tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-82660615216500028662024-02-20T20:21:37.426-08:00Grace and Rain"See, I am doing a new thing: I am making a way in the desert and streams in the Wasteland."
Isaiah 43:19Thru a Tori-lenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14510894741605608131noreply@blogger.comBlogger75125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8266061521650002866.post-86989390916664925182021-10-05T11:28:00.002-07:002021-10-05T11:28:21.193-07:00Autumn Leaves Falling<p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-5-CiUmuPdBLB7lKWLPjI_lUctyCmYZpmzrlSZapkyU5kd5rxYGt9v3m9IyjpwPIUOtpwlBcQ6W7ZSk3zYaeZrvINhUjwpVQM9McOObQBKf4qHX2frUX7nUXuUgr9rZ2u36WRjbiPv9g/s2048/6F1B38FF-C9EE-4DFD-BB5A-C36CA98CB863.heic" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-5-CiUmuPdBLB7lKWLPjI_lUctyCmYZpmzrlSZapkyU5kd5rxYGt9v3m9IyjpwPIUOtpwlBcQ6W7ZSk3zYaeZrvINhUjwpVQM9McOObQBKf4qHX2frUX7nUXuUgr9rZ2u36WRjbiPv9g/s320/6F1B38FF-C9EE-4DFD-BB5A-C36CA98CB863.heic" width="240" /></a></span></div><b style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: large; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></div></b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: large; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;">Fall is the best kind of light</div></span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: large; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;">a slow descent to winter night</div></span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: large; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;">awakening to warm noon-time</div></span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: large; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;">yet freezing by dark moon-time</div></span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: large; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;">in the meantime</div></span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: large; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;">the leaves turn and trip and fall</div></span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: large; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;">eyes upturned to see the light</div></span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: large; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;">I stall a moment with them all</div></span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: large; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;">before I turn and slip into Winter</div><div style="text-align: center;">from Fall.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEYoavE0DiP7PdAVzf7nPanttO4xPj-ZQrvnn0_GuIksJA0s0dO6AOzwRqf42YvqaBsJLCuH-MBiRIXCcn5hXyL5D0ecv29vH8E1jddWAP_WEaO8xIeNkO_Ow2E2b0UU8dZigDnSxmEuQ/s2048/B12AA7C2-15A9-4DB5-8519-2462C00227F8.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEYoavE0DiP7PdAVzf7nPanttO4xPj-ZQrvnn0_GuIksJA0s0dO6AOzwRqf42YvqaBsJLCuH-MBiRIXCcn5hXyL5D0ecv29vH8E1jddWAP_WEaO8xIeNkO_Ow2E2b0UU8dZigDnSxmEuQ/s320/B12AA7C2-15A9-4DB5-8519-2462C00227F8.heic" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>Thru a Tori-lenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14510894741605608131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8266061521650002866.post-21447298465901229772020-07-18T17:41:00.002-07:002020-07-18T17:46:02.662-07:00Invisible<span id="docs-internal-guid-0a17cca9-7fff-74af-56f3-1b174d14480b"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://outerislandx.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/06/Sunset-2-892x1024.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Photo courtesy of Outer Island Excursions, Orcas Island" border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="892" height="400" src="https://outerislandx.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/06/Sunset-2-892x1024.jpg" width="348" /></a></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> When I was little, before you knew me, I used to love climbing up and sitting on top of the fridge. There was space up there for one small child and her blankie, and sometimes a pillow, to lay down, curled up with a thumb in her mouth and her eyes wide open to the world. My busy family would whirl by with so much sound and fury, signifying nothing. Phones would ring, arguments would ensue, but my hiding-place-in-plain-sight was quiet. I felt invisible. I’m sure my family knew I was there, but sometimes, I would hope, maybe, just maybe, they forgot. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"> As I grew older I learned to walk invisibly in bustling cities and train stations around the world, insignificant to the social climbers and global corporate suits pushing past. But as years went past I forgot this silence. I became somebody’s “other” and the world to two small beings who depended on me for their world to turn. With a small whisper I let go of my invisibility. And I still yearn for how peaceful it could be.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"> I have another memory: of you and me kayak camping. Just the two of us. I remember the silence of kayak paddles noiselessly gliding through water in quiet rhythm, the rippling water erasing our progress and any path we might leave behind. Quiet at a small campfire we passed the flask and we passed the evening in jests and jokes and silence. We were living in the moment of now, still and open. You knew my silence and you loved me for it. In our noisy lives you brought a whisper. You were invisible too, once.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"> It’s cliche to share these thoughts now. But it’s also perfect. I want you to know that when you’re gone from me someday (hopefully a long time from now) that in that silence I will feel you the most. Your muted disapprovals, your long silences, your still softness in the midst of the whirlwind that is our family… in the quiet moments I’ll know you’re there with me. I'll go out in that kayak and you'll be there, too.</span></p><div><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>Thru a Tori-lenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14510894741605608131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8266061521650002866.post-92152645489688761192020-02-27T13:51:00.000-08:002020-02-27T18:51:07.524-08:00Pain and Promise<div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo credit: kabbalah.com</td></tr>
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Last year I cheated on my husband. An old friend had found me after almost 20 years and this tempestuous lover brought back memories of my younger, wilder life. The words of my darkest poetry began to return to my thoughts. I often found myself daydreaming about how I could run away from my life and disappear, forever. Of course it would hurt my family, but my dear friend wouldn't let me think those thoughts. "They'll hate you and then you'll really be free to live your own life." He whispered. "They'll get over it." He insinuated. "Those girls have already gotten everything they need from you." He lied. "Your husband is disappointed in you, anyway." The words echoed in my heart for the better part of a year. </div>
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My jealous lover didn't like it when I spent time with other people. He preferred I focus on him. So, of course, I ignored all efforts to go out, meet up or have a girls' night with friends. I kept up pretenses at home of a happy marriage and a happy mother, but in my heart I was not present in those moments. Tears of madness and anger and self-righteous pity covered my cheeks as I lay in bed and tried to sleep, meeting up with my dark friend late into the evening. We lamented, together, how boring and pedestrian my life had become. My lover questioned my happiness in my job and even with my husband. He asked whether I'd missed him and I whispered that I had. I opened myself to him again and allowed myself to believe he knew me best.<br />
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You may have met my friend, yourself. His name is Depression and he's a monster. He comes to you in the night like a warm, heavy blanket and before you know it you're stifling under his hot breath and broken promises. Like in years past I had allowed that voice to empower me instead of my own. I had given power to something that was destroying my heart. In order to free myself I had to remember who I was meant to be and who I am to become. So I turned.<br />
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I have another Lover. A bright light in my life. He's jealous of my purity, my strength and my love. He doesn't like it when I wallow in self-pity or break promises and He would never ever break my heart. This Love is the true love of my life. The One I lean on, the One who empowers me to be more myself than ever. Through Him I see who I was made to be, who I am meant to become. He shows me my whole life, past and present, laid out like a tapestry, woven through with moments of discovery, adventure, pain and promise. He reminded me recently that even during this past year of adultery He never stopped loving me with his real, life-giving love. He assured me I have the power within me to stop Depression from controlling my life and that true Love is always stronger than death. He pointed me to my husband and family and said, gently, "This is Love in the flesh." He whispered, "This is my gift to you because you are lovely and worthy of love." He smiled and handed me forgiveness for all the horrible thoughts of my past year and gave me myself back. This isn't the first time He's pulled me back from the dark place. Time after time he reaches down and pulls me out of my pit and sets me in the warm sun and hands me gift after gift. Every time I turn to find Him he's running towards me with forgiveness, grace and goodness overflowing from his arms.<br />
