; font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px;">I can't end this without saying this: If you have been raped or assaulted or if you find yourself in a dangerous relationship today, <b>don't stay silent</b>. Speak up and get help. If you need me to point you to some good options for help, I'd be happy to do so. If you're struggling with believing you're worth the effort it takes to heal, let me assure you that YOU ARE. And I'll happily believe it for you until you're ready to believe it yourself. Don't wait any longer to take the first step to healing. It is possible. You do not have to be defined by what happened to you any longer. I'm living proof. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #181818; font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px;">To God be the Glory for that truth....</span></span></div>
Bird's Wordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18172896311469204163noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1090538454632395885.post-61831850946452084762017-10-30T11:08:00.000-07:002017-10-30T11:08:15.305-07:00A letter to my former selfDear Former Holly, <br />
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Three years from now, you're going to open Facebook and see a "memory" pop up from today. You'll look in shock and say to yourself, "Oh my gosh, look how FAT I was!". You'll initially hesitate to look further at the picture, but then you'll be intrigued, so you'll enlarge it-zoom in closer- to see just how many chins you had and how your eyes sunk into your chubby cheeks. Then you'll take a selfie and put those pics side by side to compare where you are today. Yep, you sure will! I know, I know, you hate pictures, but it's a thing you'll do in the future just to see how far you've come. <br />
And then it will happen. <br />
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You will cry. And then you'll laugh. And then you'll cry a little more. And then you'll send those side-by-side pics to your husband and your mom and say, "Can you even believe this?". <br />
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So much is going to change about you. So much more than your fat face, let me assure you. <br />
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In the future, you aren't going to stand behind everyone in every. single. picture. ever. You aren't going to spend energy trying to hide behind someone or some object just so less of you shows up in a picture. Nope. In three years, you will ask people to pose with you so you can have a reminder of the day, the moment, the adventure. And you'll look at those pictures and smile instead of squirm. <br />
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In the future, you're going to walk confidently into a room, not worried that people are looking at how fat you are, but eagerly looking for people you know to talk to. You're not going to scope out a place for the seat that you can fit into or the widest area you can walk through. Nope. You'll be too busy enjoying LIFE to notice those things much anymore. <br />
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In the future, you'll get on an airplane and literally laugh OUT LOUD every time you buckle your seatbelt and have to cinch it tighter across your lap, remembering how you almost couldn't get it buckled once upon a time. <br />
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Three years from now, you will be the one begging your family to go hiking or for a walk. Heck, you'll even go by yourself to do those things! Girl, you will CLIMB A MOUNTAIN by yourself in the future. YES, you really will! And you'll be so proud when you stand at the top, looking down at how far you climbed, and in your spirit you'll feel true pride and know that you are whole and healed and free of so much baggage you carried for so long. <br />
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You need to know that in the future, it's ok for you to spend a little money on some new clothes. After all, you're going to need them. A girl can't walk around in pants that literally fall off of her. And it's ok for you to enjoy shopping again. It doesn't make you selfish to enjoy that you can try something on and feel beautiful. You'll bond with your daughter in the dressing rooms of many stores, and it will be grand. <br />
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You may also need to hear that you're worth the money, time and energy you've spent on making a healthier you. It's a good thing. It's ok to invest in yourself and your health. Stop feeling guilty if you want to go for that walk or run alone because not only is it good for the body, but it's good for your soul. <br />
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In the days ahead, you'll actually get on a stage to speak to people. Sometimes it will be about your book, and sometimes about your past hurts. Sometimes you'll teach from the Bible. Sometimes it will be talks about racial equality or other topics. But the thing is this: You'll actually enjoy being there! You'll come to love standing before people and sharing the things God has taught you and how He has loved you so well. I know it seems freaky, but trust me on this. You will love public speaking three years from now. Crazy, huh? <br />
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There will still be times in the future that you'll look into a mirror and see someone that's not good enough. I know; I wish I could tell you that goes away, but at least in three years, it still will be there, although not nearly as often. But I can tell you this: You'll be able to push those thoughts away much easier, and walk in confidence that you're enough just as you are. <br />
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You may think that losing weight won't change how you think or your personality. And while it won't change the core of you- your values and morals and hopes and dreams- it WILL change how you view life. It will be a catalyst for you to live life with more joy and less abandon. Losing weight will spur you to believe that if you can do this hard thing, then you can do other hard things. And you will do hard things! <br />
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Three years from now, you're going to awaken as a woman who feels fierce and confident and loved and whole and free and joyful. And let me tell you; you ARE those things. You are loved by the greatest husband who will be your biggest encourager through this process (and forever!). And you have the best family in the world who will cheer you on. <br />
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I'm not one to rush through life, but in three years you are going to be feeling so full of joy and contentment. It's going to be good. No, it's not going to be perfect. You'll still see things you want to change about you (that's a good thing!), but you'll love who you are. Genuinely love who you are. And that is a very good thing, Holly. <br />
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Enjoy the ride. Life is sweet, <br />
<br />
Your Future Self Bird's Wordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18172896311469204163noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1090538454632395885.post-68074343919190716012017-06-20T09:11:00.001-07:002017-06-20T09:11:37.707-07:00What the Church Can Learn from the Hardcore Scene<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A couple months ago, Jeff and I attended a show that our
son’s band was performing in. Now that may not sound so odd, but the story has
just begun. You see, our son plays in a hardcore band. Hardcore (formerly called hardcore punk) is a subculture of music that originated in the late 1970's and has evolved into a faster, harder and more aggressive style of music. We’re talking screaming,
moshing, look-like-you’re-killing-your-best-friend music. It’s sometimes so
loud that I fear my ears will literally explode (Sorry to my audiology friends
out there). It’s sometimes so vulgar that I feel my heart will explode (true
story!) It’s sometimes so chaotic that I fear my introverted Self may implode.
And yet, I love my son and so I went happily to this show. Our son lives out of
state, and we miss him! So when he told us he’d be playing at a show in
Louisville, we definitely wanted to be there to hug his neck! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I say that Jeff and I were a little out of place, I’m
not exaggerating. We walked into a pizza parlor that serves as a music venue
for hardcore bands. It’s underground, dark, a little smelly, and the concrete
block walls serve as the perfect echoing mechanism for all the screaming that
happened. When we first walked in, the guy selling concert tickets assumed we
were just there to grab a pizza (I hear it’s delicious; I haven’t tried it
myself). We assured him we were there for the show, and when we explained that
our son was playing, he let us in without paying.</span> <o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
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</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We walked into this crowded space filled with people from
all walks of life. There were kids who couldn’t have been more than 12 or 13.
