tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-325293712024-03-19T04:41:17.657-06:00Adrienne Graves - Life with IntentionI want to learn, live, and love with intention, finding beauty and thankfulness in each day. Intention with God, family, myself, and everyone else on this journey.Adriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04101665341916407243noreply@blogger.comBlogger727125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32529371.post-91365213085769279322013-11-25T09:36:00.002-07:002013-11-25T09:36:15.961-07:00Snow GlobeFather, thank You for the beautiful snow falling, snow I didn't even see in the forecast, a detail I guess I missed. I sit here, looking out the window as it swirls, gaining in size and speed, and I feel as though I'm in a snow globe, wondering when all that is shaken up will soon settle back to a state of stillness and peace...<br />
<br />
Yet at the same time, I don't long for stillness. Stillness can mean stagnancy, and snow, with each miraculous <i>flying</i> flake, is anything but stagnant. <br />
<br />
A snow globe is meant to be shaken, beauty in the frenzy and the shaking, watching outside as the trillions of flakes dance and collect around the centerpiece, the focal point in the glass sphere. We are like that, pretty on the shelf, but everyone is drawn to reach for it, flip it upside down maybe a time or two, perhaps shake the dickens out of it, and set it back upon the shelf to watch and see, wait as a new pattern of flakes falling reveals another beautiful display.<br />
<br />
I don't long for easy. <br />
<br />
I am not pleading for stillness.<br />
<br />
My only cry to You this morning, Father, is as You turn my globe upside down a time or two, You would be tender in Your grasp, tender with our hearts, faithful to Your Truth and promises, Healer, Strength-Giver, Provider, Safe Haven, Loving Father, Treasured King.<br />
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We weren't designed by Your hand to walk through this life alone. Please, hold our hands tenderly as the snow flies...<br />
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*Today I'm a little late to the party, but I'm linking over to <a href="http://lisajobaker.com/2013/11/five-minute-friday-fly/" target="_blank">Lisa Jo Baker's "Five Minute Friday" where her writing prompt for last Friday was "Fly."</a> It's a fun writing exercise, no more than 5 minutes in the true spirit of it, just a time to write creatively, without the pressures of anything else...just enjoying the art form of writing from the heart. Head to her site, link up your specific blog post (not your site domain) and then read and comment on some of the other posts to encourage others. <br />
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<br />Adriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04101665341916407243noreply@blogger.com71tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32529371.post-71064906936693461712013-11-22T06:42:00.000-07:002013-11-22T06:46:49.011-07:00Thanksgiving RecipeToday I thought I'd share a yummy and healthy Thanksgiving recipe, full of antioxidants, but mostly full of incredible flavor and it's SUPER EASY to do! A friend introduced me to the recipe probably 15 years ago and every time I make it, it's a hit. Over the years I've tweaked the recipe (it had brown sugar and butter, previously) to suit our tastes and desire to enjoy healthy "comfort food", but this Paleo treat is sure to woo the people around your table. Here you go:<br />
<br />
<b>Honey Roasted Sweet Potatoes with Basil</b><br />
<br />
Preheat oven to 350, use 9 x 13 baking dish<br />
<br />
2 ribs celery, chopped<br />
1/2 large yellow or white onion, diced<br />
2 - 3 large sweet potatoes, peeled and cubed<br />
1 - 2 medium sized apples (Granny Smith or Pink Lady are my go-to's), cut and cubed<br />
1 tsp dried basil<br />
1/4 cup raw honey<br />
4 T + 2 T melted coconut oil, divided (or butter if you prefer)<br />
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*See final picture for TWO ways to cook this dish.<br />
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<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/AVvXsEizWKOcGiQXms2UNCef_OMYawxDXjoFzkbfs_t-Jd5b6BHHNDZjYRhj3QKGP-cMrrx0GPXjkmtekPvWARmbrGf-oqtRS3fyeI5iEh-s0DRHWOEoUgIG9UKMwz8CI2OTVjJH1qVlhQ/s1600/2013-04-15+17.01.51.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizWKOcGiQXms2UNCef_OMYawxDXjoFzkbfs_t-Jd5b6BHHNDZjYRhj3QKGP-cMrrx0GPXjkmtekPvWARmbrGf-oqtRS3fyeI5iEh-s0DRHWOEoUgIG9UKMwz8CI2OTVjJH1qVlhQ/s320/2013-04-15+17.01.51.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Saute onions and celery in 2 T coconut oil over medium heat until onions are tender, add 1 tsp dried basil </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEihKpMujRe9XwbUVvXuG_J_cP0Wmx_6s-ndmMU_JGxf9e34peNwLOwyZlVvB0v5hEcUElkund6_QW6SHz6fHFhKxqh9P688Y06FJuZ73Bg-v6M9FAl1V24EBizWfssApGxZByu3Qg/s1600/2013-04-15+17.02.22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihKpMujRe9XwbUVvXuG_J_cP0Wmx_6s-ndmMU_JGxf9e34peNwLOwyZlVvB0v5hEcUElkund6_QW6SHz6fHFhKxqh9P688Y06FJuZ73Bg-v6M9FAl1V24EBizWfssApGxZByu3Qg/s320/2013-04-15+17.02.22.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Peel and cut sweet potatoes, and apples, into approximately 1" cubes</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEhuDg9ijdrgAFzRzvp4aBGQ_9T_elcqd_z7QD3-q23vBU2aGFw4Dc_oOmv-Wt5rUU-diC9w_EDsRLQw6cZVHaX0AeDIcSXjH3LeNAkRNZaQ7hcbyDBMKMWMzSkcVKg_bkUvA9PSYw/s1600/2013-04-15+17.02.36.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuDg9ijdrgAFzRzvp4aBGQ_9T_elcqd_z7QD3-q23vBU2aGFw4Dc_oOmv-Wt5rUU-diC9w_EDsRLQw6cZVHaX0AeDIcSXjH3LeNAkRNZaQ7hcbyDBMKMWMzSkcVKg_bkUvA9PSYw/s320/2013-04-15+17.02.36.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Put sweet potatoes and apples into a large bowl</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEhqecY062FJQf6wl44R01TV2_u97gDa0Glh7O5kQP3o4SkXztahnbRYH4ZkClBPUbBNSHlc7hX_U8PTul8ePg7L_uYgKMTYWkfOx9EkulYa-b5c0uR3x9ShbDLMP_fGORsHs-Zpdw/s1600/2013-04-15+17.02.51.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqecY062FJQf6wl44R01TV2_u97gDa0Glh7O5kQP3o4SkXztahnbRYH4ZkClBPUbBNSHlc7hX_U8PTul8ePg7L_uYgKMTYWkfOx9EkulYa-b5c0uR3x9ShbDLMP_fGORsHs-Zpdw/s320/2013-04-15+17.02.51.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Melt 1/4 cup of honey and 4 T coconut oil in pan or microwave until the coconut oil is liquid (this does NOT take long...do not over heat!)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEgTniTT3APPTlmCLBay40kwKiookdwEHl39hqnkURp7N0RWxFaEtqAJ_Ft3bZfYEwzUoGra-nUF2mABUYihYOztPecmkXtuWOYTOUsdu36np-XAS9yWVtubG83hBdmz5_GztSwYPQ/s1600/2013-04-15+17.05.39.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTniTT3APPTlmCLBay40kwKiookdwEHl39hqnkURp7N0RWxFaEtqAJ_Ft3bZfYEwzUoGra-nUF2mABUYihYOztPecmkXtuWOYTOUsdu36np-XAS9yWVtubG83hBdmz5_GztSwYPQ/s320/2013-04-15+17.05.39.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pour celery, onion, basil mix into bowl, toss with honey and coconut oil</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEjYISOsxqYMuumsxbXLyK4buKOJ0oYF_YH8jZ8qEI6fQvg5TEU9CSh_APtaH_rHkjiBLg1d4erpq_DlIyWB6FCmi-DPGBFA3JvsR4xqh6YCxPNX773ZNWhvFA_wW9kYjH8Yo3qFfg/s1600/2013-04-15+17.06.44.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYISOsxqYMuumsxbXLyK4buKOJ0oYF_YH8jZ8qEI6fQvg5TEU9CSh_APtaH_rHkjiBLg1d4erpq_DlIyWB6FCmi-DPGBFA3JvsR4xqh6YCxPNX773ZNWhvFA_wW9kYjH8Yo3qFfg/s320/2013-04-15+17.06.44.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pour into 9 x 13 oven safe baking dish and bake on 350 degrees for 45 minutes.<br />
OR<br />
Spread out onto a large roasting pan in a single layer and bake at 375 for approximately 30 minutes or until tender.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
IF there are any of these puppies left in the morning, they are actually fantastic cold for breakfast ;)<br />
<br />
<br />Adriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04101665341916407243noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32529371.post-76754563215845104712013-11-19T07:41:00.002-07:002013-11-19T08:19:15.459-07:00Guest Post: Thankfulness<i>Thankfulness entails honesty. Why pretend when God knows the deepest parts of our hearts? The moment I realized there was no such thing as a secret between me and God, my awe of Him increased, along with my love for Him. I breathed in at that moment the truth that God loves me, as is, and there is no room for pretending with Him.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I hope you will be encouraged by this guest post which was written a few weeks ago by the most amazing woman I've ever known, my mom.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Thankful……last Monday when you posted about being thankful
on Mondays, I announced that I was joining you in giving thanks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well…..I did…..in the morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then something happened that brought
out the upset, offended, bitchy woman in me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It took me until Wednesday morning to get over myself.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have been fighting a second battle with breast cancer all
within 2 years of the first time I was diagnosed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am not afraid to die…..whether I am in the body or out of
the body I am always alive in Jesus Christ.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Breast cancer, or any cancer for that matter, requires so
much time spent in doctor’s visits, chemo, radiation, surgery, recovery…….it
really interferes with your life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I had been encouraging myself, that at the end of 3 months of chemo, a surgery
and 6 ½ weeks of radiation, my husband and I could go on a nice long road
trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love road trips and I love
spending all that alone time with my husband on an adventurous journey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am married to the love of my life, a
blessing not given to everyone…… and I am very thankful for that.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My husband was diagnosed with Parkinson’s a little over a
year ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has been so
supportive of me during the cancer battle and I have been supportive of him as
we’ve been figuring out how to walk out this Parkinson’s thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am thankful we are “there” for each
other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On Monday, when we went to
a doctor’s appointment for him, it became very apparent we would not be going
on this long-awaited trip, one, I guess, I had been viewing as a type of
“reward” for going through all the cancer treatments for the second time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t feel very thankful about
that……and here it was Monday, when I was supposed to be feeling so
thankful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I failed at the attempt
to be thankful until this morning.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m going to rehearse before God the things I am thankful
for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am thankful He made it
possible for me to have relationship restored with the Father.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am thankful for my husband and my
children and my grandchildren.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
am thankful my husband and I both had good parents who took us to church and took