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How does my husband handle the fact that I have this lover in my life? It's easy- this Love is for Him, too. This Higher Power at our center and His true, unfathomable love is what has held us together for 20 years. God's presence in my life has helped me overcome depression and given me purpose and strength I could never imagine on my own. If you're living under a shadow, try turning towards the light and you'll see Him standing there- arms overflowing with gifts for you, too. If you’re still struggling please reach out and get medical help- because you are lovely and worthy of love.</div>
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<br />Thru a Tori-lenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14510894741605608131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8266061521650002866.post-52054467170520988992016-10-27T14:52:00.000-07:002019-01-23T10:24:27.917-08:00<div style="text-align: center;">
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As I pull into the parking lot I am suddenly overcome by fear and anxiety. I laugh out loud at my trepidation and step out into the light of a new day: I'm 40 now. My first mammogram. A bizarre rite of passage I hadn't expected to hold with any significance. <br />
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Anticipating the usual trappings of a doctor's office I march myself inside the ordinary medical building and am greeted by a courteous and calm younger woman who directs me to an inner waiting room where Ellen is playing on a large screen TV over a huge stone fireplace. A point to clarify: it's not just any Ellen episode; it's Snoop Dogg and Martha Stewart. Awesome. I laugh again as I take in the comfortable couches, a coffee/tea station and no cheesy magazines in sight. Only Cosmopolitan. Bizarre.<br />
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Very <i>unlike</i> a doctor's office, I hardly wait a moment before my name is called and I am transported to a boutique spa instead of the expected sterile clinic environment. Low wood tables with orchid arrangements and tasteful art greet me. We wind through a maze of corriders as I fight a sensation of Alice falling down the hole with tables, clocks, paintings on the walls all breezing past. I'm ushered to a changing room by the <strike>spa</strike> medical attendant. This is no cell-block with green curtains or heavy hospital doors like at a regular clinic, but truly a changing room with sliding wood doors, hooks on the walls, a comfortable bench and again, flowers on a low wood table. It feels more like changing rooms at a high end department store than a medical facility.<br />
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Just as I am disrobed and ready, the attendant returns and ushers me into the sanctum sanctorum, the inner room. Here the illusion is disrupted. This is a sterile, though warm, empty space of a room with a large x-ray machine in the middle. The machine looks like a giant telescope or ray gun with an odd little tray table right at chest height.<br />
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I've heard about the squishing mechanism of the machine, but have not visualized exactly what that looks like until I see it in person. Yes. It squishes. Yes. It hurts. Yes, it's a bizarre sensation. But when it's over I realize the fear I've been feeling is past. I'm not afraid of cancer. I'm not afraid of doctor's offices. I'm not afraid of anything but my own failures. And here, I have not failed. <br />
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To reward me for my bravery I'm given a bright pink gift bag with chocolates, a nail file, sanitizer and a pen. Things a woman needs? Things I've earned? Still- I walk out with a proud sensation that I've accomplished something. I retrieve my clothes from behind my wooden door and fill out a raffle ticket for a lovely gift basket in the hall. The signs lead me back through the maze (now I'm brave, I can find my own way) and dump me back out into the bright parking lot. <br />
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Lately I've been talking a lot about being brave. About riding on the power of your own wings. This little procedure is nothing compared to what I'm sure I will face in my future. But for now it is my secret little victory against fear. Thru a Tori-lenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14510894741605608131noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8266061521650002866.post-4339943444775418812014-07-14T22:56:00.002-07:002014-07-14T23:14:41.297-07:00Pillow DreamsIt happened to me today. I heard an ad from J.C. Penny for back to school clothes and when the manicured voice mentioned pillows and pillowcases suddenly I saw my Grace-girl at 18; headed off to college under the burden of pillows and books and buoyed by innocence and hopefulness. As the young woman turned and smiled at me with confident compassion I felt sand shift under my feet and I thought- What the Hell. She's barely 8. <br />
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But this year marks a big change for us. We're sending the kids to school so this Mama can go back to work and help this family to financial freedom.<br />
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We've been homeschooling this incredible creature for... well... for 8 years I guess. I taught her to walk, talk, strum a guitar, sing. I taught her read and write and to love learning. In many respects this is absolutely the best time for her to shift to the public school arena. I got to have those fun years with her, those blissed out moments of "Ah Ha!," the sweet shift from single to sister... <br />
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But I wasn't expecting the grieving. Seriously. I must be the biggest weenie in the world. Why is this so hard for me? Because I know. I know that growing up will happen. I know that there will come a day that she won't look at me with her doe eyes and her dreams on her sleeve. It doesn't make it easier to face. I'm not saying school is evil. AT ALL. I am saying that I will miss her. But she's ready. <strike>I'm ready.</strike> I'm on the path to ready. I'll be there very soon.<br />
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Now- don't even ask me about Baby Rain. I haven't started grieving for her yet- for the years I got to hoard with her sister that she'll never get to share with me. That's a process for another day. But now- It's time to share these babies with the world. Watch out world- here they come. I'll keep you updated on our family adventure, because that's really what it is. We're being called out of our comfort zone in a new and prickly way. Never in my life have I shirked adventure, so: BRING IT ON, WORLD! We're ready.Thru a Tori-lenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14510894741605608131noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8266061521650002866.post-49308161816916117372014-03-09T15:45:00.001-07:002014-03-09T15:45:36.022-07:00Here's to Great Little Coffee Shops<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I've been neglecting my blogs. It's a sure sign I've been neglecting my writing and maybe even my soul. All I can think about today is wide open spaces, mountains, oceans and deep, mysterious forests that go on forever and ever. I've been dreaming about moss so deep you can bury your toes in it and water so clear you can count the rocks at the bottom of the swimming hole. <br />
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And then I dream about jumping. <br />
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And running.<br />
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And flying.<br />
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And now I'm not dreaming, anymore. The reality sets in- the beautiful life I live is enough. It has to be enough. The dream storage inside me is so full it's leaking. This is a problem. I need to stop and make space for peace.<br />
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With every dish I wash and every sock pair I join with joyful surprise (because really, it can be a rare event) I'm trying to go more to a place of thankfulness than despair. Just to clarify- I've never regretted my choice to be a mom or a wife. But some days it just isn't all rainbows and sunshine. Sometimes it's tears and regretted words and hurt feelings. Some days it's black eyes and scraped knees and we all forget to say please.<br />
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And on those days I do my best to channel <a href="http://aholyexperience.com/">Ann Voskamp</a> or<a href="http://bostern.com/"> Bo Stern</a> because, really, what is so hard in my life that I get to complain about it? But on those days my words feel like wood chips in my mouth. My tears flow faster than my fingers on the keyboard and I'm stuck in a slough of no inspiration. Like riding your bike along a nice dirt track and suddenly running into deep, deep sand that just grips your tires and knocks you flying over your handlebars. Maybe that would be a good name for a self-help book: "When Life Grips Your Tires and Sends You Flying Over Your Handlebars." People like self-help books. It could sell. But today I don't want to write a best selling self-help book. All I want to do is disappear into quiet and space and myself and just hide out in my favorite hiding place or a really good, funky coffee shop.<br />