There were college professors and middle aged moshers. There were folks with
hair colored a dozen different colors, and those with no hair at all. There
were those covered head to toe in tattoos, and a few girls with not much
clothing on. There were gay couples, straight couples, transgendered people,
wealthy folks, people who had almost nothing, people who had obviously just
recently smoked a LOT of weed from the smell of things. And in the midst of
this crowd, my son caught sight of us and ran to us, threw his arms around me
and picked me up in a bear hug. He wasn’t at all embarrassed that his
middle-aged (and slightly un-cool) parents were there. He proudly introduced us to his friends, all of
whom were so kind and talkative and engaging.</span> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We listened to 3 or 4 bands before Bryan's band played. I was told to "get up on the seat of the booth" while bands were playing to avoid being in the mosh pit. Believe me when I say I wanted no part of being in that pit! I watched as people threw punches in the air, kicked like bucking broncos, screaming in each other's faces with spit flying, and swung their arms like helicopter rotors. It was complete chaos from the outside looking in. And yet, there was an order to it. Unbeknownst to me before that night, there are rules to the mosh pit. And if you don't follow those rules, you will be sent out of said pit. But that's another story for another time. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I stood in that little room, head thumping from the bass pounding, and it dawned on me that I was in a really cool place. And I was somewhere that maybe surprisingly, the Church could learn a few things from. Here's my takeaway from that night and from conversations with my son and others in the hardcore scene about what I believe the Church could learn from Hardcore. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">1. <b>How to be genuinely open to ALL.</b> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When I say that I stood amidst folks of all walks of life, I was serious. It's not often that I stand in a room with people that don't look, dress, act, believe, and express themselves much like me. It's our human nature to surround ourselves with people we connect with, who think like us and have our same set of values. Yet that night, I was surrounded with a true smorgasbord of people. Some of them are Christians- sold-out followers of Jesus. Some of them are atheist. Some are in between somewhere. Some were gay. Some were straight. Some were bi-sexual. Some believed that drugs are ok and acceptable. Some have pledged "straight edge", a commitment to not use drugs or alcohol at all. Some were vegan; some loved meat. Some showed tattoos depicting stories of their lives, and some had smooth skin with no marks at all. And<i> <span style="color: #674ea7;">EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM (Myself included) WERE TRULY WELCOME AND WANTED.</span> </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I sat in my church Sunday morning and looked around me. I saw one person with brightly colored hair, a few who showed tattoos, but for the most part we all looked and acted pretty much the same. And I wonder if that's how the Church is supposed to look. Somehow I don't think so. And what's more, I wonder if my gay or transgendered friends feel like they'd truly be welcome in our churches, or if they'd be stared at and judged before we even got to hear their stories. I'm not saying we back down from our convictions about biblical truth. That's not what this is about. I'm just saying, "are we truly open to ALL people from ALL walks of life?" The hardcore scene is sincere about this. I know because I was welcomed openly there. I've seen firsthand that the hardcore community doesn't just talk about acceptance; they practice it. They mean it when they say they are for everyone and want you there. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">2. </span> <b>The people in the hardcore community take care of one another.</b> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The bible tells us in Galatians that we are to "bear one another's burdens", yet I look around my town, and I see people in need. I look around our world, and I see people literally dying from unclean water, poverty, acts of racism, and war, and I have to ask myself, "What am I doing about it, and what is the Church doing about it"?. With the hardcore community, when there is a need, it is met immediately. My son tells me of a person in their community who had a house fire. They raised enough money in a short time to replace everything lost. When my son had his wallet stolen while on tour, his money was replaced and tripled in just a few short hours once people heard. I've watched this community rally around someone whose child has cancer and was in need of money for medical treatment. I've watched them do a show to raise money for the homeless in communities. I've watched them give generously from their wallets for those in need, despite the fact that many of them live paycheck to paycheck themselves. They don't even seem to give a thought to the fact that they may need the money they are giving; they simply see a need and know they can meet it. So they do. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Now, don't get me wrong. I know that there are some followers of Christ who are getting this right. I know there are churches who are meeting the needs of those in their communities well. Please don't hear me saying that no one in the Christian community is doing this. <em>I'm just wondering if maybe we could be better at this.</em> I'm thinking out loud here that maybe we could have more of a mindset that says "yes" to helping immediately. I see that in the hardcore community, and it's impressive. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">3. <b>PASSION</b>. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The people in the hardcore community are passionate people. You hear it in their voices, in the language they use (albeit foul), in the songs they write and <strike>scream</strike> sing. You see it in their faces. You read it on their t-shirts. They aren't shy about what they believe. They don't hold back even when they know those around them may disagree. They can hear other opinions, respect those opinions and never for a moment slack off in their own convictions. The Church could take a lesson here. We have the One Truth that is worth a passion like this, and sometimes I fear that we are hiding instead. When faced with the decision to speak up for the things of Christ or remain silent, too often we are remaining silent. You'll never spend any amount of time with someone connected to the hardcore community without knowing with absolute certainty what drives him or her. How well is the Church doing at that in our communities? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The hardcore community gets a bad reputation often. I confess I've been guilty myself of judging them based solely on their screaming music and vulgar language. I don't condone the language, but after getting to know the people, I understand it. <span style="color: blue;"><i>And that is possible. It's possible to get to know someone closely and to genuinely love them without condoning their choices in life</i>.</span> When we take the time to get to know someone, to HEAR THEIR STORY, it starts to make sense sometimes as to why they act the way they do. When we really get to know people, we are better able to love them. <i><u><strong>True love is in the knowing. True love says "I see your life, and I am still here, even if I don't believe the same way". True love says "I think you're worth my time and attention even if we aren't the same".</strong></u></i> I've seen that among the hardcore folks that I know and love. I see it in some of Christ's followers too, but I wonder if maybe, just maybe, we could all love a little harder?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So, mosh on all of my hardcore friends. I'm watching and celebrating you. And Church, let's Mosh on too! </span><br />
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Bird's Wordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18172896311469204163noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1090538454632395885.post-29477736721612753942017-05-30T18:43:00.004-07:002017-05-30T18:43:32.630-07:00I cried today <div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">I cried today. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">Maybe it was the realization of dreams that aren't fulfilled. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">Maybe it was the conversation with the woman who is about to lose her father. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">Maybe it was the sadness at events in our world, the knowing that people hate simply because there are differences among us. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; min-height: 20.3px;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">I cried today. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">Maybe it was because I looked up, and my son is a man already. And he lives far away. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">Maybe it was the way my daughter's face is morphing into a young lady rather than a little girl. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; min-height: 20.3px;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; min-height: 20.3px;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">I cried today. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">Maybe it was the joy of celebrating a friend's well-deserved vacation. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">Maybe it was looking across the table at work to see people I genuinely love in my life. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">Maybe it was the simple text my love sent to tell me he was thinking of me. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; min-height: 20.3px;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">I cried today. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">And yesterday. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">Chances are I will cry tomorrow. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">I seem to do this more and more at 44. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">Sometimes it's the simplicity of warm sunlight on my face that takes me back to lazy days on the beach. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">Sometimes it's a quiet sunset, reflecting a million different colors that remind me of the vastness of my Abba. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">Sometimes it's the sadness of questioning if I'm enough. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">Sometimes it's the knowing that I am. </span></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal; min-height: 20.3px;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">And I'm learning that all of it can exist together, in a single day, a single hour, a single moment. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">We humans are extravagant creations, made to reflect the Creator. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">We are capable of joy and sadness, wonder and doubt, fear and fearlessness, freedom and bondage, worry and trust. All at once. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">What we do with those inconsistencies tells so much about who we are and whose we are. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">Oh, let me reflect the Glory of the One who is all. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">When I cry, let it be to Him. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: '.SFUIText'; font-size: 17pt;">Let me cry freely and fully-for joy, for sorrow, for celebration, for fear. For life. </span></div>