good care of us and loved us. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am thankful for being able to spend more time with
most of my grandchildren than most grandparents can.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am thankful my daughters have husbands who are good and who
love them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am thankful Jesus has
sent the Holy Spirit to lead me and guide me and show me what is yet to
come.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am thankful for God’s
provision that has come in so many ways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I could go on and on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The truth is……and I know God knows what is going on in my
mind and emotions…….there are some things I am not thankful for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am not thankful I am going through
cancer treatment, but I am trusting God in the midst of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am not thankful for a lot of things
God has allowed in my life, but I am thankful for the God Who is my Shield and
Fortress, my Hiding Place, Who delivers me from the snares life sends and Who
will never leave me or forsake me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I am thankful for Him!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
My husband and I are 68 years old now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My human heart can hardly bear to think
that we might not be able to take more road trips.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, I have seen God come through for us, time after time,
in ways I never imagined, so I know I can trust Him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And…..I’m thankful for that. </div>
Adriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04101665341916407243noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32529371.post-50716149861151497622013-11-12T15:39:00.000-07:002013-11-12T15:42:56.369-07:00Friendship: Close UpI'm thankful to be married to my best friend in the whole wide world.<br />
<br />
At the same time, Jason doesn't fill the girlfriend spot in my heart that some pretty amazing women do, and this post is about them.<br />
<br />
When we arrived in Denver almost 12 years ago, sure I was excited to live in a beautiful part of the country, but I was 31, really pregnant, and only had one friend 45 minutes away, who was a new mom. Jason was busy at his new job 45 minutes the opposite direction, and I was in a daze, without a car, wandering amidst the dust and debris of the old house we had just purchased and gutted over the previous weekend. <br />
<br />
I washed lettuce in the bathroom, <i>in the mauve bathtub,</i> because the kitchen was in the dumpster <i>in the back alley.</i><br />
<br />
Our fresh vegetables kept freezing in the refrigerator because <i>it was out on the back porch</i>. As a result, we ate a lot of take-out, frozen burritos, gelato, and Clif Bars. And, if that wasn't bad enough, I would sit in my house, covered in sheet rock dust, and <i>watch Soap Operas</i>. <br />
<br />
I'm not even kidding. Did you know Bo and Hope are STILL on Days? True story! (At least they were back in 2002...)<br />
<br />
It was a low time in my life, let's be honest. My friend who loves chocolate and sewing felt so sad for me from a distance, a beautiful package arrived on my doorstep one day with a toaster oven in it and instructions to head to the store so I could at least buy slice and bake chocolate chip cookies. Oh, how I longed to sit with her on my couch to actually eat them, but fat and pregnant and hormonal, I sat on my couch and ate them all myself.<br />
<br />
...again, a low time in my past.<br />
<br />
ANYWAY, my mom was praying for God to send me some friends. <b>I wasn't hopeful.</b> In my head, since I was 30ish, everyone had already found their favorites. Back in Minnesota, Jason and I had just left a group of friends we did life with every weekend for 5 years...how on earth were we going to find that kind of connection again?<br />
<br />
Well, I've learned not to mess with my mom's prayers. After a mishap in a mom's play group where I was invited to a Swinger's party, a friend in another state told me she had a friend somewhere in Denver and surely we'd hit it off. I thought, "You clearly don't know how big Denver is...she could live anywhere." <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2005 ice skating birthday party</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Noah's 1st Celebration, the delivery crew and some guy with an afro</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Locks of Love donation, 2008</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Celebrating Ryan's arrival, Becky on the left who lived 3 blocks away, and Rachel</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grateful for friendships where we can pick up where we left off, no pressure, just dive in deep and keep pressing on...</td></tr>
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<b>And you know what?</b> She did live somewhere. She lived 3 blocks away, had a daughter 2 weeks younger than Emily born at the same hospital, her own husband named Jason and, <i>not that I pick them this way</i>, but happened to be *tall with dark brown hair, too. <br />
<br />
Today, less than 12 years later, I'm grateful for the prayers for real heart to heart friends my mom placed at God's feet for me, her pitiful, pregnant, chocolate chip cookie eating, soap opera watching, daughter.<br />
<br />
The friendships which have grown out of this connection and my willingness to be vulnerable with others has allowed me the opportunity to meet some extraordinary women. It has also meant stories shared in coffee shops, prayers prayed, truth told, tears strewn, basketball played, trips to Mexico, laughter and love, a room full of women at Noah's delivery, meals and shoulders during his hospital life, weekends away, mini-retreats, hard conversations, Easter feasts, closet purges and style consults, Scriptures studied, Friends Thanksgiving, prayers for marriages and misunderstandings, Bevy makeovers, beautiful locks shared in love, miles walked, wine and chocolate, creativity shared, more tears, more laughter, and my heart overflowing with gratitude that at the end of any given day, I am humbled to know God's love in a deeper, more profound way through the gift of friendship. <br />
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It's a beautiful thing to have friends willing to live life to the fullest...blood, sweat, and tears!<br />
<br />
(*not a friendship prerequisite...)<br />
<br />
P.S. This particular post is about friendships, up close and personal, in the day to day, close in proximity. I'll also be posting about the treasure of long-distance friendship.<br />
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<br />Adriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04101665341916407243noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32529371.post-53054653472480407412013-11-06T16:18:00.002-07:002013-11-06T16:18:37.916-07:00Thankfulness is a Lifestyle...not just a November thing.<br />
<br />
Sure I love Thanksgiving! Pumpkin is one of my favorite foods, along with warm comfort treats like mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, stuffing, and turkey. Of course, that's simply the meal. More so, I love the gathering of people throughout our home, often orphans and widows, like the check out lady at the grocery store and her daughter one year, or the far from family single women in our neighborhood, or new people in town who know no one. I'm not the sentimental who only wants to gather my close family around, though I love and cherish them. But, spend <a href="http://www.adriennegraves.com/2006/11/thankfulness.html" target="_blank">one Thanksgiving</a> in a Children's Hospital among selfless caregivers and tireless staff, friends and family, and <i>the day</i> of Thanksgiving becomes something else entirely. The meaning not lost on me.<br />
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As much as I love seeing what people are thankful for on Facebook, it's important to me to model to my family that giving thanks is a day in and day out act of beauty, worship, and dying to ourselves. It doesn't only last for 30 days, one month out of the year, but in this life, in this family, we will be <i>intentional about thankfulness</i>, in both the giving and receiving of it.<br />
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To be given something for which you are unable to ever repay, this is the true definition of a gift. The words, "Thank You" may never seem enough, but this is the beauty in giving and receiving. It's a world changing event which takes place in the admission of gratefulness, every single day.<br />
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My friends and I encouraged one another to start these thankfulness posts back in October...because Thanksgiving is one day out of the year, 30 Days of Thanks is apparently a new thingy, but saying "Thank You!" is an every single day of the year privilege, a practice, an act of face to face time with the Giver of all good gifts.<br />
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Yesterday this was the thankfulness expressed at our breakfast table, on this particular day, in no particular order:<br />
<br />
Jason<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>My relationship with God</li>
<li>My wife and kids</li>
<li>My extended family</li>
<li>Friends</li>
<li>My job at Compassion</li>
</ul>
<div>
Emily</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>"You guys"</li>
<li>"Our family"</li>
<li>The Ocean</li>
<li>Friends</li>
<li>My school</li>
</ul>
<div>
Ryan</div>
</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>Giraffes</li>
<li>Zebras</li>
<li>Cheetahs</li>
<li>Elephants</li>
<li>And, elephants!</li>
</ul>
<div>
Me</div>
</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>Quiet time with God</li>
<li>"You guys"</li>
<li>Healthy bodies</li>
<li>Heated blankets</li>
<li>Hot tea to warm me</li>
</ul>
<div>
I'm happy people are being intentional about being thankful during the month of November. My prayer is that after 21 days, it will become, not a habit, but a lifestyle. Please don't hear I think I am perfect at being thankful. I am not. I reject gifts and compliments and helping hands, am too prideful to ask for help, and try to do stuff on my own more often than I should. I'm learning through this...learning that the giving and receiving of thanks is a lesson of honoring another more highly than ourselves. </div>
<div>
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<div>
<i>Not an easy Thanksgiving bite to swallow...</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
<i>Some friends are writing about thankfulness on their blogs:</i></div>
<div>
<ul>
<li><i><a href="http://blog.ourcozycastle.com/?p=61" target="_blank">Heidi Jo</a></i></li>
<li><a href="http://heidijowhatdoyouknow.blogspot.com/2013/11/grateful-for-boy.html" target="_blank">Heidi Jo</a></li>
</ul>