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So this post is dedicated to all those great coffee shops out there that allow us to sit in stoney silence and don't admonish us for ignoring the piles of dishes and they don't shun us for running out on our husbands on a Sunday afternoon just "because," and they don't judge us for not shaving our legs or finishing that book club book or trying that new thing on Pinterest... they just let us sit.<br />
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Now- before I go I have to say this. Jesus loves to meet me at that coffee shop. Sometimes it's the only place I remember to look for him. So please, please, put down your expectations and go meet him there. Have some coffee and whine a little about your first world problems. It's ok, he listens. And when it's all done you've spared your husband the drama and your kids the unexplained tears and everything feels a little better in your world. I know it works because I'm sitting here in this <a href="http://greenplowcoffee.com/">great little coffee shop...</a><br />
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I hope I remember to blog more often. I hope you remember to be you, too.Thru a Tori-lenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14510894741605608131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8266061521650002866.post-47686923688037847132013-05-05T02:16:00.001-07:002013-05-05T02:18:42.847-07:00Learning to Leave your Kids Behind<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The title sounds terrifying, even wrong, somehow. Didn't I just spend the last seven years of my life learning how to embrace every aspect of motherhood? How many poopy diapers have I joyfully rinsed in the toilet? How many ENDLESS loads of laundry and dishes have I washed and put away? How many pointlessly goofy questions have I fielded over the past seven years? It's really impossible to say. Really. But one thing is for certain-<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">It is now very hard to say goodbye to my kids.</span><br />
Which is ok. Normal, even. I really truly enjoy my kids. I love to learn with them, play with them, set aside daily chores just to be with them. It's true. I don't like to say to say goodbye to them even if it is just so I can get to the gym 3 evenings a week or go to work to help support our family a few nights out of the week. The problem isn't them. It's good for them, and for us.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Will they know the real me when they're grown and gone?</span><br />
For me this is the biggest point of parenting: teaching your kids how to be make that awkward transition from innocence to knowledge; from childhood to adulthood; from living in the moment to living in the "now" and all it's busyness. Do I want them to see the perfect me that never slips up and always keeps the house tidy? Or do I want them to see my true fallen nature with the "insert-Grace-here" that makes it all possible? Believe me, I'm not saying my kids should know all the shadows of my life. Yet. But they should have glimpses so that they can better understand their own shadows. They need to know they are not alone in this crazy life. <br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And who exactly am I supposed to be?</span><br />
If we forget how to say hello to ourselves, Mothers, we've lost something that may never return. What is it that I <i>truly need</i>? I'm not talking pedicures and play-dates, here, people (though they have a fun importance of their own). What I <i>truly </i>need is adventure. I need a reason to exist beyond my kids and my husband. I need divine appointments and silence and the hopefulness that springs out of NOT BEING IN MY HOUSE SURROUNDED BY PILES OF STUFF. Yes, I shouted that. I really did. And it's ok because I'm in my car blasting Ani DiFranco on my way to the gym. Or to work. Or somewhere that is not in the presence of my children or even my husband. Speaking of which...<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Can He even see me, anymore?</span><br />
I need to be the woman my husband fell in love with; not the one he married, but the teeny-tiny "me" that he saw growing inside that was full of hopes and dreams and promises. I cannot fail her and I will not fail him. That's right. It's old fashioned. But it's true. We made a covenant almost ten years ago that we would love, honor, cherish and protect each other which means that we will FIGHT for each other and for this marriage every day. Most days it's truly not difficult. But it will be if I forget who I am or if he forgets who he is.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Can He see them the way I do?</span><br />
Of course not. He's a creature driven by his own needs and desires and he has his own fight. He has to say good-bye every day to these beautiful kids so he can go to work. He's the expert on good-byes. I'm just the novice. But I want him to see them with the same lens of passion and diligence by which I view them. If only for one evening. And he does when I am able to back out and go take care of myself. <br />
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SO- when the kids ask why I have to go to the gym or why I have to go to work I just tell them- "Because it makes me a better mommy. And it's good for you to have some special time with Daddy." And that really is an easy answer because it's true.<br />
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For more resources about how to help your kids with this difficult transition, check out my other blog and the post about <a href="http://barefootstories.blogspot.com/2013/05/mommy-dont-go-how-to-say-goodbye.html">Saying Goodbye to Mommy...</a><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> </span>Thru a Tori-lenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14510894741605608131noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8266061521650002866.post-45167047642625875822013-04-03T01:38:00.000-07:002013-04-03T01:39:59.497-07:00Guardians!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We are not the sort of homeschool-hippie-suburban-homesteading-wannabe parents who shelter our kids from the greater reality of the world beyond our doorstep. We don't have cable, either. Or a t.v. for that matter. But we do watch a lot of movies and some t.v. shows. My husband and I recently previewed "Rise of the Guardians" after hearing a lot about this movie. It did absolutely live up to the hype- Alec Baldwin is one of my favorite and by far one of the funniest people in entertainment, today. And the naughty/nice tattoos only help his cause. Jude Law, Hugh Jackman... awesome.<br />
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The meta-theme? Not so awesome.<br />
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I came away from this movie feeling a little dirty. The children of our world today are longing to believe in something "real." So what do we give them? A revamped Santa, a kick-ass Easter Bunny, and a trickster ice-man. Oh- and throw in a fairy for the girls (ooooh, aaaahhh). The more we teach them that this is what magic is, the less they will be able to believe in REAL magic. They'll come to believe that everything we taught them is imaginary, merely a child's dream. <br />
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I was as surprised by my reaction to this movie as I was by my reaction to <a href="http://junipernews.blogspot.com/2011/09/all-tangled-up.html">Tangled </a>when I saw it for the first time. For me, that movie reflected REAL magic. The magic of love and grace. The struggle with our sin selves and the need to believe in a dream, a vision, that will ultimately lead us to truth. Guardians only teaches us to believe in ... what? Nature spirits? Fairytales? Ourselves?<br />
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The Rise of the Guardians is supposed to reflect an ancient story of how God assists heroes on their journeys, and this is a hero's journey. But...<br />
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The Man in the Moon is the God figure in this movie. He is distant, closed-off, non-verbal. Not at all like the God I know. The One who knows every hair on my head, and yours. The God who sings over me and never sleeps is NOT distant though He has definitely given us each a special job: to be a guardian. We must each be guardians of truth and of the dreams of the children in our lives and guardians of the Magic that Is. <br />
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<br />Thru a Tori-lenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14510894741605608131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8266061521650002866.post-3933705544913433772013-02-17T09:11:00.001-08:002013-02-17T09:11:30.979-08:00A Sloppy Wet Kiss<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/JoC1ec-lYps" width="420"></iframe>
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I LOVE this song. I love it in the way that I love the sun on a winter day or I love the smell of the ocean. I picked this version because I particularly love Jesus Culture in the same way. And the thing I love best about this song is the sloppy-wet-kiss line ("Heaven meets Earth like a sloppy wet kiss...).<br />
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Unfortunately some Christians (and others) have found this line to be offensive. Seriously, people? Are we in preschool? How can we not understand the messy interface between our weak human selves and the creator of the universe? Of course it's sloppy. It's about the craziest thing I can imagine. All my sin, all my junk, laid out before the ONE who made me. The ONE who knows me best.<br />