Bird's Wordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18172896311469204163noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1090538454632395885.post-38215311015191563952017-04-06T07:00:00.001-07:002017-04-06T07:00:39.869-07:00Thoughts on the 32nd day of Lent...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I don't usually practice Lent. I haven't participated in giving up anything during that time in the past, but instead just focused on reading scriptures about Jesus' life during the time leading up to his crucifixion. But this year, I felt compelled to do more. I began to pray about what I would give up, knowing that I was being called to do so. I considered a social media break, but knew that wasn't it. And then one afternoon while sipping my favorite cup of coffee (Shout out to Purdy's Coffee!!), I felt the Holy Spirit say "this is what I want from you. Give up your coffee". <br />
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To be honest, it seemed odd to me. I'm not the girl who wakes up and has to have coffee to get going for the caffeine. In fact, I rarely drink it right out of bed. However, I AM a coffee snob, and I love a great cup of coffee at the office while I'm doing my morning work. I relish in a nice warm sugar free vanilla latte in the coffeeshop after work, while doing my bible study or meeting with people. I really love a piping hot cup of coffee in the evenings after dinner, while watching the sun go down. I'm the girl that can drink the caffeine at pretty much any time and not have my sleep affected at all. I love the smell of coffee brewing and my brown butter chocolate chip cookies in the oven because I know that means some college students are likely on their way over for Catan and fellowship. <br />
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Coffee to me means fellowship, conversation, relationships. It means Friday morning coffee dates with my husband, 1:1 time with ladies I get to meet with in a discipleship relationship, time with friends, laughter, chatting, deep discussions. <strong><em><u>Rarely do I associate coffee with quiet.</u></em></strong> <br />
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The first day of no coffee wasn't a big deal really. But then I found myself headed to the coffee shop to meet with someone and realized 'I can't get coffee!'. It felt awkward. I ordered tea I think. It wasn't the same. I found myself distracted. My first coffee date with Jeff didn't hold quite the same excitement as usual. I mean really... it's not really a coffee date without coffee, right? I sat sipping my tea or steamed milk and smelled his coffee and was a little sad. <br />
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It was about 10 days in when I realized why I was asked to give up coffee at all. It's two reasons really. One is this: I've been allowing the noise (and a lot of that is good stuff!) to take the place of quiet time alone with the Lord in my life. Giving up the coffee allowed me to see it in a way I'm not sure I would have before. And the other is that I've made the mistake of placing more emphasis on what I'm doing and where rather than WHO I'm with. It's strange how a simple cup of coffee could remind me of my frailty and need for the Lord's Grace continually. But it has. <br />
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That's not the person I want to be. I'll be honest with you: I believe heaven will have coffee with the sweetest cream you ever imagined possible flowing freely. I believe I'll sip a cup and chat face to face with Jesus one day. But I don't think it will be the coffee that I'm enamored with. Heck, I don't even think it will be heaven itself that I'm so taken by. <strong>It will be Jesus</strong>. And if that's what eternity is going to look like, <em>then why not start now</em>?? Why not make Jesus more of my central focus here on earth, in every day, every conversation, every activity, every thought, every moment? <br />
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I want to be known as someone who is all in with others. I want my friends to know I'm available and interested and invested in them. I want my family to know I'm happy to sacrifice for them. I want my husband to know I'm daily trying to out-serve him. I want people to know that I'm really trying to be like Jesus- love like him, walk like him, serve like him. I'm spending my afternoons these days at home instead of in the coffee shop, so that I'm alone with the Lord. I'm sitting at my dining room table, talking with Him and hearing his voice in return. He is alive, I know for sure. I hear him so much more these days- not because he wasn't speaking before, but because I'd stopped listening as well. <br />
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This has been a good lesson for me so far. I'm leaning in close and listening to the Lord speak. I'm learning to truly relish the people I'm with more than the mug of joe in my hands. But on Easter, I'm looking forward to celebrating the Risen Lord while I savor every drop of a great cup of coffee. And I promise to not make that cup of java my focus. :) <br />
Bird's Wordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18172896311469204163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1090538454632395885.post-21668433851345647822016-04-25T08:31:00.003-07:002016-04-25T08:36:11.293-07:00A Mountain Top Experience... for real! <a href="https://www.blogger.com/" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a>I really wanted to do it, but in all honestly I was scared that I couldn't. I've learned in the past few years that I don't handle failure well. Do any of us? But I didn't want to allow the fear of failure to keep me from experiencing something really magnificent.<br />
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I'm truly thankful that I didn't let it keep me from trying. <br />
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The Incline at Manitou Springs is only a mile hike, but it climbs 2,000 vertical feet, reaching an altitude of 8,590 feet at it's top. I don't consider myself any kind of athlete and certainly not an extreme athlete, but this was intriguing. And here's why. <br />
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This month is April, and tomorrow, April 26th marks 26 years since the day that I was raped. <br />
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26 years.<br />
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That's a long time, and a lot of life. In years past, I've come to April with a sense of regret and fear, with haunting memories and triggers of some really awful moments. But in the past few years, I've tried to rewrite my memories for April by doing something fun and maybe a little crazy. I've done simple things like declare April 26th "Celebrate my Kids Day" and made a cake and had a fun day. I've run a mini-marathon (Don't ever want to do that again!). I've taken a day off of work and just allowed myself to grieve loss. I've gone outside and flown a kite. I've spent days with my husband and even with friends, just trying to be intentional about enjoying the moments and not allowing memories to overtake me. <br />
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This year I wanted to declare that I'm healed and I'm whole and I'm strong. And climbing the Incline seemed like the perfect place to do just that. <br />
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As I began my climb, I realized this was not going to be an easy feat. (duh!) I was seriously huffing at just 1/4 of the way up. About halfway, I was approached by a couple of military guys coming down the incline with their snow spikes in hand. They strongly suggested that no one go all the way to the top without them as snow was still covering the trail and it was "quite treacherous". I was bummed for a moment, but realistically, I wasn't sure I could have made it anyway. I decided that I'd get to the 2/3 mark and take the "bailout" trail. But then I heard that the trail was also snow covered (10 inches or so when I got to it!!), so I had to climb back down the steps to get back! <br />
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All of that is fun and great, but what happened along the way is what will stick with me forever. You see, I started this hike talking to the Lord about life and about the feelings I've wrestled with lately that "there's just nothing out there for me specifically". I've struggled greatly in the past year with feeling that I have no calling, no real purpose. I've lost passion in my life, feeling it drain out of me little by little as I sit at my office desk day after day. I've searched for meaning, searched for a new job, searched for answers in the Word, asked questions, even looked at going back to school as a possibility for me. And yet, there it was still... that nagging feeling that I was just lost and without purpose or direction. <br />
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As I made my way up that mountain, I was listening to music and talking to God about all of these things. I was thanking Him for healing me and bringing me restoration from the pit of depression and shame from the rape. I was praising Him for being the only one worthy of praise, and yes, I was questioning Him about why I was still feeling this sadness and emptiness despite such blessings in my life. <br />
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That's when I heard the branches near me snap. I was alone for a moment, sitting on a cable car tie trying to catch my breath. I assumed it was an animal nearby. The terrain around the hiking path was steep, straight down actually, and I peeked over to see if there was a deer or something nearby. But I saw nothing. I sat for a while longer, listening, and I heard it again, branches snapping as if something or someone was walking nearby. Otherwise there was just silence around me except for the song playing in my headphones now hanging around my neck. <br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: blue;"> <span style="background-color: #f3f3f3;"><span style="color: blue;"><span style="background-color: white;"> <span style="background-color: white;">Savior and Friend, Breathing your life into my heart. Your word is a lamp unto my path. Forever I'm humbled by your Love.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: blue;">Take my life, Take all that I am, With all that I am I will love You. Take my heart, Take all that I have. Jesus, how I adore You.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: blue;"></span><span style="background-color: white; color: blue;"> </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: blue;">And I find myself here on my knees again, Caught up in grace like an avalanche. Nothing compares to this love"</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: blue;">(Exerpt from Like an Avalanche, Hillsong United)</span></div>
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And in that moment, I heard the Lord speak clearly to me, saying "What you hear is me, Holly. I'm walking this path right beside you. I have walked EVERY path beside you, from the wonderful things in life to the worst days. I've always been there, and I always will be. I do have purpose for you. My purpose is for you to walk with me. Just walk with me. And then I'll show you the rest". </div>