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Adriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04101665341916407243noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32529371.post-56573571529269894842013-10-28T06:11:00.003-06:002013-10-29T23:14:47.969-06:00Top Ten ThanksEvery night, unless he is out of town, Jason and I are a tight team in the bedtime, tucking in the kids, routine. At this stage, Ryan wants me most times and I won't lie when I say, I'm eating up every single, "I want Mommy!" moment I can get because I know at some point, it's possible he won't choose me. <i>Em's cool with whomever will read to her.</i> I never was in drama, but being a lover of books and stories, especially good dialogue, <i>and maybe a little dramatic in nature</i>, I try to read aloud with a bit of expression...<i>soooo</i>, all that to say, this could be why Em chooses me to read to her most nights, and former engineer PhD, dad, to do the tucking in and praying part. <i>We are a good team like that.</i><br />
<br />
On the nights I do the tucking in and praying with Em, we lay our heads on the same pillow, <i>because that's just how we've always done it</i>...and she still lets me. She'll play with my hair (<i>which I really can't stand, but I'm soaking in time with my pre-teen, so I'll take what I can get</i>...) and ask me to tickle her arm or back or the palm of her hand. She tries to do the same to my arm or hand <u>and that is where I draw the line</u>. It makes me nauseous. Am I weird? It's almost like frosty freezers or nails on a chalkboard...back rub or foot massage? Now we're talking.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here we are December of 2006, one of the nights I was home with Em while Dad was at the hospital with Noah...we're sharing the same pillow, AND, Curious George is STILL part of the bedtime routine. </td></tr>
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<i><br /></i>
<br />
Anyway, before we pray, I usually ask one of several questions, including:<br />
<ul>
<li>What were your Top Ten favorites of the day?</li>
<li>What are 10 things for which you are grateful?</li>
<li>Let's share our Top Five of the day.</li>
<li>Name 5 people you'd like to pray for tonight.</li>
<li>If you could tell God "10 Thanks" for today, what would they be?</li>
<li>Who is someone at school we could be praying for this week?</li>
<li>Is there anything specific you'd like to talk to God about tonight?</li>
</ul>
<div>
The list could go on and on, but my desire is to be INTENTIONAL to stop, reflect on the day, and give thanks to our loving God for anything and everything, in general, and specifically.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
With Ry, at least with the second bullet point above, he'll say something to the tune of:</div>
<div>
<ol>
<li>"<i>Tank You</i> for horses."</li>
<li>"<i>Tank You</i> for giraffes."</li>
<li>"<i>Tank You</i> for Daddy."</li>
<li>"<i>Tank You</i> for trains."</li>
<li>"<i>Tank You</i> for cars."</li>
<li>"<i>Tank You</i> for my cousins."</li>
<li>"<i>Tank You</i> for Yay-goes." (Legos)</li>
<li>"<i>Tank You</i> for mountains."</li>
<li>"<i>Tank You</i> for <a href="http://www.adriennegraves.com/2013/10/why-i-hate-cars.html" target="_blank">CARS</a>."</li>
<li>"<i>Tank You</i> for my cousins."</li>
</ol>
<div>
<i>He means it about the cousins....</i></div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Often Emily says in her Top Ten, "Right now..." It never gets old to hear her repeat this sentiment. It's actually my favorite in a totally selfish mommy sort of way. I breathe in the "right now" and say, "Me, too!" and tell her, and God, how thankful I am to be her mom. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b><u>Because, HOLY COW, I'm her mom!</u></b></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Sometimes she tells me her Top Ten, and in my best Nacho Libre accent, I say, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hHWcoaM_59E" target="_blank">"You gotta be kidding me! Everything you just said is my favorite thing to do, every day!"</a> and we laugh. Nacho may not be on your Top Ten list, but it's a family favorite because before Noah ever went to the hospital for the rest of his life, somewhere in his first 7 weeks at home, free of machines and wires, I took him to see it with my eldest nephew. We speak Nacho around here to lighten things up once in a while. Sometimes I read our story in Nacho, just to change things up a bit.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Anyway, back to this post on <a href="http://www.elittlebits.com/thanks/" target="_blank">Thankfulness</a>. I'm thankful Ryan says, "Tank" for "Thank." I'm thankful for <i>an amazing husband</i> who is engaged in the bedtime routine. I'm thankful <i>my daughter loves books</i> as much as her nerdy word nerd mom. I'm thankful for <i>writers who have taken the time through the ages to scribe stories</i> which we are able to read each night. And, I'm thankful for <i>comedians</i> like Jack Black who make my stomach hurt from laughing. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Mostly, though, I'm thankful for the <b>"Right Now."</b> When we recognize the "Right Now" as a gift from God, something as simple as a bedtime routine becomes sacred and beautiful, <i>memorable and life-changing.</i></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Tank You, Lord, for Right Now. <i>Just tanks...</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>*</i>Heidi is sharing <a href="http://heidijowhatdoyouknow.blogspot.com/2013/10/then-sings-my-soul.html" target="_blank">over on her blog</a> about thanks this morning, too.<br />
*Heidi Jo is <a href="http://blog.ourcozycastle.com/?p=56" target="_blank">sharing here</a>.<br />
*<a href="http://www.elittlebits.com/thankful-for-his-beautiful-grace/" target="_blank">Elizabeth</a> is sharing on her blog.<br />
<br />
Where are you writing down your thanks?</div>
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<br />Adriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04101665341916407243noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32529371.post-92027850547196398742013-10-24T13:03:00.000-06:002013-10-24T14:46:34.287-06:00Laundry Rooms Change LivesLisa Jo Baker posted a writing prompt for <a href="http://lisajobaker.com/five-minute-friday/" target="_blank">#FiveMinuteFridays</a> on her website last week after an exciting collaboration where she and her readers banded together and raised funds to provide a <a href="http://lisajobaker.com/2013/10/from-south-africa-with-thanks/" target="_blank">clean water site and laundry facility for women in a community in South Africa</a>, from where Lisa Jo hails. If you are feeling inspired by her writing prompt, feel free to join in and link up, and take time to read through some of the other entries from women doing the same. <br />
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I knew after reading what she shared about the laundry outreach in SA that her writing prompt would be the word "laundry." I mean, it had to be. At first tons of mismatched socks ran through my mind, along with daydreams I have frequently about donating half of our clothes just so we don't have as much laundry. Then I thought about sharing how, on days when I remember and am intentional, as I fold fluorescent shorts and shirts, pair dozens of black socks, and linger extra long on soft, snuggly footed jammies, how I pray for my family, and fold, and fold. Praying for their hearts to long for and know God the way He desires to be known, not tainted by the world or fundamentalist religion, but by faith which is bigger, and deeper, more pure, how He intended. <br />
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But then I remembered a laundry room from years ago where not only was my life transformed, but the lives of many college students were, as well.<br />
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<b>Laundry, GO!</b><br />
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My husband and I lived in a laundry room for 5 years. I was a Resident Director at a college in St. Paul, MN, and part of the job requirement was to live on campus, amongst the students with whom I spent my days, meeting, listening, praying, crying, laughing, and growing. And, in order to access our little apartment, we had to walk <i>through</i> the dorm laundry room. Being a builder's kid, I knew this was an architectural afterthought, but it worked for us, and the low, steady hum of the machines actually provided for a quiet refuge on our side of the walls.<br />
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Not only could we do 4 loads of wash all at once, but we could turn around, pump the machines full of quarters, and have everything dried and finished in just 2 short hours. I won't lie when I say, I kind of loved it.<br />
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But what I loved even more than having all of our laundry done in a snap were the conversations which took place over the tables in that laundry room to the hum of the machines. Girls would come sit with me to talk about life and love and God and relat<br />
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ionships and dreams and disappointments, past memories, hurts, passions, confusion. Prayers were prayed in that laundry room. The Holy Spirit showed up there many days, hand in hand, praying over these future world changers, knowing and humbled God had trusted these amazing young women into my pasture for a short time, grateful I wasn't deterred by the environment, but seizing it as a space where supernatural heart change could take place, not only in their hearts, those seeking, but in mine, their leader and confidant, hungry to know God more and to seek Him for their sake and mine.<br />
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Of course dirt can come out of soiled clothes in a laundry room. Every Friday for 5 years it did. But I also know my ministry was launched from that little laundry room in St. Paul, Minnesota. It's there I learned, in airing my dirty laundry, it provides a space for other women to feel free to air, and clean out, their own.<br />
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<b>STOP!</b>Adriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04101665341916407243noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32529371.post-18584882150555138842013-10-22T16:38:00.000-06:002013-10-23T14:53:16.056-06:00EucharisteoThis past weekend I went to a women's retreat where I knew a handful of people and only a handful of people knew me. I enjoyed the time with these women, met a few new ones, but did not feel responsible or guilty for not finding out the stories of the other 100 women in attendance.<br />
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It may sound strange to you, like I didn't care about those other women or something. And, truly, in the past, this would have been weird for me. Previously I would have learned the names of every woman at the retreat and taken time to learn at least 1/2 of their stories if time allowed.<br />