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The guy who wrote the song, John Mark, wrote this on <a href="http://johnmarkmcmillan.blogspot.com/2009/09/how-he-loves-david-crowder-and-sloppy.html">his blog</a>:<br />
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<span style="color: #eeeeee;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #2c3033; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 20.796875px;">The idea behind the lyric is that the kingdom of heaven and the kingdom of earth converge in a way that is both beautiful and awkwardly messy. Think about the birth of a child, or even the death of Jesus himself. These miracles are both incredibly beautiful and incredibly sloppy ("gory" may be more realistic, but “Heaven meets earth like a gory mess” didn’t seem to have the same ring). Why does the church have such a problem with things being sloppy? Do we really think we’re fooling anyone on Sunday morning, especially God? Are we going to offend him? I mean, he’s seen us naked in the shower all week and knows our worst thoughts, and still thinks we’re awesome.</span><span style="background-color: #2c3033; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 20.796875px;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: #2c3033; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: 20.796875px;">What if we took all the energy we spent faking and used that energy to enjoy the Lord instead? That could be revolutionary!</span></span></div>
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I hope you can be encouraged by the idea, today, that God LOVES YOU. Not in spite of the sloppiness of your life, but, in a way, because of it. Because He already knows you. He loved you before you ever knew Him. </div>
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Oh, How He Loves Us...</div>
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Thru a Tori-lenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14510894741605608131noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8266061521650002866.post-33351366277105204722013-01-24T00:44:00.000-08:002013-01-24T00:44:16.776-08:00Dropping Down to NormalI'm nervous, writing about this. It's hard to talk about because I'm afraid of failure. I'm afraid I'll be proud and strong and able and willing and then it will crumble and I'll just be me. But I've been hearing the call for so long...and I hope my words can encourage another.<br />
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It was easy to revel in intellectual pursuit, geeky fun, music and games... and it still is. But being athletic? Being "strong?" That seemed impossible. Like some weird pipe dream. But in the midst of reinventing myself into the image of God I became weary of pretending I didn't care about this vessel. I was tired. Tired of being tired. Tired of feeling like I was losing the fight. Tired of thinking there was no way to win.<br />
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It took me awhile to see what God sees: this body is part of the total package. What I eat, how I treat myself, can affect who I am. He gave me the verse (1 Corinthians 6:19-20) when I was pregnant with my eldest daughter and it has lived on my dresser for seven years and through 3 moves (and 3 dressers). How could I have missed it? This body is mine on loan. It's a reminder of what I will have <i>in eternity</i> and how I care for myself now just might have an impact on who I become. <i>For eternity. </i><br />
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Girl-chosen-last-on-the-kickball-team just lost 30 pounds. Truth. And she goes to the gym 3 days a week to tear it up next to the best of them. Strong, powerful <i>and </i>beautiful. And she loves it. Thru a Tori-lenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14510894741605608131noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8266061521650002866.post-49963402159471531602012-12-06T23:56:00.003-08:002012-12-06T23:56:35.683-08:00On the Road...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>I Love You</b></div>
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The little wooden beads spell it out</div>
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in absolutes</div>
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of pink hearts and careful girl-child fingers;</div>
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This van is loaded to the brim</div>
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with love.</div>
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and crusty cheerios</div>
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and songs sung too many times</div>
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and empty spaces</div>
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of desert</div>
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always following </div>
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out the window.</div>
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Dried wildflowers fill places</div>
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of memory in me</div>
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where my life usually lives.</div>
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But Devil's Claw</div>
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you call me out.</div>
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You whisper secrets and</div>
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tell stories by firelight.</div>
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Mystery and Alien</div>
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you point the way</div>
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onward down the road.</div>
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And so we fly on</div>
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into the I Love You.</div>
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<br />Thru a Tori-lenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14510894741605608131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8266061521650002866.post-15904285413868714962012-09-07T00:16:00.002-07:002012-09-07T00:16:36.674-07:00Sisterhood of Mothering<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Baby Rain and Grace-girl: Sisters</td></tr>
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Today I'm thankful for sisters. Mine, in particular.<br />
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Last weekend I sat with her, a latte and a black coffee between us, homeschool curriculum spread out on the table, and the Pacific Ocean roaring out the window. It was a breathlessly beautiful moment. Not just because of the ocean, or the silence of the child-less moment, but because it reminded me of all that is good between my sister and me. We've shared so much on our life journey; some pretty and some definitively not. But divorce and cancer and all kinds of ugliness could never overshadow all the good: marriage, children, life, and Jesus, to name a few.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She's latte, I'm black coffee.</td></tr>
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I've been watching my girls as they grow and unite against the world in their crazy childlike way and remembering what that felt like for me. Having a sister meant I was never on my own. I always had a help-mate and friend. When I doubted myself, I could trust that she would be standing there ready to give me a true reflection. I like to think that our relationship is part of the reason we both married wonderful men- there was no desperation or loneliness in that choice. We always had each other, after all. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2CiJ9_9Ab9RCx7iiUU5LkBZjkGy8rWAL0B4d11x2g9WX4tPPW_eZ8Con4Rb6d_1qr3yDB6BFz9UoBwsgqxwiLmsFnAJvYPuTKynMZQ4SD4TjpTJCdm0ucLEXwWhyphenhyphenboxbUl8ra72cZl2E/s1600/DSC02811.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2CiJ9_9Ab9RCx7iiUU5LkBZjkGy8rWAL0B4d11x2g9WX4tPPW_eZ8Con4Rb6d_1qr3yDB6BFz9UoBwsgqxwiLmsFnAJvYPuTKynMZQ4SD4TjpTJCdm0ucLEXwWhyphenhyphenboxbUl8ra72cZl2E/s320/DSC02811.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh the joy!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I've lived with my sister (and her very patient husband) a few times over the years and in the living together we have discovered we have very little in common in the everyday threads of life. She's organized, I'm eclectic. She's modern and minimalist, I'm artistic and Bohemian. She's a vacation at a spa, I'm a backpacking adventure. But we would live together again everytime. Someday we'll be 85 and 88 in our rocking chairs watching the world go by our little porch. Or maybe we'll still be hiking down to the beach, wine glasses in hand, to watch the moon rise. <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSMAoN0tpX6JHBBYQJJY1x8YU2SAtlAT34w1H8tObGth8BpqeoXAbn5hVzN_7rPUjwylPEQkaYpQBYYTAH4l6O3yvnFG38jm9P5BjgWMJ_L5ujVubNHzcic3oOGRWxOAxMnXPjpvsgSPs/s1600/DSC02792.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSMAoN0tpX6JHBBYQJJY1x8YU2SAtlAT34w1H8tObGth8BpqeoXAbn5hVzN_7rPUjwylPEQkaYpQBYYTAH4l6O3yvnFG38jm9P5BjgWMJ_L5ujVubNHzcic3oOGRWxOAxMnXPjpvsgSPs/s320/DSC02792.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cousins can be sisters, too!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I don't want it to end. In a way it is the sisterhood that provoked my heart into wanting a child in the first place. And then another. Between us we have five girls and some powerful strong sisterlove going on. <br />