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Y'all, I can't even hardly write these words for the tears brimming in my eyes. I'm not writing everything He spoke to me because it's too personal to share here, too beautiful to taint it with written words. But it's mine, forever etched into my heart. </div>
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I came down that mountain still wondering what is out there for me. But I'm not questioning my purpose anymore. For that I'm finding in walking daily with my Lord. I'm finding that I haven't really just <em>been </em>with Him for a long time because I was too busy trying to hear a direction. He desires my <strong>presence</strong>, and I'm giving it to Him.</div>
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And it's beautiful. </div>
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I took a picture from the point of my hike where I heard the Lord speak so clearly. I was so excited and so overwhelmed with His personal attention to me that I didn't even think to take a picture at the very highest point of my hike. It wasn't important anymore to me; my purpose in climbing had changed. I've never experienced beauty like I did that day, on that mountain path, listening to the Creator of All talk personally and intentionally to me. </div>
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And now I wait. I still am curious about what's next for me. But I'm not overcome or worried or fretting or losing sleep anymore. Because I know it's there, and at the right time, I'll walk right into it. I realize that this sounds a bit kooky to some of you, particularly if you've never heard the Lord speak before. But for this girl, who walked up a mountain side by side with my Savior, it was incredible. And I'm writing it so that I don't forget a bit of it. And I'm writing it so that you can know He desires to walk with you and talk with you too. </div>
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If you'd like to talk more about how you can have a personal relationship with Jesus, I'd love to chat with you. Email me at <a href="mailto:hollybird@hotmail.com">hollybird@hotmail.com</a>, and let's talk more. </div>
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<strong><span style="color: red;">And for those of you who are walking the road of healing after sexual assault or abuse, know that there is TOTAL REDEMPTION and healing from that pain. I'm living proof.</span></strong> </div>
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To God be the Glory, </div>
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H~</div>
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<br />Bird's Wordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18172896311469204163noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1090538454632395885.post-20324969981161868342016-02-25T07:49:00.000-08:002016-02-25T07:49:10.943-08:00Freaked out and gratefulI admit that I don't like to spend my life asking "what if?", but sometimes it just happens that way. I had one of those days this week. <br />
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Earlier this week, on my drive in to work, I was pulled over by an unmarked car. He had a light on the dashboard and it seemed legit, so I pulled over to the side of the interstate like the rule-follower I am. I rolled my window down just a little as he approached my driver's window. He didn't ask for identification or anything. He simply said, "You have a tail light that is busted out, and it's hard to see when you're switching lanes". Seemed reasonable, and I told him I would get it fixed.<br />
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For some reason, I asked him for some identification. He immediately looked at me and said, "You know, I think I will let you go this time"' walked back to his car and pulled off, exiting the highway on the exit ramp immediately. I thought it was odd, but I had to get to work, so I pulled away and started on my way again.<br />
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When I got to work, I walked around my car to see the busted light. Only it wasn't busted.<br />
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There is nothing wrong with my light at all.<br />
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And then it hit me....he was a fake. Yes, I realize I should have seen that sooner, but honestly, how many times do we see that? That's Criminal Minds material, not Richmond KY stuff. But standing in my work parking lot, I knew the truth. He was trying to lure me, and I am sickened to think of what could have happened.<br />
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He turned his lights on just before an exit ramp. What if I had taken the exit to get away from traffic? What if he had pulled a gun on me and forced me out of my car? What if....the thoughts that have gone through my mind are way too evil to write here. I'm refusing to give in to all of the "what-if's". It's too much for me to handle.<br />
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As a survivor of violent crime, I know full well what could have happened. Yet I find myself thankful for what did NOT happen. We just truly never know when we are being protected by the Lord. I believe that I was protected from awful things by a God who cares deeply for me. Today, I'm grateful to be with my family rather than a story on a news show.<br />
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The Bible tells us that life is a vapor. It's not gauranteed that we will have tomorrow. Let's make the most of today. Tell the people around you that you love them. Share Jesus with someone today. Call someone and make amends. Forgive. Move past that hurt. Get help for dealing with your past. Take the next step. Smile more. Laugh out loud. Cry freely. Love passionately. Live life fully. You aren't guaranteed tomorrow, so celebrate today.<br />
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I see the events of this week as a reminder to make the most of each day. Who's in with me? As It was quoted in "Shawshank Redemption"... "Get busy living, or get busy dying". I intend to get busy living. How about you?<br />
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NOTE: I have contacted all the proper authorities about this already. I don't wish for this post to spark a debate about how I should have handled things differently. I am just sharing some thoughts here. <br />
Bird's Wordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18172896311469204163noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1090538454632395885.post-52190050110628902092015-11-02T10:38:00.000-08:002015-11-02T10:38:02.229-08:00Confessions and war...They say that confession is good for the soul. If so, I have a confession to make. I have an addiction. No, it's not alcohol or drugs or even food. I am utterly and hopelessly addicted to <a href="http://africam.com/">Africam.com</a>.<br />
Seriously, if you don't know what this is, you are missing out on something incredible. I find myself at 1 AM, 2AM and sometimes at 4AM laying in bed with my phone screen lit up, watching live feed of animals at several South African bush locations. <em>It's amazing</em>. Throughout the day, my phone buzzes with notices of crocs, zebras, giraffes, hippos, eagles, impala, kudu, warthogs, wild dogs and elephants. But I freely admit that my favorite is the "Big Cat Alert".<br />
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When that notice pops up, I stop what I am doing and open the notice. I have even gone so far as to stream the live feed on my desktop computer at work (while I'm getting my work done, of course) so that I can see the Big Cats. I've watched lions and leopards come to the watering hole for a drink. I've watched them prowl around, sneaking up on unaware Impala.<br />
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<b> I Cannot. Get. Enough. Of. This.</b><br />
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Jeff has awakened in the middle of the night to find me completely enthralled at these animals, relishing being able to watch this happen live. I love it. I love being able to watch an Africa sunrise or sunset. I'm telling you, it's incredible to watch.<br />
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But recently, I watched something happen on that feed that struck a little close to home. And because I'm addicted I took a picture of it.<br />
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<img src="webkit-fake-url://d95ddf52-71f4-4a42-b254-34c5610767e0/imagepng" /><br />
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Do you see it? Look closely and you'll see that those poor Impala (or whatever they are) are in grave danger. Check it out.<br />
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Little did they know that lurking right beside them was this lioness, just waiting for the perfect moment to lunge and attack. And attack she did. And delivered the goods for her man, who seemed to enjoy it immensely.<br />
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This hits home for me. You see, I've been in a season of spiritual warfare. I feel like my senses are heightened tremendously because I feel the enemy prowling around me. It's been a long few months of warfare, and I sometimes feel like these unknowing Impala.<br />
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I feel it start on Saturday nights. Every. Single. Saturday. Night.<br />
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I feel the dread of the upcoming Sunday. I literally feel sick to my stomach as I think about going to church. Now, if you know anything about me, you know that I love my church family. ESPECIALLY my Sunday morning bible study group. Those people are my FAMILY, and I love them fiercely. So, for me to dread seeing them is not normal. Not even a little bit.<br />
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I have cried more Saturday nights than I care to think about. And when Sunday morning comes, I'd love to tell you that I happily get up and do what I do without too much struggle. But that would be a lie. Instead, I'm angry. I shower while I'm angry. I put my makeup on and hate it every Sunday morning, despite the fact that I wear it exactly the same way every other day of the week. I get dressed and swear I have "nothing to wear" despite the fact that I have plenty. And I angrily throw clothes around while I change for the seventh time, grumbling under my breath about how stupid it is to have to get dressed at all.<br />
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By the time I get in the car, I feel defeated. Completely defeated. I am tearful and grouchy and just want everyone to leave me alone. Our weekly stop at Starbucks does nothing for me except delay my having to face everyone else there.<br />
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My husband is gracious and loving and honorable and all good things. Truly. He prays for me. I know it because he tells me that he does, and I've heard it. He and I both know this is spiritual warfare, Satan trying to steal my love for the Church away. But despite his prayers (and my own), the struggle remains.<br />