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However, this retreat was different. I went into it with intention, intention to trust God had something good <i>for me, for my heart, that He would be faithful to meet me where I was, even though I didn't even know it myself</i>. It was through a church we kinda sorta, only once in a while attend. Once I went to an official women's ministry event (with dim lights and I was able to slip in and out, unnoticed). At the retreat, I didn't know which women helped with the ministry team or planned our weekend away, but I'm sure grateful they did. I simply went because a friend of mine was flying in to share, and I threw it out there to a couple friends who went along, too, though they knew no one, either, and weren't sure what to expect.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and my sis, playin'</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We played on the playground during free time and now I want one of these in my back yard...</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I. Am. In. Love. With. Aspens.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdfRkgkjzwDtWDSNRf190RLwRStgqi4894ljX1dgsn88dcYml8zLJMIOa4Yd_TgUBTZDlNIYmlgbjuggKBRm1Eo3EXtl0A33fwI-tuyl3Sqfi4G3sZRbhdiGsnvFfEBFnBLWO89A/s1600/retreat5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdfRkgkjzwDtWDSNRf190RLwRStgqi4894ljX1dgsn88dcYml8zLJMIOa4Yd_TgUBTZDlNIYmlgbjuggKBRm1Eo3EXtl0A33fwI-tuyl3Sqfi4G3sZRbhdiGsnvFfEBFnBLWO89A/s320/retreat5.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mmmmm, smell the pines!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Room and car, mates :) Refreshing, to the heart, inspiring women, these girls...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLPa-EwHTCueGlJ5ngXLXuNCZg0DCkH5JmVZkNrus3LeFd09tNPzyl144O8y_pneF4Iv3JY4KNzbZXkRjZmz5AC9O84IhO6Z5LBRlwNSMlB2uAZUV5spDa2S5hpCxgZKLjg2fXaQ/s1600/retreat7.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLPa-EwHTCueGlJ5ngXLXuNCZg0DCkH5JmVZkNrus3LeFd09tNPzyl144O8y_pneF4Iv3JY4KNzbZXkRjZmz5AC9O84IhO6Z5LBRlwNSMlB2uAZUV5spDa2S5hpCxgZKLjg2fXaQ/s320/retreat7.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://celestebarnard.com/blog/" target="_blank">Celeste Barnard</a> shared her story and heart with us. This girl was on fire! I hope she inspires you one day, too! I was so happy for her as she was able to share her first book with us, which you can <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Reflections-daily-devotionals-Celeste-Barnard/dp/1492358398/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1382481313&sr=8-1&keywords=celeste+barnard" target="_blank">find here</a>. </td></tr>
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It was refilling to attend a women's ministry event I had no part in planning. I love gathering women together, as it's my passion and the way I've been wired. But I didn't realize how much my dried out heart needed a bit of refreshing, <i>and it came</i>...<b>now I can't wait to plan a weekend for other girls</b>...<br />
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So, in keeping with the theme of thankfulness each week, I'd like to share gratefulness from my weekend away:<br />
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<ul>
<li>A retreat center nestled Rocky Mountainside, the setting still sprinkled with vibrant yellow aspens amongst the thriving green pines</li>
<li>A gluten free chocolate cupcake upon arrival</li>
<li>A friend willing to share her story with authenticity in order to pave the way for healing in other women's lives</li>
<li>A husband who sees, and benefits from, the value in Mama getting some time away to refresh</li>
<li>An intimate, good, and gracious God who knew the parts of my heart which longed for refilling, but didn't even know how to cry out to Him for what I didn't know I needed</li>
<li>A basketball, friends, and a sunny court to pretend we were back in High School</li>
<li>A chain hung porch swing overlooking miles of mountains topped in white snow</li>
<li>Hours of car time to learn more deeply the stories of the beautiful women on this same adventure</li>
<li>Having God speak directly to me, those thoughts and ideas smarter than I could ever think of</li>
<li>Hugs and kisses upon my arrival home</li>
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Not only is there value in women gathering outside of the day to day routine, but there is value in the quiet refreshing which comes when we are intentional about saying, "No" to the routine, for a short duration, and saying, "Yes!" to whatever God may have in an outside quiet space. This doesn't mean we should steal away for retreats every weekend, nor are we able to escape on vacations when the going gets tough or our hearts are dry. I believe we can be intentional with God at home where nothing particularly profound is happening. In fact, I believe it's there He encounters us if we stop and look around, giving thanks for the day to day and the little things. But in this space in time, I'm grateful I jumped on the opportunity to retreat.<br />
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Two friends are linking up this week: <a href="http://blog.ourcozycastle.com/?p=48" target="_blank">Heidi Jo</a> and <a href="http://heidijowhatdoyouknow.blogspot.com/2013/10/gratitude.html" target="_blank">Heidi Jo</a>.</div>
Adriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04101665341916407243noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32529371.post-89490248742452996092013-10-17T15:16:00.000-06:002013-10-17T15:16:14.268-06:00Why I Hate "CARS"<i>I don't really.</i> If I did, I don't think anything I ever said again from this point on would be credible, so I jest. But, it's okay for me, as a mom, to be mad at Lightning McQueen, Guido, Luigi, and all the Ferrari's in the whole world.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Do NOT let his looks deceive you...this 3 year old boy has been up to NO GOOD! NO JOKE, I've only grown gray hairs since he's been in my life. </td></tr>
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Last summer Ryan would say something about <i>punching in the face</i>. Jason and I would just look at each other and then say, "Oh, no, Ryan, we don't punch <b>anyone</b> in the face. Where did you hear about punching in the face?"<br />
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He didn't have an answer, and then, one day, I was nuggled up to him on the couch while he watched "Cars" and I heard it. It was one of those little tire helper guys, either Luigi or Guido, I can never remember who is who, and the real Ferrari's had just driven into the store for new tires, and one of the little Italians exclaimed, "A REAL Ferrari! Guido (or Luigi) punch me in the face!"<br />
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Frigging Pixar! <i>I know you make movies for my entertainment as I watch along with my child, but my toddler doesn't understand that it's just an expression</i>!<br />
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Fast forward to tonight as I was off to Walmart, <i>all by myself</i>, for a solo mom-retreat...just a chance to BREATHE and get out of the house, aka, operation: get tampons. My life should make you jealous, <i>clearly</i>. So, yeah, why not Target? Tar-jay? It's so much more <i>hip mom</i>...Well, because the $87.88 I spent at Walmart <i>for tampons</i> would have easily been $158.97 at Target, and even though the last few days of parenting a 3 year old boy merited a Target splurge with no regret, I'm still trying to stay on a budget, thank you, Dave Ramsey!<br />
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As I headed to get the said item, I took a turn through the razor aisle. Two guys, early 30's, hard-working, were talking, discussing, the one holding several different products in his hands and as I pass by with determination to avoid all eye contact with other people while on my <b>solo</b> retreat I hear, <i>"Hey, have you ever had hemorrhoids? Is that okay if I ask you that question, ma'am?" </i><br />
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<b>Me:</b> Um, yes. I've had 3 babies, so of course I've had hemorrhoids. <br />
<b>Guy 1: </b> Sorry, it's kinda personal, so thanks for letting me ask.<br />
<b>Me:</b> You can ask me anything. Literally. I had a little boy who passed away so nothing phases me, and one thing I've learned is life is short and if your girl is suffering from hemorrhoids, you sure better take care of her.<br />
<b>Both guys in unison:</b> Oh, I'm really sorry for your loss, ma'am. Nobody should ever go through that...<br />
<b>Me:</b> Thank you. You guys are sweet. He is safe and healed with Jesus, but let's talk about your girl, she is the one who needs attention right now.<br />
<b>Guy 2:</b> I have a real deep respect and relationship with my Lawd, Jesus Christ.<br />
<b>Me:</b> Awesome...<br />
<b>Guy 1:</b> She's in a lot of pain and just told me to go to the store to get her some stuff, said it's burnin'. Should I get her the "Cooling Gel?"<br />
<b>Me:</b> (holding his 3 items, side by side...) You need to get her the "Maximum Strength" relief, plus, get her these pads to put the cream onto and get her an ice pack. (<i>*thinking, "Am I on a hidden camera? Is this for real? Are two guys asking me how to heal his woman's hemorrhoid...in Walmart?</i>) Believe me, "Maximum Strength" is the way to go.<br />
<b>Guy 1:</b> (*What he said at this point, I cannot repeat...)<br />
<b>Me: </b> <i>Oh</i>. Well then, she may have an infection. You need to take care of her and get her to a doctor. She may need antibiotics. (*Dear Lord...<i>just</i>...Dear Lord...)<br />
<b>Guy 1:</b> For reals? Okay, I have health insurance.<br />
<b>Me:</b> Good, yes, give her this, but watch her, make sure she doesn't have a fever, and get her to a doctor to make sure she doesn't have an infection. You need to take good care of her, treat her right. God loves her and made her. He loves you, too, and He wants you to take good care of her.<br />
<b>Guy 1: </b> Yeah, at least for this week, <i>I'll do her right</i>...<br />
<b>Me:</b> NO! God made her and designed her and loves her and you, and He has a plan for your lives, so treat her right, EVERYDAY, ALL THE TIME!" (With more emphasis!)<br />
<b>Guys: </b> Thank you, ma'am. (Outstretched hands.) I'm (so and so) and I'm (so and so). Here's my card if you ever need some trees cut down...<br />
<b>Me: </b> Thanks. Nice to meet you. I'm Adrienne, like Rocky Balboa's wife. What's your girl's name?<br />
<b>Guy 1:</b> (Such and such...)<br />
<b>Me:</b> I'll be praying for her, for God to heal her body. Please, take care of her...<br />
<b>Guys:</b> Yes, ma'am. Thanks for not being embarrassed to talk about hemorrhoids.<br />
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I turned the corner and had to post it on Facebook, because, <i>clearly</i> my solo retreat was over, right? I headed to the tampon aisle, then bought mascara and chocolate and a few other things since you can't just put tampons on the conveyor belt without anything else...<i>duh. (I guess there IS self-check out...)</i><br />
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SOOOO, I was at Walmart ALONE because Ryan, my 3 year old, is giving me a run for my money, like doing naughty things because he is bored or just seeking attention or who knows why?! In the day to day, we are an awesome team, so this recent outbreak has thrown me for a loop. For the most part, I am an extremely patient person. I don't start fights knowingly, try to apply both Jesus AND Dale Carnegie strategies to day to day life whenever I can, and am quick to forgive and forget and find peace. <b>But</b>, yesterday as I was carrying Ryan upstairs for his nap, Ryan slapped me first, then punched me in the face 5 times, to which I calmly knelt down, turned him over my knee so he was face down, arms no longer able to get to my face, stood up, repositioned him with his arms and body tucked securely in my armpit, hugged him, put him into his bed for nap time, calmly told him I loved him, forgave him, that hitting his mommy or ANYONE on the face was <i>completely disrespectful, never okay, and he was never to do it again</i>, but that I loved him and forgave him, <i>once again</i>, and I'd see him later. <br />
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I was so sad, <i>no story/snuggle time which is my favorite part of the day...</i><br />