<br />Thru a Tori-lenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14510894741605608131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8266061521650002866.post-34208311419540469152012-06-03T02:06:00.000-07:002012-06-06T17:09:49.783-07:00What does Sunset smell like?<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.pacificcreststock.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2009/10/mt-wash-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="237" src="http://www.pacificcreststock.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2009/10/mt-wash-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mt. Washington with Alpenglow- a bit closer than our park view.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The view from my Grace-girl's bedroom window is incredible. Above the park across the street, the sun is setting over Mt. Washington, the sky all pink and blue.<br />
<br />
We lie in a pile up in her high loft bed; a tower set apart, resting. Baby Rain, little sister, is down below. Darkness creeps into the sleepy corners.<br />
<br />
"Do you want me to open the window so you can smell the sunset?"<br />
"What does it smell like?"<br />
"You tell me." I open the window.<br />
She takes a deep breath.<br />
"It smells like rainbows."<br />
<br />
She dreamed that night about brothers- helping her, holding her up, supporting her (she has no natural brothers). The brothers in the dream were represented by real people in her life, friends, both girls and boys. It's a dream, mom, anybody could be a brother, boy or girl," she reminds me. She was falling and they helped her up. Then they gave her a picture of Jesus. A physical picture of Jesus as well as the metaphorical one. <br />
<br />
This is how my five year old dreams.<br />
<br />
So sleep well, little girl. Don't worry about what might be
lost. Soon you will be six and you might not remember what rainbows
smell like. But you'll never be alone in this life- that I promise.<br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">photo courtesy of <a href="http://www.pacificcreststock.com/blog/tag/ox">Pacific Crest Stock Photo Blog</a></span></i>Thru a Tori-lenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14510894741605608131noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8266061521650002866.post-91142350142595608352012-04-10T13:25:00.002-07:002012-04-10T13:26:13.620-07:00Sisterhood of Wild Things<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.kissmygumbo.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/01/maxweb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://www.kissmygumbo.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/01/maxweb.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
The paint is dry. The honeymoon is over. "Mom, I miss when it was just me and you and Daddy. I miss our old house." Oh, wow. My heart is physically breaking. Can she hear it? The sadness in her little voice is overwhelming. Must...act...strong...<br />
<br />
Four days later:<br />
"Mom, I like sharing my room with my sister. It's not so lonely."<br />
<br />
How strange blows this wind! The storm of sisterhood is truly amazing.<br />
<br />
At first the baby reaches for sister's hair, her toys, her face, anything related to this being that she so adores. Soon baby is touching her things, crawling into her space, her face. I was that baby once: adoring, single-mindedly determined to devour my sister and anything related to her. <br />
<br />
<i>We'll eat you up we love you so!</i><br />
<br />
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<br />
I was the wild thing. She was Max. Losing control, lost in confusion, angry, frustrated.<br />
<br />
<i>But Max said, "no."</i> <br />
<br />
Oh, those poor little wild things. They just wanted to love and be loved with pure abandon. And poor Max, who could finally control something in his world, didn't mean to hurt them.<br />
<br />
Make no mistake, those little wild things have claws, too. And the King of the Wild Things does bear some great responsibility. He must be able to say NO (and to put them to bed without any supper, but that is a different story for a different day).<br />
<br />
But in the end, who do we love more than life itself? The Dream, the Imagining, the Wild Thing that has pulled us out of ourselves and drawn us into the great adventure.<br />
<br />
As I watch Grace-girl and Baby Rain dance these steps, I find tears flowing. Thankful for my sister who gladly piles up with me when things feel lonely or hard.<br />
Thankful that my girls will have that.<br />
<br />
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<br />Thru a Tori-lenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14510894741605608131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8266061521650002866.post-64776318068779250752012-03-02T22:40:00.002-08:002012-03-02T22:40:30.229-08:00To Dream the Impossible Dream: Elmo and Windmills<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I was watching the documentary about Kevin Clash, "<a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_649172863">Being Elmo</a><a href="http://beingelmo.com/">: A Puppeteer's Journey</a>"
while burrito-loading (a common activity for Friday night around here-
making breakfast burritos for ski days). I was struck by Kevin's pure, unstoppable
essence (or so it seems) of innocence, love of his craft and passion.. This man endured ridicule in High School because of his love of puppets. High School. The most brutal testing ground of all social interaction, and he brought puppetry. But he kept his dream and made it grow. Clash went from regular lower/middle class kid to "most likely to become a millionaire" because he followed his dream regardless of the consequences. The high school yearbook was wrong though. He's probably worth several million by now. He did this at the risk of his own personal relationships, which he fully addresses in the story, and his telling of it only reinforces my opinion of the guy. <br />
<br />
How can we become such impassioned
champions of our own dreams and visions? I've never been a big Elmo
fan, but I can't help admiring the guy. Children LOVE Elmo. Wanna know
why? Because Clash created Elmo to emanate affection. When he was
creating a new persona for the Elmo puppet he did so with a particular
action: affection. Where did he get the idea? From his parents. He realized that it was something that wasn't really being done on Sesame Street at the time. He was the first Muppet to be requested as a <a href="http://www.wish.org/">Make-a-Wish</a> wish. That scene seriously made me cry. This great little documentary reinforces my entire universe: <br />
<ol>
<li>Show my children affection. </li>
<li>Be authentic. </li>
<li>Lead with Love.</li>
</ol>
And tell them to always follow their dreams. But try to say it without the cheesy-PBS-overtones. Now I'm going to watch some Bones. Because brainless brainy-drama is my usual favorite brain candy. Thru a Tori-lenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14510894741605608131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8266061521650002866.post-13562716208231736912012-02-29T21:54:00.001-08:002012-02-29T21:54:03.409-08:00Google Friend Connect is disconnecting...So don't forget to sign up to have my blog sent to your inbox (left side of the blog)! Or follow me in my other spaces- Thanks!Thru a Tori-lenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14510894741605608131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8266061521650002866.post-4635574578939795892012-02-14T00:29:00.000-08:002012-02-14T00:34:33.254-08:00At which altar do you kneel?<br />
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<br />
<i><a href="http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/worship">"Worship"</a></i> is a loaded word. If you come from a Christian background it's full of mixed messages: carved statues on mountaintops juxtaposed with the leathery smell of old hymnals overlaid by power-point-presentation and over dramatized guitar. Really, worship is much less about the music we play and more about how we pay honor, homage or respect to God.<br />
<br />
Our family has recently taken on the truly awesome role of leading a little music time, a.k.a. <i>"praise and worship,</i>" at a little gathering of Jesus-lovers on Sunday mornings. We come together to serve our community and encourage each other, pray, and study the Bible without all the trappings of "church."<br />
<br />
Except those little mini-cinnamon rolls. Those are delicious. And coffee. Gotta have coffee.<br />
<br />
Anyway- <span style="font-size: large;"><i>true worship</i></span>, in my opinion,<i><span style="font-size: large;"> is the one thing we possess that we are able to give freely to God</span></i>.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Worship is not ordained or orchestrated or even necessarily interpreted by God or anyone else. <br />
I believe we were created to love God. To WORSHIP Him. To show respect, reverence, affection, love, devotion. Why does He need this? He doesn't. He really doesn't. But He likes to know that we choose to do it, anyway, because<a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Romans%205:8&version=NIV"> He loved us first</a>. Even before we knew to call on Him, before we knew the extent of our own shortcomings, He loved us, first. <span style="font-size: large;"><i>He can't help himself, </i><span style="font-size: small;">He HAS to love us. </span></span><br />
<br />