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I've cried out in my prayer time for the Lord to stop this, to give me back my love for community, for being with my church family, for the desire to fellowship. I've confessed everything I can think to confess, in case that's the problem. I've asked God to change me. I've even said I will go to another church if that's what He is trying to tell me to do. I stopped saying "no" to Him about a new thing I knew He wanted me to do, and I started actually doing it (another post for another time). And I confessed my sin in waiting so long to be obedient.<br />
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And yet.... here I am still feeling defeated and hunted.<br />
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And really, it shouldn't surprise me, should it? Here is what scripture tells me.<br />
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<span style="color: #6aa84f;"><u><em><strong>"Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. Resist him, firm in your faith, knowing that thesame kinds of suffering are being experiences by your brotherhood throughout the world. And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all Grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen and establish you. To him be the dominion forever and ever. Amen." (1 Peter 5:8-11)</strong></em></u></span><br />
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There is a certain peace that comes in knowing you are not alone. And I'm not. Heck, I'm not even hurting that much. Yes, it feels awful to me. But when I think of the scope of suffering many of my brothers and sisters in Christ are walking through, this warfare I face is really nothing. But I also won't downplay it too much. Because when we downplay the fact that we have an actual enemy out to destroy us, we end up like those Impala. We end up as dinner. And I'm not ok with that plan.<br />
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What about you? Where is Satan trying to sneak in on you? Where is he prowling, just waiting for the right moment to lunge at you and destroy you? Maybe it's relationship with someone of the opposite sex that isn't your spouse and is becoming less and less appropriate. Maybe it's what comes scrolling aross your computer screen and you think "Just one look won't hurt". Maybe it's a temptation to cheat on a test, take that which doesn't belong to you, make up one more lie to cover the last one you told. Maybe it's something altogether different. But I promise you this: If you are a follower of Jesus, Satan is there, waiting for the moment he can trip you up and defeat you.<br />
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Be ready. Be sober-minded and alert. Put on your armor daily, stand firm and let the Lord fight for you. Satan is already defeated.<br />
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So, Saturday night when that all-too-familiar dread rolls in on me, I'll recognize it for what it is and stand firm. And although it may not feel good, I'll rest in knowing that the Lord has me in his hands and will prevail in the end.<br />
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To Him be the glory.....<br />
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<br />Bird's Wordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18172896311469204163noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1090538454632395885.post-33098840330347653582015-08-21T06:41:00.001-07:002015-08-21T06:41:23.725-07:00What I'm learning<br />
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I'm sitting at my favorite coffee shop for the 3rd time in a week. I have my bible, a book, my journal and my iPad. My heart is content as I sit and read and pray and write and hear the laughter around. I watch cars drive by, people walk by on the sidewalk outside the window beside my favorite table. I sip my sugar free vanilla latte. Life is good.<br />
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I'm learning to care for my soul. It's the only one I have, and truth be told it's not even mine. It's just on loan from God. When I borrow things from others, I try to take extra care to protect whatever I've borrowed, so why don't we do the same with our souls? Why do we get so burdened down in life that we neglect that which is central to life?<br />
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I'm reading John Ortberg's <u style="font-weight: bold;">Soul Keeping </u>right now. It's rich, let me tell ya. It's full of truths. It's full of conviction for someone like me who has neglected her soul in lieu of taking care of less important things. But today, I'm reminded of the importance of really taking care of ourselves.<br />
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This quote resonates within me: "The stream is your soul. You are the keeper. You are not the captain. You didn't make it, and you cannot save it from death".<br />
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All I can do is care for my soul. I cannot raise it from death to life; only the Creator can do that. I cannot take credit for making it at all. But I CAN nurture it, cultivate it, feed it...<br />
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How do we take care of our souls?<br />
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I personally think that looks differently for all of us. What is nurturing for me may not be what works for your. For me, it's time like this right here, reading the Word, soaking in His truth, sipping a great cup of coffee, breathing freely and resting in the knowledge that this is the day He has made for us to rejoice in. For you, it might look a lot different. For my husband, it's sitting on the swing at sunset, watching the sky morph into an array of colors that you can't believe possible.<br />
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But this quote, I believe, is for us all:<b><i><span style="font-size: large;"> "Arrange your</span> <span style="font-size: large;">days so that you experience total contentment, joy, and confidence in your </span></i></b><br />
<b><i><span style="font-size: large;">everyday life with God"</span>.</i></b><br />
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What will that look like for you? How will you arrange today, this hour, this minute even to experience total contentment? How will you find joy? How will you experience confidence in your life with God?<br />
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I'd love to hear how you are doing this! Let's encourage one another to really take care of our souls today and everyday.<br />
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I'd love to pray for you in any way as you embark on this journey. Feel free to facebook message me or email me at hollybird@hotmail.com<br />
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Blessings,<br />
H~<br />
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Bird's Wordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18172896311469204163noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1090538454632395885.post-39960837100107288652015-04-15T07:47:00.000-07:002015-04-15T07:47:05.536-07:00the art of being...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Sometimes I'm awesome and get it right. Sometimes I actually get up before the rest of the family and prepare a nice breakfast, spend time in the Word before I get my day going full speed ahead, and do the sit ups that I know I need. Sometimes I speak kindly and lovingly to my husband right from the start of the day all the way up to the end. Sometimes there aren't piles of laundry in the floor of the laundry room, and clothes are folded and put away neatly. Sometimes my floors are actually clean and sparkly, and my bathrooms are too. Sometimes I prepare elaborate meals for my family with joy, smiling and humming a favorite song as I chop, dice, and cook away. Sometimes I get to work early, a smile on my face, and greet every client with joy because I'm really honored to be able to serve them. Sometimes I relish the quiet of my drive home without any phones ringing or people calling my name. Sometimes I love the hussle of getting my daughter from one place to the next and actually enjoy the extra car time with her so we can talk. Sometimes I love checking homework because I get to see firsthand just how far she has come and I get to brag on her to her face.<br />
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But then sometimes I don't. <br />
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Many days I'm far from awesome, and feel as though I don't get much right at all. I rarely get up before our daughter, and truth be told, she's a master at preparing her own breakfast while I get myself ready. Many days my words are less than kind in the mornings as we rush to get out the door. More than I care to admit, the laundry is piled on the floor of the laundry room waiting to be washed or on the floor of the bedroom waiting to be folded because I just scraped it off the bed to the floor the night before because I was too tired to deal with it. Most days my floors are littered with cat hair and crumbs and shoes from everyone in this family. Although I do cook almost daily, sometimes it's something quick and prepared with grumbling about "why do I have to be the one to decide what to cook and cook it too?" Sometimes I get to work dreading the day ahead and what it will bring, not really feeling like being cheerful or kind to those around me. Some days I hate the drive home because of traffic, and I complain about sitting in the pick up line at school one. more. day. Many days I grumble that we are too busy as I drive from place to place yet again, a list going through my mind of what is left to do before I can go to bed that night. Many days I skip the workouts altogether. Some afternoons, I think that if I have to clean out the homework folder one more time, I might just scream because I'm over it all. <br />
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And you know what?? It's all ok. <br />
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We don't have to be perfect. That's a big deal for me to say. I like to have it all together. I like for people to think I have it all together. I'm the one who struggles with wondering what others must think of me if my house is unkept and I'm sending my kid to school in dirty jeans because I haven't done the laundry. Sometimes I get in my mind that God is keeping track of how well I'm doing in these things, and I forget to simply be. To be with Him. To be with my husband. To be with my kids. To be with me. In peace and quiet and stillness. <br />
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No agendas. <br />
No schedules. <br />
No clocks. <br />
No expectations. <br />
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Psalm 46:10 says "Be still, and know that I am God". <br />
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I need to stop. Be still. Take him in. Notice his works around me. Stop doing and start being. <br />
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Exodus 14:14 says "The Lord Himself will fight for you. Just stay calm". <br />
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We don't have to work so hard. He has this. <br />
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So today, you have permission (as if you needed it from me!) to be still. Say No. Take a breather. Grab a cup of coffee and sit while you enjoy it. Actually taste your food. Have a meaningful conversation, not just a hello/goodbye in passing with a friend. Take a walk and look at the beauty around you. Skip the laundry. Eat PB&J sandwiches for dinner and laugh together instead of spending all of your time in the kitchen cooking and cleaning. Sit and read a book with your kid, snuggled on the couch with your favorite blanket. <br />