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Then I went into my closet to put on my workout clothes and as I bent over to unzip my boots, I bawled HARD, sobs deep within, because <i>my son punched me in the face</i>. My son. With force. On purpose. And he <i>has words</i>...and he <i>uses words</i>...but this time chose to <i>punch me in the face</i>, with 5 forceful blows, only stopping because I am currently bigger than him. And it hurt my heart...and my face. <br />
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I knelt down and prayed. Breathed deep. <i>Thanked God for my boy</i>. Prayed some more and changed my clothes.<br />
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Before I headed downstairs I opened his door to find him standing at the end of his crib, crying with deep sadness, lips down turned. I said, "Ryan, I love you and I forgive you for hitting me. I was sad because you punched me in the face, so how you are sitting in your room crying, Mommy was just in her room, crying, too. When you hit me, it really hurt my feelings." He sobbed deeply and said, "Mommy, I love you so much! I'm so sorry I punched you! I won't ever punch you again! I'm so sorry, Mommy! I love you, and I forgive you, too!"<br />
<br />
<i>I'm not sure what he was forgiving me for</i>, "What? For putting you down for a nap you clearly need, buddy?!" But I'll take it. I need forgiveness for all the screwing up I've already done to him and his sister...<br />
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I scooped him up and said, "Thank you, Ryan. I forgive you and love you so much! You are my very sweet boy! My Giraffe! Would you like to snuggle and read a book?" He hugged me hard and said he did.<br />
<br />
As I closed the last page he put his hands together flat, prayer style, and laid them on my chest, then rested his head on them, <i>curling into me, like we fit together, mother and son</i>.<br />
<br />
Today he didn't punch me or hit me or anything of the sort. Instead he purposefully peed and pooped in his bed, in his clothes, during "nap time" while he didn't sleep, along with pulling a canvas off the wall and chucking every stuffed animal out of his bed. If he has to go potty while he's in bed, he always just yells, "Mommy, I have to go potty!" No big deal. I head up and assist. But he's been potty trained for 8 months. Honestly, I think he's bored with just the two of us, staring at one another day in and day out, even though at the end of any day, no matter what, he chooses me to tuck him in. And I'll take it as long as I can get it.<br />
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I'll take the snuggles and the poop and pee, but not the punches. <i>That's not what "turning the other cheek" means.</i><br />
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I'll love my boy fiercely, knees bent, eyes lifted, hands open to receive Divine strength and discernment...because this mama gets to go on <i>retreats</i> sometimes, and it's those little things like even cruising the quiet aisles of Walmart at night, that re-fill my heart, or at least get my head on straight...<br />
<br />
...except when other people are in the same aisle...and want my expertise on hemorrhoids. Seriously?! <i>"Guido, just punch me in the face!"</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>*IF you are ever in need of hemorrhoid expertise and a woman has tampons in her cart, let her pass on by, then ask the guy near the end of the aisle, by the razors, the one who looks constipated, what HE MAY USE, and let that woman continue on her solo-retreat...</i><br />
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<i><br /></i>Adriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04101665341916407243noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32529371.post-73088994067891073652013-10-14T08:06:00.001-06:002013-10-14T08:06:50.427-06:00Thanks, Merci, GraciasSince the beginning of June, I've been <a href="http://www.adriennegraves.com/2013/06/the-next-90-days.html" target="_blank">"Reading the Bible in 90 Days."</a> I'm currently in the book of Ezekiel, so, <i>clearly </i>I've missed the 90 day mark, <i>ahem</i>.<br />
<br />
This is supposed to be a post about thankfulness, a practice we do in our home on a regular basis, like "Top 10 of the Day" or "Tell me your 5 favorite things" or "What are some things for which you are thankful?", but one I desire to practice even more regularly, not just at night before bed, but all through the day.<br />
<br />
The thing is, it's been a personal struggle to have an overall mental state of thankfulness when daily the majority of my reading has literally been a vivid history, or prophecy, of doom, gloom, death, despair, rape, rebellion, murder, starvation, anger, wrath, whores, and hatred. It's not difficult to see where ANY OTHER BOOK ON EARTH MIGHT BE MORE WONDERFUL TO READ RIGHT NOW.<br />
<br />
There have been several times where I've thought, <i>just screw it</i>. <i>I've read the Bible in its entirety, skipping around, so why am I doing this, this cover to cover thing, right now, in this stage of my life? </i>Which is a fair question, it's not like I HAVE to read it, ever, really. It's not like I'm being forced, except I decided to do it, I gave the task and a beautiful group of women my word, and so I'm going to finish it, hopefully sooner than later, but I'm going to finish it. <i>Because I'm good at starting things, but not great at finishing...</i><br />
<br />
I think when things are smooth and clean and colorful and bright, even though I am thankful for such a state, I'm not positive I realize the depth of what it means to walk in gratefulness because <i>it's all good</i>. For me and my heart on this journey, being in the opposite state of anything for which I'd ever give thanks has allowed me to cherish the little and big things in the day to day.<br />
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Like, knowing there are <i>red letter words</i> where Jesus meets me face to face.<br />
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But now, I'm in the doom and gloom. <i>And I'm not thankful for it.</i><br />
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<br />
<b>Instead I'm thankful for:</b><br />
<br />
<ul>
<li><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Carry-On-Warrior-Thoughts-Unarmed-ebook/dp/B008J4GRTM" target="_blank">"Carry On, Warrior"</a> by Glennon Melton and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/One-Thousand-Gifts-Fully-Right/dp/0310321913" target="_blank">"1000 Gifts"</a> by Ann Voskamp (Treadmill/stationary bike reading)</li>
<li>Our treadmill, and healthy legs to use it daily</li>
<li>Yoga and the quiet before the Lord in the dark of our basement</li>
<li>Little legs that run away from me, carrying a 3 year old tooshie, with laughter and flailing</li>
<li>Snuggling in my bed or hers, book open, imaginations circling, sharing stories with my 11 year old girl</li>
<li>Pretending to have tapas in Spain with my husband on date night over a glass of Spanish Red and olives, if even for an hour and a half</li>
<li>A two-foot long branch of brussel sprouts on the counter</li>
<li>Finally finding a dog groomer so Lady doesn't look like she has mange</li>
<li>The peachy hue of the clouds at sunrise</li>
<li>Whatever environmental factors which had to occur in order for our town to experience the most vibrant and colorful Fall in my memory</li>
<li>Friendships which run deep, no matter the distance</li>
</ul>
Adriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04101665341916407243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32529371.post-22274627376581471702013-10-07T07:40:00.002-06:002013-10-07T20:56:51.898-06:00ThanksOne of the perspective changes I had while Noah was in the hospital, and then since he passed away, is one of thankfulness. <br />
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Growing up as a Catholic kid, it was regular practice to give thanks to God for each meal, pray every night for family, friends, neighbors and strangers, and say the words of the "Lord's Prayer", offering thanks and seeking His hand and guidance for each day. </div>
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Somewhere deep down within my heart I've always known giving thanks, showing appreciation, and having a heart and mindset of gratitude, leads not only to a <i>better life in general</i>, but is innately how we were designed, the act of it one of worship allowing us to see God's heart more purely. </div>
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A lack of thanks is precisely why I believe many in the first-world are over-stressed, excessively busy, and self-medicating, <i>no matter the drug of choice</i>. It's also why I believe God and faith in Him are afterthought, if thought of at all.</div>
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And I know, because when I turned 15 and left the Catholic church for "churches" that I thought were The Way, I also left the practice of reciting the Lord's Prayer regularly, being told and believing, it was a <i>religious practice</i> to simply recite prayers out of habit. For a time my prayers were ramped up with more expression, a bit more volume, being told my expression and explosion matched the amount of my faith. It's funny how looking back, and <i>having been there at the time, that is living in my own head and heart</i>, it never really felt right to boss God around, commanding Him this and that in Geeeeee-zus' name. But over time, that became rote, as well. But in those circles, it's not rote, but rather celebrated as super-faith.<br />
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<i>Today, I'm more than thankful I was raised in the Catholic church during my formative years because the experience laid a firm foundation for my faith and how to recognize "trends" in "christianity."</i></div>
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For years, instead, I just had conversations with The Lord, talking to Him throughout the day, upon waking, every night. Always giving thanks at meals, lacing thankfulness into the day, but still, if I stopped to pray about someone or something in particular, I was still <i>asking for something</i>, something I wanted, an outcome which would benefit me and mine, or you and yours.</div>
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<br /></div>
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And He does want us to, there's nothing wrong with <i>asking</i>. It's not that we aren't supposed to ask.</div>
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The problem is, some seasons in my life have been <i>solely based on asking</i> rather than <i>always based on thankfulness, no matter what</i>.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Since having Noah and losing him, I've still had seasons where my attitude isn't gratitude on a daily basis. Discontent, longing for purpose, wishing I knew what I was here for, wanting less stuff, wishing I could encourage others officially through "ministry", believing it to be a job description at times rather than a way of life, wanting less, wanting more, wanting different. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Five years ago I introduced Emily to The Lord's Prayer, dissecting it, showing her how it begins with perspective, God first, then us and our needs. She memorized it on the way to school in the car over time and is now helping me teach it to Ryan. The whole chapter of Matthew 6 is one of my favorites, permanently marked with a ribbon, because it's practical insight from the Creator of the Universe for our day to day existence...yet, at least in my 27 years in Evangelical Christianity, I've never once been told to pray that prayer daily, because it may become rote or religious. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In addition to saying and typing it, I also love the motion of pen on paper in writing it...</td></tr>