The thing that trips me up is this: He Worships Us, Too. Now, don't freak out on me. I'm not suggesting that we are gods of some sort- <a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Zephaniah%203:17&version=NIV">He Sings over us</a>. <a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Song%20of%20Songs%204:9-10&version=NIV">He adores us. He longs to be with us.</a> <br />
<i><span style="font-size: large;">The true worship of our hearts is that we choose Him over everything else in this world, just as He chose us. </span></i><br />
<br />
This topic of worship has been heavy on my heart for the past few months- I expect to return to it with a little more clarity, soon. Promise.<br />
For now I'll leave you with a favorite song of mine by Misty Edwards, <i>"See the Way."</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/bDARLX6P8ZI" width="420"></iframe>
<br />
"God is a lover, looking for a lover, so he fashioned me.<br />
God is a lover, looking for a lover, so he formed my heart..."<br />
<br />
<br />Thru a Tori-lenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14510894741605608131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8266061521650002866.post-82751737311581526542012-01-19T00:20:00.000-08:002012-01-19T00:25:02.331-08:00growing up too fast<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3OK-V0Iz-5Y8knZ2DZe5QHE9QPS-JIEDF2mrf2Y5KAI8tTzyXIORlmlknJpOXrEO583qrL5snFvNH4G8Vyps1vttZpeTJt7eUFifWflGiJaU1XUHHZn4WoztLeyJMuW7_OByn8ZXd1Vk/s1600/DSC01240.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3OK-V0Iz-5Y8knZ2DZe5QHE9QPS-JIEDF2mrf2Y5KAI8tTzyXIORlmlknJpOXrEO583qrL5snFvNH4G8Vyps1vttZpeTJt7eUFifWflGiJaU1XUHHZn4WoztLeyJMuW7_OByn8ZXd1Vk/s320/DSC01240.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
Who is this girl? </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Longer than the bathtub, now, </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
all arms and legs </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
chubby cherub toddler gone </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
in her place </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
this gangly creature, unknown to me </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
eyes twinkling with mischief and creativity, </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
her hair is strong and long as her will </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
she pushes me </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
tug of war </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
dancing an unfamiliar dance </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
We laugh and cry, together </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
often</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
how to walk this new line:</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
uncomfortable</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
beautiful </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
weary and wary</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
intrigued</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
capable?<br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I will myself able.<br />
<br />
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</div>Thru a Tori-lenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14510894741605608131noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8266061521650002866.post-63180965623632082682011-10-18T22:52:00.000-07:002011-10-18T22:52:54.333-07:00Elder WisdomIn the continuing wake of the unexpected loss of my father-in-law this past spring, I feel moved to meditate a bit on my other two dads. One who gave me life and supported me throughout my life, and one who came along in the nick of time to offer extra needed support. If anyone needed two dads, it was probably me!<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Things I learned about parenting from my Dad:</b></span><br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAELPjbSJvj9-qwjMCy_f_orL0xHx2oCgjzbdTQHG31jOiCedH8i7mXqd8IbYclFN2a8Cinu6uGYuJuinNlMQOxY6TKclQgx5GrRedhw_PMWDuZ49c-BQc7qhxSmME2LYOYNIsharRzNw/s1600/DSC_0050.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAELPjbSJvj9-qwjMCy_f_orL0xHx2oCgjzbdTQHG31jOiCedH8i7mXqd8IbYclFN2a8Cinu6uGYuJuinNlMQOxY6TKclQgx5GrRedhw_PMWDuZ49c-BQc7qhxSmME2LYOYNIsharRzNw/s320/DSC_0050.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dad in his home environment</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
1) Play with your kids. Legos and board games are best. And camping.<br />
2) When your kid runs away, don't give her the option of moving in with you. Escape doesn't help anyone.<br />
3) When said daughter calls and asks for advice, don't tell her what you think. She might blame you later. Besides, you love her either way, right?<br />
4) Be graceful about your transition to an adult relationships with your kids. Stop treating them like kids when they become adults. Enjoy grown-up things with them, as much as you enjoyed kid-things when they were younger.<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Things I learned about parenting from my step-dad:</b></span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhebM08iSSjdGQ87yCXAReyad61h5pnW-qyMmtRXoClUAnrXXxpey20JCzORHnfVoPry89PWo9KKVjW9n1oqQ0t6kpQbyIomqug6TvbX4LDY9DpbgrZZaXLdrQIacrwYYDlQ0H5SuH1mWA/s1600/DSC01252.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhebM08iSSjdGQ87yCXAReyad61h5pnW-qyMmtRXoClUAnrXXxpey20JCzORHnfVoPry89PWo9KKVjW9n1oqQ0t6kpQbyIomqug6TvbX4LDY9DpbgrZZaXLdrQIacrwYYDlQ0H5SuH1mWA/s320/DSC01252.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Other Dad in his home environment (with my kid)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
1) Play with your kids. Legos and board games are best. And camping.<br />
2) When your kid runs away, don't nail her window shut. She'll just go out the front door.<br />
3) When said daughter asks for advice, pray a lot before responding. Then take her camping instead. Preferably far, far away from civilization. Maybe you should take a boat. Then you can tell her what you think and she can't get mad and run away again (see #2).<br />
4) Be graceful about your transition to adult relationships with your kids. Don't be afraid to take advice from them. They might actually know something after all those years of hanging out with you.<br />
<br />
Thanks, Dads. I'm one lucky kid.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJShiHWhePyCMtACvcSePAZyr2WmiwO4X-cOOsotMsBuPi8LOhBhUfeCpMBDtKTnT65YbaPIn2wiA6jzBKEhZ3OUydr2lXlcs-F-dmE2_ARtdWbYPT6TjRwmMWII8T21f2sY7B0tFddT4/s1600/DSC_0188.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJShiHWhePyCMtACvcSePAZyr2WmiwO4X-cOOsotMsBuPi8LOhBhUfeCpMBDtKTnT65YbaPIn2wiA6jzBKEhZ3OUydr2lXlcs-F-dmE2_ARtdWbYPT6TjRwmMWII8T21f2sY7B0tFddT4/s320/DSC_0188.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Does this really need a caption? Seriously?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />Thru a Tori-lenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14510894741605608131noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8266061521650002866.post-88164709664392737882011-09-07T10:34:00.000-07:002011-10-18T23:12:01.540-07:00All Tangled up<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Guardian/About/General/2010/12/6/1291649843426/tangled-006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" src="http://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Guardian/About/General/2010/12/6/1291649843426/tangled-006.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I reluctantly allowed my Grace-girl to watch "Tangled," the Disney version of Rapunzel. I say reluctantly because Disney princess movies irritate me on many levels: Over-sexualization of young girls, over-commercialization, and general Disney-creepiness rate high on my mommy-richter scale. In this case, she had already seen most of the movie because of a Fred Meyer playland experience that I'd rather not discuss (WHY are they showing PG movies in Playland? You have my kid for 1 hour- can't you keep her occupied? I digress...).<br />
<br />
I must admit that the movie really, truly moved me. <br />
<br />
*spoiler alert*<br />
<br />
The story of Rapunzel typically symbolizes a loss of innocence, a journey into puberty (in this story) not handled gracefully. In the traditional story, Mother Goethel cuts Rapunzel's hair and "releases" her. The cutting of hair symbolizes separation from mother. There are many biblical parallels, but, as usual, my interpretation has taken me in a new direction.<br />
<br />
In "Tangled" we meet a spunkier, happier Rapunzel than I have seen. She is content, but somehow feels she is missing out on something important that she can't quite put a finger on:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
"And so I'll read a book<br />
Or maybe two or three<br />
I'll add a few new paintings to my gallery<br />
I'll play guitar and knit<br />
And cook and basically<br />
Just wonder when will my life begin?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And then I'll brush and brush,<br />
and brush and brush my hair<br />
Stuck in the same place I've always been.<br />
<br />
And I'll keep wonderin' and wonderin'<br />
And wonderin' and wonderin'<br />
When will my life begin?" </div>
<br />
She is being deceived by the witch, pretending to be her mother (this is
a disturbing element for the under-six set). As I was watching the
movie I realized that the tower and the hair are symbolic of sin, "The
sin which so easily entangles us" from Hebrews 12:1. Sometimes we are
so "wrapped up" in our sin-life that we think it is normal life.