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Slow down. The world isn't going to stop if you don't check something off your list. That laundry will still be there tomorrow. Spend some time with the Lord today, soaking up his goodness and mercy. And for goodness sake, love the people around you. Love them well. <br />
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Be.Bird's Wordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18172896311469204163noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1090538454632395885.post-38562100891862564242015-03-25T11:02:00.000-07:002015-03-25T11:02:27.179-07:00MetamorphosisI've lost 60 pounds so far. I have many more to go, but I'm on my way. Some of you will disagree with the means by which I've accomplished this, but I don't care. That wasn't a decision for you to make; it was between me and God. In November, I had weight loss surgery. Now, I know that some of you are now thinking "Well, of course you've lost 60 pounds then. You took the easy way out! I'm not impressed with someone who cheats their way to a healthier weight!". I know that because I've heard that (not from many, but a few). And frankly, I don't care how you feel about it. That's not what this post is about. <div>
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You see, I've lost so much more than 60 pounds. I've lost fear of being seen. I've lost insecurity, the alarm, panic, dread, tiredness, apathy. I've also gained a few things in this journey so far....a sense of confidence, belief in myself, self-awareness, deeper joy. And this has much less to do with appearance than I ever expected. Yes, I admit that I like what I see in the mirror much better this way. But I love what I feel inside so much more than I could ever explain in words on a page. </div>
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Most of you reading this know my story. You know I was sexually assaulted as a teenager. When that happened, I was thin... very thin. And after that event, I carried a fear of being victimized again for years. It led me to some really unhealthy lifestyle choices like over-eating and bingeing on food. If I'm blatantly honest, I wanted to be fat because in my messed-up brain, I was telling myself that "no one will want to rape a fat girl". ( I know, I know... ridiculous. I didn't claim to be a genius; I told you it was a messed-up brain!)</div>
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Every time, over the years, that I would lose some weight, I'd start to feel a little better about myself, and then WHAM! Someone would compliment me on how they noticed I was losing weight. Suddenly, I was that fearful girl again, sure that I was the next victim of some crazed rapist roaming the streets just waiting for the next not-so-fat girl to come along. I'd go home and eat myself into oblivion and jump off the wagon of healthy choices once more. It was a vicious cycle: hate myself for being fat, talk myself into doing something about it, be successful, get a compliment, hate myself for starting to look better, sabotage myself, etc etc. </div>
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Let me tell you that this is no way to live a life. God tells us that He desires for us an Abundant life! Does that sound like abundance to you?? Not even close! I was miserable. And I was good at hiding it. I laughed and told myself (and others), "I may be fat, but I'm happy!". <b><i>Liar, liar, plus-sized pants on fire!</i></b> I was anything BUT happy. </div>
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Last year, I published a <a href="https://www.tatepublishing.com/bookstore/search.php?search=holly+prosser" target="_blank">book</a> , and something remarkable started to happen within me. I was already healed, redeemed and set free from the assault I had endured. But as people read my book, ladies started coming to me and sharing their own story, and I began to realize more than ever before that I was created for a purpose, and that purpose had NOTHING TO DO WITH MY WEIGHT. And slowly, I started to stop obsessing about it so much. And before long, I began to realize that I was no longer a victim at all, but truly a survivor. And so I didn't have to worry about being victimized in the future because I'm not that weak 17 year old girl anymore. I'm a strong, courageous and active 42 year old woman with a purpose and gifts and joy. I wanted more, and I wanted it to start with health. You see, I fully believe that I cannot live up to my full potential if my body is not up to its full potential. And so, I began to desire change, from the inside out. </div>
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The weight came off very quickly in the beginning, and people began to notice right away that I was changing. Most did not know I'd had surgery, and some are just finding out right now! I was elated to realize that when people commented on the change in my body that I wasn't scared. I was empowered and encouraged, and y'all, let me tell you that encouragement is a HUGE motivator! </div>
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There have been days that this is very hard, very emotional for me. Weight has been my safety net for years. It has been the reason I've felt I wouldn't be hurt again, as strange as that may be, and so it was hard to let that go. But God is sovereign, and He spoke (and still speaks) love and encouragement to me daily, moment by moment even! I poured into His word to learn who I really was- way more than the sum of what has happened to me in life, but a creation of His perfect design, made to make Him known. There is power in knowing who you are and WHOSE you are, my friends. So, on those days that I <strike>cried </strike> whined a lot, and said stupid things like "I'd rather be fat than feel like crap!", my wonderful husband would hug me close and remind me that this too shall pass, and I was not walking alone, and I really could do this thing. </div>
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And I am. I AM doing this thing. </div>
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I'm running, sort of (I'm still fat, y'all! I'm trying to run!) I'm doing push-ups and sit-ups and crunches and leg lifts and weights. I'm eating mostly proteins and veggies. I'm drinking water like crazy. I'm taking enough vitamins to strengthen an army. I'm walking daily with The Lord as I live on this earth (Ps. 116:9) and I'm thrilled. I'm holding my head high, even when the scale has a number I don't like or it doesn't move at all for a few days. I'm walking with confidence because I was made in the image of my Savior, and he really doesn't make junk. I'm <strike>no longe</strike>r hardly ever calling myself derogatory things (Old habits die hard!), and I'm smiling when I look in a mirror even on days that I don't feel like it because we all deserve to be smiled at by ourselves. </div>
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The fact is that there is more in this life for me. I'm 42 years old, and I believe with all my heart that my best days are ahead of me, not behind me. There are adventures to fulfill, tears to shed, laughs to bellow out, jokes to tell, necks to hug, races to run, mountains to hike, songs to sing, books to write, and on and on. I intend to do those things and so much more in the best health I possibly can. And I intend to do them all for the One who gave me this blessed life I live. </div>
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I hope you're living your life too. I mean <i>REALLY</i> living it! If you're not, and you want to hear of this Jesus who gives me the Hope I have to be able to walk through this life I live, I'd love to share him with you. I promise, He's the best. </div>
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Go live your life.... and live it well, my friends! The best is yet to come! </div>
Bird's Wordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18172896311469204163noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1090538454632395885.post-75295948326762554952015-02-04T09:36:00.000-08:002015-02-04T09:36:04.972-08:00Fifty Shades of H-E-double hockey sticks NO!<br />
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February... the month of love, where hearts abound, love songs ring through the speakers, and roses suddenly escalate in price. I can't even comprehend how much money will be spent on chocolates, stuffed animals, diamonds, flowers, and dinners out to celebrate the ones we love. Frankly, I'm so grateful to have a husband that treats every day like Valentine's Day and celebrates me every minute. We don't need gifts on February 14th, but I digress. <br />
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February 14th also marks a monumental occasion that is flooding my Facebook page and my tv screen even as I type these words. It's the release date for "Fifty Shades of Grey". <br />
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Let me preface this by saying that I realize I have a lot of friends who will see this movie, and I'm taking a risk I guess of being kicked out of the cool club (not that I ever entered) just by writing my thoughts. But that's ok with me. I feel quite strongly about this subject, so I am compelled to write these words. <br />
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I'll also admit that I read a lot of the book. Several people were talking about it, and I wanted to be educated enough to at least discuss it with people. And I find it hard to argue against something when I really don't know what I'm talking about it. <br />
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I couldn't finish it. I was actually sickened by what I read. I had my first nightmare in years about being raped. I closed it and returned it to its owner and swore I'd never do that again. But I read enough to speak to its reality. <br />
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Fifty Shades of Grey is nothing short of porn. I believe wholeheartedly that while guys are visual and more prone to be tempted to look at pornographic pictures, us gals are emotional and so some ladies flock to pornographic writings to fill a void. And my heart is broken over the more than 100 MILLION people who have purchased this book. What kinds of voids are those folks, primarily ladies, trying to fill with this? Because whatever it is, this won't work. <br />
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You cannot fill a void in the heart with images of violence and domination. You cannot fix loneliness with words on a page that speak of torture and tearing down the essence of a woman. You cannot replace poor self esteem with graphic scenes of sexual perversion. It just doesn't equate. We weren't created to be "fixed" with trash.<br />
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I have sat hand in hand with ladies who have suffered severe violence at the hands of a domineering man. I've seen with my own eyes their scars, leftover marks reminding these ladies of just how horrendous humans can be. I've sat weeping as ladies have told me their stories of being trafficked, bound, beaten, raped, ridiculed, terrorized, threatened, and more. I've wept with ladies who had to come to terms with the fact that the child they were carrying in their womb shared a genetic line with the man who had mutilated, sold them to others for their financial gain, and followed through on threats to bring even more hurt if they fought. I myself carry the scars of a man who forced his power over me. <br />