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So on this morning, I've decided to do what's not the trend, to pray the way I knew as a child to be uncomplicated and focused on The One who knew the answers, whether I ever did or not. Today. Not only am I going to start out with The Lord's Prayer, not a quote un-quote Catholic prayer (and thank God they have kept it alive!!!), but one Jesus taught anyone who would listen in order to have a life of perspective. I'm going to pray it with both gratefulness AND religiosity, <a href="http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/religion" target="_blank">religion</a>, simply being a word to describe a conscientious activity with great meaning. </div>
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I'm thankful Jesus was forthcoming in these instructions of how to pray, not answering with another story or parable. It's plain and clear.</div>
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Give thanks.</div>
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*<i>If you'd like to join with others practicing the art of thankfulness, we'll be writing about Thankfulness on our blogs every Monday morning for an undetermined time frame and would love to read yours, as well. We aren't setting up a "linky" thingy, but rather are simply exercising the art of writing, and writing specifically about being grateful. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Here's a post from my friend, <a href="http://www.elittlebits.com/thanks/" target="_blank">Elizabeth Jackson</a>.<br />
And here's one from my friend,<a href="http://blog.ourcozycastle.com/?p=37" target="_blank"> Heidi Jo.</a> </div>
Adriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04101665341916407243noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32529371.post-19461633235212695092013-10-03T23:41:00.001-06:002013-10-04T00:00:48.720-06:00Just WriteIt's ironic, <i>and not</i>, that the prompt for Lisa Jo Baker's <a href="http://lisajobaker.com/2013/10/five-minute-friday-write/" target="_blank">"Five Minute Friday"</a> is "write."<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKwweScG9RYNr1xvosNnCsKUF1liV4StBAOdEXxBABy6UOQsXzcwB4PqPxB1lczvYAfN_f5xpkIoAFeu6Q64IGdiVNyd95fPjLQxOW1hMiK9yVajEQlksEMRmv-6sd6CeffepTiA/s1600/2013-01-02+20.23.53.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKwweScG9RYNr1xvosNnCsKUF1liV4StBAOdEXxBABy6UOQsXzcwB4PqPxB1lczvYAfN_f5xpkIoAFeu6Q64IGdiVNyd95fPjLQxOW1hMiK9yVajEQlksEMRmv-6sd6CeffepTiA/s320/2013-01-02+20.23.53.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3qpPJHxg70Dysi1ly1ls7CpFKRFu-nLwMLePKxmZGW7-QWgfihz3Q7NyAdhG40hLX74XbIHJ3DCgTU2l3RYcxxkESck58RnxXOwRLM56Z5VBgNcrEZZnvwdtLlwy-vDksdcdV7A/s1600/2013-01-02+20.24.07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3qpPJHxg70Dysi1ly1ls7CpFKRFu-nLwMLePKxmZGW7-QWgfihz3Q7NyAdhG40hLX74XbIHJ3DCgTU2l3RYcxxkESck58RnxXOwRLM56Z5VBgNcrEZZnvwdtLlwy-vDksdcdV7A/s320/2013-01-02+20.24.07.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just write, but be intentional about it...</td></tr>
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GO:<br />
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Because today at lunch with a <a href="http://myransomnotes.wordpress.com/about/" target="_blank">writer friend</a>, who is writing a book with her husband, I asked, "How do you actually <i>write</i> a book on marriage? Do you guys, like, brainstorm ideas and topics on a marker board, get a plan and go for it? Is it linear, beginning to end? How do you actually <i>write</i> a book?"<br />
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She laughed and told me she had asked her husband who has written 2 books the exact same question! She told him she had some questions and wanted to talk about it, wanted to know the angle, "Do we write about topics? Do we come at it, 'He said, She said'?"<br />
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I asked my friend what insight her author husband relayed.<br />
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"He said to <i>just write</i>."<br />
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And we laughed and cussed and told one another how we both love Anne Lamott and <u>Bird by Bird</u>, so the prompt and advice wasn't new, but still just as profound. <br />
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Funny how the thing we both love to do, that is write, the thing we do in our heads and hearts most of the day, writing the stories we observe in our lives and the ones we feel and experience, is so difficult to scribe on paper, or tink on a keyboard.<br />
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Yet we know we've been designed to write and when we do, we come alive and feel all is well with the world. Even when the writing sucks and no one ever reads it because it's simply filed away in our documents, trapped in a flat folding computer on the desk. <br />
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As corny as it may sound to some, we didn't hear corny as we exchanged our deep love for writing and how when we do it we know we're doing what we were designed to do, writing for the One who designed us, published or not, not seeking the approval of anyone, just doing what comes naturally.<br />
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STOP<br />
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Grateful for this prompt today. If you want to just write, link up over at "Five Minute Friday" and then read the blog post of the person ahead of you and encourage them in the art of writing.<br />
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<a href="http://lisajobaker.com/five-minute-friday/" title="Five Minute Friday"><img alt="Five Minute Friday" src="http://lisajobaker.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/06/5minutefriday.jpg" style="border: none;" title="Five Minute Friday" /></a>Adriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04101665341916407243noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32529371.post-19767857616338694882013-10-02T08:17:00.000-06:002013-10-02T08:17:26.898-06:00Change the WorldThis morning after Dad prayed for all of us as he was heading to work, I said, "Have fun! Change the world!"<br />
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He said, "I'm trying!"<br />
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Dad was out the door and I said, snarky to Em, "So, what did you do today at work?...Oh, just changed the world. You?"<br />
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Em said, "What you did you do? Oh, I'm a plumber."<br />
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I said, "Em, you better believe plumbers change the world! They keep you from walking around in your own excrement and keep the world SANITARY. Don't EVER think just because a job isn't glamorous that it doesn't literally CHANGE the WORLD!"<br />
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She said, "Touche.."<br />
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So, there you go. <br />
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Go CHANGE YOUR CORNER OF THE WORLD.Adriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04101665341916407243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32529371.post-80452293931046544462013-09-30T10:28:00.005-06:002013-09-30T10:28:44.199-06:00Lessons from Spain (and other European countries): Ministry Happens in a BarI have a new friend who is sassy. She's also brilliant, sensitive, wise, and discerning, humble and modest, and a fantastic listener. She is British, 100%, as in, her parents are English, she was born in England, and so that makes her an Englishwoman. Ryan kisses the back of her hand every time he sees her and addresses her as "Princess." <i>And she's a girl totally, madly, deeply in love with her Savior. She is teaching me so very much.</i><br />
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Being from the other side of the Pond, she also likes Scotch, or Bourbon, or Gin, or one of those drinks men who are 60 or older sip in smoky wood paneled clubs with leaded glass windows where Englishmen meet amongst walls lined with leather bound books and trophy deer heads from plaid clad weekends on the hillsides of Europe. <br />
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<i>This very statement made some readers wonder if my friend is really even a Christian...</i>seriously, raise your hand if your remember Jesus' first miracle.<br />
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Anyway, being a SAHCMFTBIA (Stay At Home Caucasian Mom From The Burbs In America), I've never really embraced my ethnicity one way or another. Just this morning I had to fill out a form and check the vanilla boring nondescript box <i>labeled</i>, "Caucasian." Before I was married I at least told people how my maiden name means, "Bible" in German and then I'd break out into "Stille Nacht" or count to 10 in German just to show I still had a little in me.<br />
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Since meeting my new British friend, my eyes have been opened a tad more to faith in other parts of the world. Oh, I've been on missions and studied missions and have traveled for both ministry and pleasure in several parts of the world. And I know from both studying and travels about major world religions, as well as how Christianity differs from culture to culture, and how cultures differ due to religious influence.<br />
<br />
But a few months ago while I sipped a glass of red and my British friend her drink of choice, pouring our hearts out to one another about everything under the sun, she told me how, from living in America for 30+ years, American Christianity and European Christianity vary greatly...<br />
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...<b>not in the Message of God's love for mankind</b>, but in the <i>cultural message</i>, <b>which often muddles the Everlasting Message profanely.</b><br />
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In Europe,<i> at least in Britain</i>, she said the Pub on the corner is where people talk about love and life and ups and downs, you know, kind of like a "small group." It's not demonized as a place to just get drunk, like "Spring Break '89", but rather a place to open up and share life. It's like, oh, could we say, <i>church</i>.<br />
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<i>A forbidden fruit mentality</i> has been fostered in this nation for 100's of years, <i>setting up bars and alcohol as something to be pursued in anything other than moderation</i>, putting an age on it as if that makes a person mature and responsible, and slapping a party mentality on it.<br />
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The funny thing is, over the last year or so I've spent quite a bit of time with women who have reached out, seeking an ear, belly up to a bar. Women who have been hit by their husband, others controlled "Sleeping With the Enemy" style, divorced, separated, suffocating in loveless marriages, some just crying out to be loved by their workaholic husbands, not the men they originally had fallen in love with...women pouring out their hearts over their dreams for their children, their fears, their own personal dreams and aspirations, and the brokenness of their realities. <br />