Normal?! Living in a tower with fifty feet of hair to care for? Not
hardly. We also tend to see our sin as a gift or something that we simply must live with or protect (in her case the hair heals). But it is not until we are willing to step out of the tower to
experience LIFE abundant that we see our sin has really been hindering us.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
"Look at the world - so close, and I'm halfway to it!<br />
Look at it all - so big - do I even dare?<br />
Look at me - there at last! - I just have to do it<br />
Should I?<br />
No.<br />
Here I go...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Just smell the grass! The dirt! Just like I dreamed they'd be!</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Just feel that summer breeze - the way it's calling me<br />
For like the first time ever, I'm completely free!<br />
I could go running<br />
And racing<br />
And dancing<br />
And chasing<br />
And leaping<br />
And bounding<br />
Hair flying<br />
Heart pounding<br />
And splashing<br />
And reeling<br />
And finally feeling<br />
Now's when my life begins!" </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
And finally, when she realizes she's been deceived...</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"All those days watching in the windows<br />
All those years outside looking in<br />
All that time never even knowing <br />
Just how blind I've been<br />
Now I'm here blinking in the starlight<br />
Now I'm here suddenly I see <br />
Standing here it's all so clear<br />
I'm where I'm meant to be."</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
In this version of the story, it is Flynn (Eugene) who cuts her hair. I see Flynn as a prophet/Christ in this movie. He's a reluctant one, for sure (but aren't they all?). He carries a message for her that he doesn't even understand. He's not the worthy prince or the fearless warrior...definitely a prophet. His one act of bravery, cutting her hair (rather than save his own life) is a true act of love and selflessness. Jesus had to cut away our sin to free us- at his own expense, his own death. We love him, we don't understand why he has to die, then it all becomes clear. Satan (Mother Goethel) is thrown from the tower (read Revelation much?), Rapunzel's love revives Flynn, and he and Rapunzel live happily ever after. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhJaAlTriwRdX6zYfGMG8PXqrgAk0wjcWP3brr6y2diIRM2Rl6oMUmFqvYu_jGsIzkLGOmSHcWtDeA1dATyufO673TQJqf_wEhdbsoAXVFB09SHMOoAy30F6E2YsZXYpaT1KhvnpblXKI/s400/rapunzel+tangled+short+hair.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="252" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhJaAlTriwRdX6zYfGMG8PXqrgAk0wjcWP3brr6y2diIRM2Rl6oMUmFqvYu_jGsIzkLGOmSHcWtDeA1dATyufO673TQJqf_wEhdbsoAXVFB09SHMOoAy30F6E2YsZXYpaT1KhvnpblXKI/s320/rapunzel+tangled+short+hair.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
They do return to the tower (in the original story) to visit their forest friends. Sometimes we must remember, or memorialize, the places where we have been freed from sin to remember how not to become entangled again. But in this story Rapunzel gets to return to the King's house (God) and regain her right role as a princess of the kingdom. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Now... have you claimed your rightful place in the Kingdom? Or are you living a locked up life? </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo Credits: Google Image</span></div>
Thru a Tori-lenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14510894741605608131noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8266061521650002866.post-39379239542534922932011-08-11T22:49:00.000-07:002011-10-18T23:12:01.499-07:00When the World isn't big enough for your dreams<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsyS5UM89Z1P1yS8X1557CHcGlAiBHEg-dKU2auHpb9cHcQ84U0uiECLHNUyXTNJbx9lwsLv5IdiTrHKnnMGwzF5yRQS66We6eyexW_5h0F5QuHD2aYhIm71b3LQK08wr0hmrHCrGBFK8/s1600/DSC00718.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsyS5UM89Z1P1yS8X1557CHcGlAiBHEg-dKU2auHpb9cHcQ84U0uiECLHNUyXTNJbx9lwsLv5IdiTrHKnnMGwzF5yRQS66We6eyexW_5h0F5QuHD2aYhIm71b3LQK08wr0hmrHCrGBFK8/s320/DSC00718.JPG" width="240" /> </a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Greeting the Sea</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">My little Grace-girl is turning five this week and I'm quite literally stunned by her beauty. </span></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Somehow she grew into a princess. I don't mean the plastic Disney dress-up kind, but the kind that embraces the world with grace and poise. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">On our annual trip to the beach we pulled into a campground in the dead of night, pitched a tent by sheer willpower and collapsed into sleeping bags barely unfurled. By the early light of dawn (yes, those are <i>my</i> kids camping next to you) <strike>the girls</strike> we all woke up and ran to the beach for our annual homecoming. Baby Rain was on daddy's back, as it was raining and we still had far to drive that day. But Grace-girl kicked off her sandals and ran out onto the sand with all the appearance of a child who will jump into frigid water without a moment's thought. Then she stopped. And she raised her hands gracefully to the sky and to the sea as if to say, "hello old friend. I'm sorry I've been away so long. You look lovely, today." </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">When she came back to us she said she had to say hello as a mermaid returning to the sea. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It's moments like these that make me glad I'm not tied to a traditional life. God has given me a spectacular life, one full of adventure and unknown treasure. We've chosen to <a href="http://barefootstories.blogspot.com/">homeschool</a> our girls (for now, at least!) and that lends itself to all sorts of adventure. A beach trip is more than a family vacation, it's a learning experience that will bring resonating memories for years to come. While others are scrambling to get their supplies in order and buy new school clothes and worry about the new teacher and think about how to juggle schedules... we simply are. Not that I don't worry and stress and think about things, but there is peace in knowing that this path is the right one and that it can only lead to more adventure. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">When we left the ocean for the year, we made one last stop at a well-traveled beach. I found a shell to give to my Grace-girl and told her it was a goodbye gift from the ocean. Her eyes sparkled, her face lit up and she looked at me with joy. Then she turned to the ocean and blew one last kiss goodbye. Until next year.</span></span><br />
<br />
Thru a Tori-lenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14510894741605608131noreply@blogger.com0Waldport, OR, USA44.478166134691534 -124.0823773933593744.347459634691532 -124.31860889335937 44.608872634691537 -123.84614589335936tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8266061521650002866.post-74169938615222250772011-07-25T22:08:00.000-07:002011-10-18T23:12:01.518-07:00House Rules<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://d30opm7hsgivgh.cloudfront.net/upload/80089816_FW1oxNWg_c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://d30opm7hsgivgh.cloudfront.net/upload/80089816_FW1oxNWg_c.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>Lately I've been feeling like the rules just aren't laid out well enough. A good friend once told me that we often take the things for granted things that we think our children know and understand. So I began to question my Grace-girl (5 next month). <br />
<ul><li>Why isn't it ok to knock over your sister?</li>
<li>Can words hurt?</li>
<li>What does "consequence" mean? </li>
<li>Is it ok for mommies and daddies to be mad?</li>
<li>Is it ok for kids to be mad?</li>
<li>Why do you have to take time-outs? </li>
</ul>I was surprised to find that her reasoning on these points wasn't quite what I thought it was. For example, "It's ok to knock her over if it's just an accident." Or "it's ok for daddies to be mad, but not mommies." So we began, again, talking through things a little more. As the eldest, sometimes I pin so much on her and forget to explain myself in the process. Have patience, mama.<br />
<br />
When I ran across this picture (see header) I began to think: what are my house rules? Really... what are those things that I value most in our home environment? Why <i>not</i> add things like "laugh*giggle*be silly"? Maybe we take ourselves way too seriously. <br />
<br />
So I'm thinking of creating my own wall of rules... but rules that matter. Here are a few of my new<br />
<br />
HOUSE RULES:<br />
<ol><li>Use kind words</li>
<li>Laugh every day</li>
<li>Use your imagination</li>
<li>Make someone smile</li>
<li>Read more books than ever before</li>
<li>Make music freely</li>
<li>This home has an open-door policy </li>
<li>Treat others as you would like to be treated</li>
<li>Exercise extreme love</li>
<li>Breathe deeply</li>