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With all of that in my heart and mind, I cannot for the life of me understand that something like Fifty Shades of Grey is seen as entertainment. Folks, <b><i>sexual perversion is NEVER entertainment. <br />
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</i></b>The Rape, Abuse, Incest National Network (RAINN) tells us that an American is sexually assaulted every 107 seconds. <br />
That's more than 800 a day just here in America. <br />
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According to the A21 Campaign, there are 27 MILLION people in bondage(Slavery) around the world. The average age of those victims is 12.<br />
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When I read statistics like that, I can't for the life of me understand how we can be so flippant about something like Fifty Shades. You see, when we trivialize sexual deviance, we make people think it's "not that bad". We become immune to its effects, to its vulgarity. We normalize what is far from normal. And when that happens, it's a slippery slope. Suddenly, you have little girls watching this filth that we call entertainment, getting those images of perversion in their innocent heads and starting the spark that says "this is normal between and man and a woman". <b>NO!!<br />
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If we want Truth, we have to go to Scripture. And God's word tells us that we are to guard our hearts and keep our eyes to ourselves (Proverbs 23:26).<br />
When we look at things we shouldn't, the bible says this: "Your eye is the lamp of your body. When your eyes are good, your whole body also is full of light. But when they are bad, your body is also full of darkness" (Luke 11:34)<br />
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1 Thessalonians 4:3 tells us "It is God's will that you should be sanctified; that you should avoid sexual immorality".<br />
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I really want to honor God in my life. I don't get it right all of the time. In fact, I screw up a LOT. Blogs and Facebook are often a farce because I get to pick and choose what I show to the world about who I am. But God sees it all- the good, bad, and ugly. And you know what? He loves me despite it all. He loves you too, even if you have a burning desire to see Fifty Shades of Grey. Heck, He loves the makers of this movie, the writer of this book. It's not a question of His love for me or us. The question is about our love for him. <br />
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Do we love him enough to lay down our desires? Do we love him enough to lay down the voids in our hearts and trust Him to fill them with good things rather than the trash the world will heap on us? Do we love him enough to say "no" when the world is screaming "Yes"? <br />
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I can't find one good thing to say about this movie. Not one. I can't find one thing about it that would justify my watching it. I can't even think about it without the images of my friends who've fallen victim of these kinds of lies and deviance filling up my head. And so I beg you to reconsider if you are one of the many who are making plans to see Fifty Shades. Consider the harm it really can cause. Consider the way it objectifies a women as a sex toy, dehumanizing her for the pleasure of a man. Consider that there are those today who really are trapped in this world, and it's not entertainment; it's torture. <br />
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Let's choose to be different. Let's choose love instead. Because love- real, authentic love- wins. <br />
Bird's Wordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18172896311469204163noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1090538454632395885.post-43604356508757542052015-01-21T05:55:00.002-08:002015-01-21T05:55:57.738-08:00Update: A different kind of anniversaryIt's been two years today since this happened. Two years of healing, of talking, of growing. Most importantly, it's been two years of watching life come back into our son. It didn't happen overnight. It didn't happen without hard work, tears, wrestling fears, and lots of prayer. It happened though, and for this healing I am eternally grateful. My son is not alone in this fight. Millions of others suffer depression, yet they never take the step to ask for help. Many give up completely and follow through with a suicide plan. It's hard for me to even write those words, knowing the reality for so many other parents is not as beautiful as ours. <br />
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I don't post this for pity or attention. I post this so that others know they are not alone. Bryan has said he is fine with letting people know if it encourages even one to seek help, to speak out. I'm so proud of him. I'm so thankful for his life. I'm so humbled to have been chosen as his mom. <br />
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This is a fight that our world must keep fighting. As followers of Christ, we must bring to light the reality of depression and its effects. If you need help, please don't wait too late. If you think your child needs help, please talk to them. You might be surprised at how much they tell you simply because you asked. <br />
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Here is our story, as told one year ago today: <br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">One year ago today, I sat in this very chair that I now sit typing. Across from me was our son Bryan. It was a rather typical Tuesday afternoon, and we were going through the day's homeschooling assignments. I asked a simple question while I looked over his workbook, but he never answered me. I looked up to find tears running down his cheeks and a look of defeat on his face. As I reached across the table to touch his hands that were shaking, he said "I cannot do this anymore". </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Those words changed the course of not only that day, but the whole year that followed. What I heard next pierced deep into my heart. My son looked down, unable to make eye contact and said, "I want to die. I want to kill myself mom. I'm not safe."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">If you've never heard those words from your child or a loved one, you can't understand how I felt. Jeff got home shortly afterward, and he too heard those words. </span><br />
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<span style="color: red; font-family: Verdana;"><strong>We were shaken. </strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">For those who may not know me well, let me explain that I am a psychiatric nurse. I do this stuff for a living. I've heard many people, young and old, utter those same words throughout my career. I've hurt with them, rejoiced in healing, grieved when things didn't get better. But never once had I sat in that spot as the mother of a child who was severely depressed. Bryan had dealt with some mild depression and anxiety issues in the past, but it had never gotten to this point. In fact, he had done so well in the year previously that he had gone off all of his medication.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Yes, there were "signs". He was not sleeping as well. He was a bit more irritable. He was a little more withdrawn from us and from friends. But really, we had no way of knowing it had gotten this bad. You see, Bryan hadn't wanted us to know it was that bad. He had done a fantastic job of making it look like things were okay. I can't tell you how many times I've thanked God that on that Tuesday last January, he decided that he'd had enough. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Because Bryan not only was voicing suicidal thoughts, but he had a plan for harming himself, we had no choice but to hospitalize him for safety. It was excruciating to leave that hospital that night without him. I wanted to scream. I wanted to offer to stay home with him all the time until he felt safe. But in my heart, I knew that he needed to do this. He needed to go and learn that he had a voice and that he could learn to help himself. I still firmly believe that while it seemed that the hospital stay did little more than provide him safety while his feelings were intense, in all actuality it showed Bryan that when he voiced his feelings, he got help.<strong> It's important for people to know that they are heard, and Bryan knew it.</strong> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">In the year that has followed, I've watched my son overcome. He's overcome depression. He's overcome suicidal thoughts. He's overcome stigma. He's overcome the overwhelming anxiety. He's overcome fear. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Is he perfect? Heck no! (are any of us?) But he has a strength that I had not seen before this year. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdm4tUcr1_sJQw8Kb3McHrkboWtrIIRUY-U6hZvrhGwx1_P4eCv1SgOkWgnln0a6gpvQnxXDMc1Rd70lMs-39es6Cp-JniTfF15YXHEd1nVPSVHCve9MZdXQ8Rlj4ccREz65J6kagyU4e0/s1600/photo.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/AVvXsEhdm4tUcr1_sJQw8Kb3McHrkboWtrIIRUY-U6hZvrhGwx1_P4eCv1SgOkWgnln0a6gpvQnxXDMc1Rd70lMs-39es6Cp-JniTfF15YXHEd1nVPSVHCve9MZdXQ8Rlj4ccREz65J6kagyU4e0/s1600/photo.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana;">Today, I asked him what has been the key for his healing. Typical of Bryan, his first response was "I don't know. I got happy.". But when he answered seriously, he said "I started taking my faith seriously. It's not perfect, but I know I have God.". He also made changes in some of the music he had been listening to prior to this time last year, changing from some really dark and sad stuff to more positive music (Yes, screaming music can still be positive). And he's worked hard to be with people. As an introvert, that's not easy, and I've watched with pride as he has come out of his shell more this year and put himself out there to be in relation with people. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I write this today with his permission. <u><em>I write this because depression is no respecter of persons. It hits the young and old, rich and poor, white collar and blue collar, fat and thin, athletic and non-athletics. It doesn't care if you're from a family of faith and pray every day; it still creeps in, telling you that you're not good enough, not smart enough, not talented enough, not...... Depression sucks the air from your lungs and leaves you gasping. It sharpens its claws on your heart, ripping it to shreds before you know what hit you. It replaces optimism with fear, unbelief, panic and paralysis.</em> </u></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana; font-size: large;"><strong>Depression kills. </strong></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">Our family is one of the lucky ones. In my heart, and because of conversations with Bryan throughout this year, I believe that had we not sat down together that afternoon, Bryan wouldn't be here today. I believe that had I not listened that day, this would be a whole different kind of anniversary for us. To say that I celebrate this day is an understatement that I cannot begin to explain. Our family can rejoice even while countless other families stare at an empty chair at their tables tonight. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">If you're reading this, and you are experiencing any of the things I've written about, please get help. Call 1-800-783-TALK if you don't have anyone you can talk to. Call your best friend. Call your mom or dad. Go to your spouse. Call your doctor. Call your church and talk to a pastor. Talk to someone. And if you suspect that your child (or spouse or friends of whomever) is suffering, don't stop asking questions and telling them you love them. Because let me assure you that <strong>it's worth them being aggravated to let them know you are here</strong>. Our family can attest to that, and Bryan will assure you that we've never let him rest in that area. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana;">I've witnessed God's healing in many areas of life. This one is extra special because I've watched as God has breathed life into our son again. And y'all, <em>that is a beautiful thing.</em> </span>Bird's Wordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18172896311469204163noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1090538454632395885.post-71477188462277144252014-12-10T08:49:00.000-08:002014-12-10T08:49:00.322-08:00The Christmas Viking<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Kb4dcjB4lLy-dMCZBRoMMdRkb0cs2L2JRxF9yy00hauTHUyMhsbVHyMBua5mzip1JSYNuQnXZhph8vXIzSSlDTGDeBHe70r2VFJOJFmt3Xi6v4E-njweKZPg5aDFebu9bD-qRdh7-2iE/s1600/thumbody.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" closure_lm_513971="null" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Kb4dcjB4lLy-dMCZBRoMMdRkb0cs2L2JRxF9yy00hauTHUyMhsbVHyMBua5mzip1JSYNuQnXZhph8vXIzSSlDTGDeBHe70r2VFJOJFmt3Xi6v4E-njweKZPg5aDFebu9bD-qRdh7-2iE/s1600/thumbody.JPG" gta="true" height="240" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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When Bryan was a little boy, he had an obsession with vikings. I mean, we went to Medievil times festivals, read about chain mail and swords, checked viking books out the library. He was all about the vikings. Truth be told, Bryan had MANY obsessions throughout his early years (dinosaurs, spiders, WW2, Star Wars, the digestive system to name a few!). Vikings were just one of many, but it was special because it just so happened to be his obsession during the Christmas season that year. <br />
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At church, his precious Sunday School teachers made ornaments for the kids to give to moms and dads. Using the child's thumbprint, they'd make little smiley faces, and the words "I'm thumbody special" were written across the ornament. Sweet, huh? Well, can you imagine our delight when Bryan brought home his ornament to reveal a thumb-viking? It was completed with a viking hat and sword, a true masterpiece of our son's own design. I can almost guarantee that no other child in the history of First Baptist Church, Richmond KY has ever made a viking out of their thumbprint! <br />
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Every year, as we pull out the decorations to transform our home into a Christmas land, I cannot wait to see that sweet little ornament. It gets the front of the tree every year, very near eye level for me. It takes me back to a time when there was a sweet innocence in Bryan, a time that I often mistakenly wished away because the days were long and sometimes not easy (<i>has anyone ever told you little boys can be hard</i>???!!) This year was no different. I rummaged through the box of wrapped ornaments, looking for that one, eager to give it its rightful place of honor. And every day, as I've walked past that tree, I find myself looking at that little thumb viking and smiling. <br />
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Today, in my quiet time with the Lord, I was reminded that <b>He looks at me the same way.. like that sweet little thumbprint viking</b>. He relishes me, delights in me, places me in a place of honor. The Father of all the universe smiles as He looks at me... not because I'm perfect. Just like Bryan's viking has a wonky hat and oddly-shaped extremities, I'm far from perfect myself. The sins of my life have stained me. But the blood of Jesus has washed me clean. I'm beautiful in His sight. Maybe not by worldy standards am I beautiful. You certainly won't find my face stamped across some beauty magazine, and I'll likely never be given the title "beauty queen". Yet, My Abba Father.. he calls me beautiful. <b><i>And that's enough for me</i></b>. <br />
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Did you know that the Father delights in you too? That the season of Christmas is proof of His delight? He gave you and me the most incredible gift of his son, God-become-flesh, to dwell among us. He gave us Emmanuel, God <i>WITH US</i>. What a gift that is! His delight was not just in word, but it was carried out in deed through the coming of the Messiah. <br />
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And so it is that the sweetest little Thumb viking ornament ever made is still filling my heart with joy. What a wonderful reminder as I look at it hanging there of the wondrous gift of Jesus. I hope you have a Christmas viking of your own to remind you of the same. May your Christmas season be filled with reminders and celebrations of the Messiah, Emmanuel...God with us. <br />
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Peace, <br />
H~Bird's Wordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18172896311469204163noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1090538454632395885.post-18271198712983407492014-10-23T10:59:00.001-07:002014-10-23T10:59:48.536-07:00Kidneys are goodSome of you may not know, but last week I got to witness a miracle firsthand! How's that, you ask? Well, let me tell you! <br />
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I wrote a few weeks ago about my brother and my husband. In that post, I explained that diabetes had taken its toll on my brother's kidneys, and he was in need of a transplant. Well, lo and behold, my husband just happened to be a match for him! (note the sarcasm. I do NOT believe in coincidence or luck). <br />
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A week ago today, doctors removed the left kidney from Jeff and placed it into my brother. Immediately, that thing pinked up and began working. Seriously, the nurses were emptying his catheter bag around the clock starting immediately. (Side note: I've never been so excited about pee before!) The next morning, Chris's creatinine level was cut in half (That's a lab value that indicates kidney function, and prior to surgery Chris's was not good at all. In fact, it was consistent with the need for dialysis). <br />
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24 hours later, and that Creatinine level was just 0.1 away from the normal range. 48 hours after surgery, and it was 1.1- IN THE NORMAL RANGE. Chris said it was the first time he'd had a normal Creatinine level since he was about 35 years old (11 years ago!). <br />
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Yesterday, that Creatinine had dropped to 0.9, almost the same as Jeff's level was prior to surgery! Chris thinks that it was last that low when he was 20-25 years old. <br />
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FOLKS, THIS IS A MIRACLE! <br />
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Some people will read this and write it off as nothing more than the wonders of modern medicine. Believe me when I say that I'm grateful for modern medical advances. It blows my mind that they can take an organ out of one person and use it in another. <br />
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BLOWS. MY. MIND. <br />
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But I believe that the reason for that is miraculous, God-given. He created our bodies and He imparts knowledge to some to be able to perform such life-saving measures. <br />
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A working kidney in my brother isn't the only miracle I've observed though. The willingness of my husband to give that kidney is no less a miracle. This week, I sat by his bedside and watched him in excrutiating pain, all willingly. I even asked him one time when the pain was horrible, "Do you regret it?" He quickly said, "No. Not for one second". <br />
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I've watched my husband with new eyes this week. He's always had a servant heart. That's one of the things I fell in love with about him. He's always been willing to give to anyone in need whatever he could. But this... this is real sacrifice folks. This time, it wasn't money or food or clothing or clean water. This time it was literally his body, his comfort!<br />
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I've watched as he tears up every time it is mentioned that Chris's kidney is functioning perfectly. I've watched as he hurt but never one time complained. I'm humbled by that. <br />
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In the recovery room, Jeff's first questions were "How is Chris? Did it work?". When Chris came out about an hour later, a nurse walked to Jeff's curtained area and said "He wants to know how Jeff is doing". These two men represent the heart of Christianity. In a world where people sometimes look at Christians with disdain and suspicion- sometimes rightfully!), I hope they also see this. Because this... this is what following after Jesus is <i>supposed </i>to look like. <br />
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Sunday afternoon, Jeff came home. What a wonderful time that was! But today is likely the first time that he truly rejoices, because today Chris goes home too. <br />
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Today is very literally the start of a new life for Chris. But y'all, it's also the start of a new life for Jeff. Because <b>you can't live sacrificially and not be altered</b>. It's just not possible. You can't live fully sold-out to Jesus and not be changed completely inside and out. In fact, I'd bet that if you asked anyone in our immediate family, they'd all tell you that they are changed because of the events of this past week. And change is good, y'all. Change is very good. <br />
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In the body, kidneys work to get rid of the waste in our bodies. In our life, Christ works the same. Without Him, we can't be fully effective. We can't filter the junk in this world and come out untainted without Christ. We weren't made to be without him. Without a kidney, our body can't filter the junk. We can't live. <br />
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The bible says, "The thief comes to steal, kill, and destroy; I have come that you may have life and have it to the full" (John 10:10). Jesus is the life-giver, the abundant life-giver, the peanut-butter-oozing-out-the-side-of-the-sandwich- life giver. If you don't know him, I'd love to share about this life-giver. Because y'all, Kidneys are good, but Jesus is even better! <br />
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Thanks be to God. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcMJea2nGr2LBIhS9ZZDEQm1HPmgiizyQdfRuUm34lbBrNTGQy8DIDoGbEFjrdQ-8gcPFo1lZJQvzGhNu2Tj8Zjgx8hSy1pPYxYtpnD5rt-oNNFK8bZLtCf2_XtWMyhlvjMgt9IFuLJND_/s1600/new+kidneys.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcMJea2nGr2LBIhS9ZZDEQm1HPmgiizyQdfRuUm34lbBrNTGQy8DIDoGbEFjrdQ-8gcPFo1lZJQvzGhNu2Tj8Zjgx8hSy1pPYxYtpnD5rt-oNNFK8bZLtCf2_XtWMyhlvjMgt9IFuLJND_/s400/new+kidneys.JPG" /></a>Bird's Wordshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18172896311469204163noreply@blogger.com3