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<i>And we cry, and stop, and pray, right there, belly up, holding hands, eyes closed, seeking God's direction and healing in every situation.</i><br />
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<br />
My dad asked me why I couldn't just go to Village Inn, instead...<br />
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<i>...ummmm, gross, I just barfed a little typing "Village Inn". </i><br />
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I'm not trying to fit a conventional ideal of what a woman who loves God with her whole heart and also happens to be in ministry, looks like. And, I'm also not trying to shock anyone just for shock value.<br />
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I'm actually quite tired of the banter and pleasing and grieved<i> to my core</i> of all the talk ABOUT so many other THINGS within Evangelical "Christianity" rather than THE ONE THING, <i>the only true thing</i>, which is:<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>God is totally and completely in love with you. That's all.</b></span></div>
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I don't go to Village Inn because it's gross. I don't even think I'll choose VI when I'm 89. If a woman asked me to meet there because she wanted to pour her heart into mine, to see if I'd be a listening ear, then of course I'd go to Village Inn...to listen to her heart.<br />
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But that's not where these amazing women have asked me to meet them. They have asked me to meet them at bars, for a drink, where we can just talk. Can "talking" happen anywhere else? Duh. <br />
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But if I am to embrace my heritage, then I'm guessing some of my Irish, Scotch, German, Swiss, French, and English ancestors likely <i>had church</i> in Pubs, way back when, across the Pond. And I'd venture to guess their hard-working lives were more authentic and vulnerable than the facades of perfectionism Evangelical "Christianity" has set up here in the "New Country." <br />
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And if I'm to truly embrace what it means to lay down my life and follow Christ, to allow my life to be a source of His love poured out, in spite of me, then I also need to embrace the beauty that<i> sometimes women's ministry happens in a bar.</i><br />
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<br />Adriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04101665341916407243noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32529371.post-35099224363522750952013-09-26T16:30:00.004-06:002013-09-26T16:30:58.303-06:00All Up in Your Crazy<div style="background-color: #dcf5f8;">
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"I will combat my stress and heated difficult parenting moments with trips to the toilet.</div>
</span><br />
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<br /></div>
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I read a really darling short story about a woman who locked herself in her master bathroom happily for the weekend. It was her own special stay-cation, complete with Orangina and crackers.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I may have to try that. Don’t tell my kids."</div>
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- Jessica Patay, author of "She Runs a Good Race"</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Here's my comment:<br />
<i>Some thoughts: I rhymed "Orangina" with vagina when I read that...and you caught me, my kids are perfect and I do, indeed, every moment of everyday, respond in godly wisdom and oozing goodness to them, like it oozes from me, from every pore...it's like I'm angelic or something. This post has just inspired a post in my head...so I'm heading over to my blog to get my writing on, but in the meantime, you are better than me because instead of sitting on the pot to talk to God and find "poof" peace lately, I've been escaping to try to beat level "30" on Candy Crush. And when I do sit in there a while I poop rainbows.</i> #isuckwayworsethanyou #youareonefantasticmama #iloveyougirl #youareawesome<br />
<br />
My girlfriend <a href="http://jessicapatay.wordpress.com/2013/09/26/tales-from-the-toilet/" target="_blank">Jess</a> is an inspired writer, raw and authentic, and just posted some great wisdom for moms, a result of what she has been learning in "time-out"...not her kids' time-outs, but her own...<i>where she puts herself to cool off and think it over</i>. The following post was inspired by her piece and actually started as my comment in her comment section, but I didn't want to hi-jack the post with a mega-comment, so, instead, here it is.<br />
<br />
May I invite you into my brain, friend? It looks a helluva lot like the 144 magazines on the library wall I'm sitting across from at this moment, all on different topics, each with a 100+ pages, plus advertising...and in that chaos, I get overwhelmed in my own head, want to throw everything away and live in an RV and just come visit you and drink a little wine overlooking the great Pacific. Then Emily, excited, sweet, with the greatest of intentions, comes over to my shit-laden desk where I sit staring, wondering how I didn't get one friggin' thing accomplished all day, yet managed to stay busy anyway, and says, "Mom, can we look at organizational websites and draw up a plan of action and spend the whole weekend totally purging and organizing my room?" And I should be excited about this because my kid wants to down-size and get organized but I'm folding 9 loads of laundry, laced with camouflage and safety orange and glow in the dark pajamas and odd numbered socks and I have 17 books home from the library that contain no pictures because they are for me to gain inspiration on how to live life free of the crazy because I actually don't care about stuff or things so organizing her room or any room in the house would look more like donating everything to the thrift and, of course, only having "7" of anything...and it's nearing the dinner hour and my personal Paleo chef decides we're having GF frozen pizzas and full-on grain nachos with dollops of dairy and leftover buffalo carnage. <br />
<br />
And she doesn't mean anything by it because how could she know all the crazy that goes on in my head and heart on any given day? And truth be told, her desire to purge, organize, and clean her room is evidence of her listening and letting it soak in all the times I've said, "Sweetie, more stuff doesn't fill the deepest part in our heart we're trying to fill...it's just more stuff and eventually it will overwhelm us. Less truly is more."<br />
<br />
But the truth is I am a little kid, totally ego-centric, because I want to purge, organize, and clean up <i>my crazy</i> before I clean up her crazy. I wanna be first!<br />
<br />
And since I was just in the bathroom, I can't run there, she's got me cornered at my desk in the kitchen, so I sit on the toilet in my head go there in my head and talk to God, I'm not even 1/2 listening to her but instead breathing deeply, in my own time-out, and I repent for being selfish and ask God for grace in this moment, to let go of the agenda, my to-do list, my crazy, because I can't play level "30" to escape, and thanks to you, friend, I can't even eat chocolate or drink a little to escape because we are doing this flippin' accountability thingy, and it's good <i>because I know and you know and we all know</i> <b>God truly is the Only One who can fill that deepest part in our heart</b> where everything else around fades in importance and priority and somehow falls into place.<br />
<br />
And so I pull her onto my lap, hug her huge with #intention, and tell her, "Peanut, I would totally love to help you with your room! Let's get a plan and do it!"<br />
<br />
<i>Because spending the weekend with my pre-teen daughter, because she wants me to, is a blessing...I guess it's all about perspective.</i><br />
<br />
<br />Adriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04101665341916407243noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32529371.post-86254796622683509632013-09-24T07:11:00.000-06:002013-09-24T07:16:39.013-06:00There is a Time for Everything Under the Sun<div class="MsoNormal">
Our third child didn’t get a baby shower.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not because historically it’s improper
in the book of manners, but because I just didn’t think my heart could handle
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The last time I had been
pregnant with a boy, my friends gathered around me as we ate chocolate and
vegetables and artichoke dip, all the while cooing over adorable blue polka dot
blankets and all things tender and tiny.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It had been almost four years since I had first become a mom, and with
that bit of experience, this time around was a bit sweeter and much more
relaxing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With almost four years
of practice under my belt, this was going to be a lot easier, a piece of cake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I
more or less knew how to prepare and what to expect.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had let my guard down and was burned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">That
wasn’t going to happen this time</i>.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My friend recently posted how she had taken almost 1000
pictures of her nephew’s birth, and prior to that, she shared pictures of the
shower she hosted for her sister, a celebration of the anticipation of their
third child.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am not one to weep over regrets, but my heart sunk a
little.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why hadn’t I allowed the
many who offered to host me a baby shower just do what their hearts wanted to
do?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Receiving help is difficult
for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pride gets in the way of
receiving, because I am a damn strong woman and can do a hell of a lot on my
own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, I’ve found over time
how strength is beautiful in numbers, how relying on God and others is not
weakness shown but rather confidence revealed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>Real trust, to the core</i>…an ability to recognize most great
masterpieces are made up of more than one color, a brick is solely a brick on
its own, and a tree will never grow if the seed isn’t ever planted. <br />
<br />
<i>No orchestra is made up on solely one instrument.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And only now, after just having <i>loosely</i> celebrated Ryan’s
3rd birthday (Em was sick, he didn’t <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">know</i>
it was his birthday or what that meant, really, and Jason and I were just home
from Spain), am I able to understand it wasn’t out of guilt or feeling sorry
for me that my friends, old and new, wanted to host me a shower.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I realize now that a shower is to celebrate the anticipation
of the little life about to enter the world, an opportunity to celebrate the