</ol>What would you add for your house rules? Would you be bold enough to print them on the walls of your house?Thru a Tori-lenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14510894741605608131noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8266061521650002866.post-42159778295882290572011-06-12T22:38:00.000-07:002011-07-25T22:10:03.645-07:00Finding the visual "me"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://d30opm7hsgivgh.cloudfront.net/upload/38492520_ozDfuPqm_c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://d30opm7hsgivgh.cloudfront.net/upload/38492520_ozDfuPqm_c.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br />
I don't usually use this blog to randomly promote something, but I've been discovering some amazing things about myself because of a new site I've been using: <a href="http://pinterest.com/">Pinterest</a>. It may sound a little shallow and silly to say that a website can help me discover myself, but it's true.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://pinterest.com/">Pinterest</a> is great because they don't spend a lot of time explaining what they are. Simplicity seems to be the new thing on the internet. Nice.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://taylorshocks.files.wordpress.com/2010/01/slow_food.jpg?w=510&h=417" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="261" src="http://taylorshocks.files.wordpress.com/2010/01/slow_food.jpg?w=510&h=417" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<a href="http://pinterest.com/">Pinterest</a> is the place to "pin" visual images, found online, that you find appealing. You pin your pictures on a "pin board" and you can have as many different boards as you want. It's super easy. Once you've installed your "pin it" tool on your toolbar the rest is cake. Just click and go. Right on your own board. Imagine these categories and more:<br />
<ul><li>my dream kitchen</li>
<li>PINK!</li>
<li>Organization, please</li>
<li>romantic places</li>
<li>my utopia</li>
<li>kids' stuff</li>
</ul>Now- every time you <a href="http://www.stumbleupon.com/">stumble</a>, <a href="http://www.tumblr.com/">tumble</a>, or <a href="http://google.com/">google </a>your way across an image you don't want to forget, stash it on your pinboard. <a href="http://etsy.com/">Etsy</a> much? <a href="http://pinterest.com/">Pin it</a>.<br />
<br />
I personally struggle with style. I've never had tons of it, and didn't realize that I might have my own rather than needing to grab onto someone else's. Now I can see all the things I love, pinned up onto one page. Per topic. It's like a 3D bulletin board with multiple layers of different things I LOVE. All about ME. Sounds a little selfish, but take this into consideration:<br />
<br />
<b>Then:</b> I'm frustrated, overwhelmed, a little lonely and craving something beautiful in my life (besides the obvious beautiful things in my life!). Have I forgotten the core of who I am in my effort to become what I must be?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://d30opm7hsgivgh.cloudfront.net/upload/39693736_CArvISeJ_c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://d30opm7hsgivgh.cloudfront.net/upload/39693736_CArvISeJ_c.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br />
<b>Now: </b> I see the things I love in front of me. And I see my house. I suddenly see where the two connect and where they fail to make sense. I'm finding myself, again.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://d30opm7hsgivgh.cloudfront.net/upload/38491657_guj2QSwh_c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://d30opm7hsgivgh.cloudfront.net/upload/38491657_guj2QSwh_c.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I'm realizing as I grow older that the <i>things</i> in our lives do have value. Not because they are expensive, but because they instill joy, bring beauty and artfully express "self" in a way that is sometimes seemingly inexpressible. Plus- you can find kindred spirits out there. Check it out- tell me what you think!<br />
<br />
ps- all the pics in this post are ones I've<a href="http://pinterest.com/"> pinned on my pinboards. </a> Thru a Tori-lenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14510894741605608131noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8266061521650002866.post-15279753355775824162011-05-21T10:32:00.000-07:002011-05-21T10:32:14.804-07:00Pruning<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://t3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTgtRYvqIbMAn8Z67ID_WQDeDfYe8ZqoU74fbLNcbHZriXjZ8NB" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://t3.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTgtRYvqIbMAn8Z67ID_WQDeDfYe8ZqoU74fbLNcbHZriXjZ8NB" /></a></div>This year was the year of God's increase. I say "was" because I really think it began when we bought this house a year ago. Two years ago if you told me we have two <i>good</i> cars, a house of our own and another beautiful girl, I would have been like Sarah. I would have laughed. And God would have waited patiently to watch my wonder and amazement as His plan unfolded. <br />
<br />
We named the baby Josephine Rain (God Will Increase Rain) because we believe in this year of blessings and favor. And she is a blessing! So is the rest of the stuff that has followed her conception and her cathartic (for me) birth.<br />
<br />
But with every birth comes a dying. For new growth to come, a pruning must occur. There was a miscarriage. A dying of my own will and ambition around childbirth. And what was born in that moment was a humility that needed to appear before I could be ready for this next season. And then...<br />
<br />
This February my father-in-law died unexpectedly from lung cancer and other complications. A few weeks after that my maternal grandmother died from complications from a stroke. Then, a week or so ago my paternal grandmother fell on her face and broke her nose creating bleeding in her brain. After an operation and a stroke she no longer had movement in one side of her body, or use of her speech. She went to be with Jesus, this morning. <br />
<br />
I know all three loved Jesus. The irony of the supposed "rapture" that was going to happen today is not lost on me. But all joking aside, I know loss must happen. I know Joy can be full in the midst of sorrow, and I fine myself living more and more in the dichotomy of that place.<br />
<br />
I'm sure there will be more on this blog about loss, gifts and life. For now I'm sitting a little stunned by all this, but expectantly waiting to see what comes next.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=http://www.joethewinemaker.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/02/pruning.png&imgrefurl=http://www.joethewinemaker.com/2010/02/&usg=__NbVLh2MwI0lW-rkkpSBzlKt7WVE=&h=368&w=590&sz=489&hl=en&start=118&sig2=SgpaFqS9Nvbt0VaRveqN5A&zoom=1&tbnid=I1avnkuwi1BNKM:&tbnh=158&tbnw=218&ei=wPbXTZvJEpK-sAPAxayxBw&prev=/search%3Fq%3Dpruning%2Bpics%26hl%3Den%26client%3Dfirefox-a%26hs%3DfFW%26sa%3DX%26rls%3Dorg.mozilla:en-US:official%26biw%3D1280%26bih%3D840%26tbm%3Disch0%2C3135&itbs=1&iact=rc&dur=406&sqi=2&page=6&ndsp=24&ved=1t:429,r:2,s:118&tx=131&ty=109&biw=1280&bih=840">photo credit</a>Thru a Tori-lenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14510894741605608131noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8266061521650002866.post-21169916763680720822011-04-19T20:48:00.000-07:002011-04-19T20:48:37.164-07:00Blogging 4 Dummies<a href="http://www.goodblogs.com/images/header-middle.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="71" src="http://www.goodblogs.com/images/header-middle.png" width="320" /></a><br />
If I could write the book, I would- but why read books about blogs when you can read BLOGS about blogs? If you have ever wanted to write a blog but didn't know where to start, or weren't sure what you wanted your focus to be, I have the perfect answer: <a href="http://goodblogs.com/">GoodBlogs.com</a>. It's an interesting little social experiment, in my opinion. It works like this:<br />
<ol><li><b>Write a blog post</b>. It cannot appear anywhere else (including other blogs) but on Goodblogs.</li>
<li><b>Publish the blog post</b> on the site.</li>
<li><b>Wait and see</b> if people like it. Most of the readers are other bloggers.</li>
<li>If you make it to the front page (the most votes, tweets and Facebook "likes"), you <b>earn $20</b>.</li>
</ol> If people <i>don't </i>like it, you've learned something about blogging, or yourself. I find it's a great site for these reasons:<br />
<ul><li>It's a quick and easy way to get something out there. The site is a no-frills, easy to use platform. </li>
<li>I like the sense of community- everyone who reads my blog posts is blogging as well.</li>
<li>It's competitive. It forces you to be your best in written form as well as idea form. It's great practice.</li>
<li>I have a chance to write things that don't fit into my other blogs.</li>
</ul>Here's what I <i>don't </i>like.<br />
<ul><li>It's become apparent to me that people don't care about grammar. I'm frustrated by how many poorly written pieces make it to the front page (not all that interesting, either!) so...</li>
<li>Is it a popularity contest? I hate those.</li>
<li>It's addictive. My "real" blogs are suffering. Not cool. </li>
</ul>It is fun, and it's a great place to float an idea and see how it pans out. I suppose I'll keep doing it, but with better boundaries. Come check it out- it is fun!Thru a Tori-lenshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14510894741605608131noreply@blogger.com1