woman carrying that life, the waiting parents, and a space for everyone to rejoice. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
There is a time for everything under the sun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pregnancy and the anticipation of a
child is a time of celebration.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Only when news otherwise is relayed should the celebration turn into
mourning.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">There is a time for
everything under the sun. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We don’t skip bridal showers because we think the poor
couple won’t last past the infamous 7-year itch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We don’t forgo weddings for the same reason.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is no guarantee, <a href="http://www.adriennegraves.com/2013/05/on-any-given-day.html" target="_blank">on any given day</a>, we will all make it to the 89 year old mark, so should we all skip cake
and ice cream, all the years leading up to our day?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is no guarantee,
only hope and hard work, if our marriages will, indeed, continue happily ever
after.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just because a woman is
pregnant does not mean the baby inside of her is meant for this side of Heaven.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And just because my heart was raw, carrying another son in
my womb, unsure of the days to come, jaded a bit from loving and losing,
doesn’t mean I should have denied my family and friends the opportunity to
anticipate and celebrate the life growing in me and the arrival of our newest
family member.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not saying it was right or wrong to deny my friends and
family a chance to host a shower for me years ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What I am saying is, in my selfish attempt to protect my
heart from further heartache and disappointment, I shut down and didn’t even
allow those who loved me to show their love faithfully as they had in the
past.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>They had celebrated with us,
and also mourned when it was time. </i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Birthdays, showers, anniversaries, holidays. All of these celebrations, though marked with loss and memories, no matter how distant, are indeed, celebrations.<br />
<br />
I'm not sure why I'm writing this 4 years from when my friends offered to throw me a shower, but I felt strongly to share my heart. Maybe you are fearful to celebrate the anticipation of a child on the way, perhaps you have had adoptions fall through and it's scary to let your head and heart go there again. Maybe fear is gripping you as you allow your heart to fall deeply in love again after the loss of a spouse? I don't know.<br />
<br />
I do know for several months I was fearful Ryan would die, just like his big brother. And I had really, really, really, really, really fallen in love with Noah. But I knew Noah was dying, and at the same time, I knew he deserved all my love and I loved him with all of my mommy heart. I don't live in fear anymore that Ryan is going to die like his brother. He will die. I don't know when. God knows the number of our days. I do know this, however...I have jumped in with both feet in loving Ryan. The ache and grief of losing his brother does not hang over me as I flip his curls through my fingers, rub noses, snuggle in our favorite chair while reading, and play choo-choo's in the basement. <i>I'm in love and it feels really amazing.</i><br />
<br />
Every Single Day is a celebration of the lives around us, even our very own. <i>Is there someone in your life who needs celebrating today?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
The only loss in loving is to look back and realize we never gave it our all.</div>
Adriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04101665341916407243noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32529371.post-39673012423596418142013-09-20T23:21:00.002-06:002013-09-20T23:21:46.584-06:00An Exercise in WritingI've been a bratty "writer." And by that, I mean, I love writing, I do it when I'm inspired, sometimes I'm inspired when I don't have access to a computer or even paper, so I "write" in my head, but then it gets lost in my mental cosmos. But as far as "practicing" I've operated under a bratty opinion of, "I'm only going to write if I'm inspired...otherwise it's so contrived."<br />
<br />
Super bratty, but I'm hungry for, and willing to, change.<br />
<br />
Except I've been thinking about such a mentality for the last year or so and realized something. When you practice something, <i>you often get better at it</i>. Take, for example, swimming. I started out as a toddler on the side of the pool, only dipping my toes, telling my mom I didn't want to go in the water. We moved to Arizona when I was 6 and were enrolled in swim lessons right away since a pool is mostly standard issue in every backyard, and if not, for sure in every neighborhood. My first swim class was for "Minnows", aka, little swimmers...beginners getting comfortable with the water. I know at some point I became a "Shark" and then in time I was on a team, gathering 5th and 6th place ribbons, then 4th and 3rd, then years later State Titles with teammates in High School.<br />
<br />
We practiced every day after school from mid-August to the end of November, from 2:30 to 5:00.<br />
<br />
A lot of hours, a lot of practice. Some of it redundant, but building strength and endurance, perseverance, and in some races, excellence.<br />
<br />
So, I'm trying to apply the same mentality to writing. <i>Because I really like writing.</i> Mucho. So, recently when I saw on Twitter a post by <a href="http://lisajobaker.com/about-lisa-jo-baker/" target="_blank">Lisa-Jo Baker</a> about a writing exercise group link she does on Friday's with readers, I was intrigued. It's called, <a href="http://lisajobaker.com/2013/09/five-minute-friday-she/" target="_blank">"Five Minute Friday,"</a> and she gives a prompt, you set your timer, and then write. And write. And write until the timer goes off, and then, you stop. So, I've never done it before, but I'm starting it now. Like, right now. And the prompt is: She.<br />
<br />
<b>GO:</b><br />
<br />
She.<br />
<br />
She is your mom. She is your sister. She is your daughter. She is your aunt, cousin, grandmother, friend. Her strength is astounding. Her smile strengthening, lighting up a room, filling hearts, bringing life and love wherever it's revealed.<br />
<br />
There are days when her smile is hidden. She doesn't realize the power behind its revelation, she is unaware of the life it offers, she doesn't know because it has been darkened, the lines diminished from years of sorrow. Life unraveling. <br />
<br />
We look at her and long for the smile to return to her face. She has aged, but the lines in her face aren't from laughter but longing. Worry, wonder, despair, a broken heart. The lines are deep and they draw her smile, the beauty that was once alive on her face, the lines draw them down.<br />
<br />
Look up! Look around you! See the sea of faces looking back at you. These are the faces of family and friends, and we love you. We are so sorry for the hurts in your heart, the aches you've hidden deep, the memories fresh even though ancient. We love you and want you to know your sheer existence, the fact that you are here, now, in this space, brings love and hope to us. <br />
<br />
Let those lines run deep, not from sorrow, but because of laughter, laughter of days to come, joy in the unknown<br />
<br />
<b>STOP.</b><br />
<br />
Wow. <i>That was a cool exercise.</i> I practiced writing. It was kind of crazy to see what came to mind. I think I'll practice this exercise every Friday. It only takes 5 minutes, so it's not like I can say <i>I don't have time to write.</i><br />
<br />
If you care to join in the practice, <a href="http://lisajobaker.com/2013/09/five-minute-friday-she/" target="_blank">here's the information</a>. You may leave your writing in the comments section or link your blog post in the linky section (I've never done a "linky" so hopefully it's easy and I can figure it out...), then head to the blogger's site who posted prior to you and read their piece and encourage them.<br />
<br />
<b>Have a great weekend!</b> Adriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04101665341916407243noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32529371.post-81231683173673560462013-09-19T14:33:00.002-06:002013-09-19T14:33:23.902-06:00More "Lessons from Spain"<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I tell you what…if finding out I was pregnant after a trip
to Spain was a way to learn things such as, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the
sky is the limit, throw caution to the wind, live life to the fullest</i>, OR,
say, the opposite, like, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">be careful, look
both ways when crossing the street, always bring an umbrella</i>, well, then
the last week has been good for me, in a hellish sort of way.</div>
<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/AVvXsEipzDXXIyofwFWB2Xah7UYGpcAz1rBX0LhImSGHk2Wbfnz_AxHgG_cnuK7Ed0Tfo90rvw6y0ahfaEMvYpf_AsAIfCPhiX0DKVIG0Mb85h6UjT91fbp5E_qdFKA8WsygHGnW1jNEmw/s1600/2013-08-13+21.01.01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipzDXXIyofwFWB2Xah7UYGpcAz1rBX0LhImSGHk2Wbfnz_AxHgG_cnuK7Ed0Tfo90rvw6y0ahfaEMvYpf_AsAIfCPhiX0DKVIG0Mb85h6UjT91fbp5E_qdFKA8WsygHGnW1jNEmw/s320/2013-08-13+21.01.01.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The age I would be at time of delivery. (Graffiti in Barcelona)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
And by “good for me” I mean, “Holy Ship My Pants, Batman!” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Please know, I don’t mean this
disrespectfully.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know, KNOW,
know many women who have longed to be mama’s in their life time’s…some never experiencing
it, others having only gotten to treasure it for a short time, some never
getting to hear their sweet babies cry, or meeting their child face to face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I, too, have had 2 miscarriages and
lost a yummy sweet boy sooner than I ever imagined possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am not discounting these longings,
whatsoever.</div>
<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/AVvXsEjkED2u8Fd3EcNxlhYHKKvYaVty-Nzmw5uVllD55vmOktpey2LvVR12XxyzTUJfNArhAagSjieLF4I0lC16loAAIM3ujn_NLRbUUeSukLgiOxy-zylpmfCQ-Kvia7vOTtpvv2Ylog/s1600/2013-08-18+12.19.16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkED2u8Fd3EcNxlhYHKKvYaVty-Nzmw5uVllD55vmOktpey2LvVR12XxyzTUJfNArhAagSjieLF4I0lC16loAAIM3ujn_NLRbUUeSukLgiOxy-zylpmfCQ-Kvia7vOTtpvv2Ylog/s320/2013-08-18+12.19.16.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Translation: Do not let your dog ship its pants here in this public space.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I won’t lie when I tell you that for the last few days I
have had irregular breathing patterns thinking about the “what if’s” if I were,
indeed, pregnant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I won’t
lie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those days were dark in my
head and heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Last night as I fell into bed I told my husband I didn’t
even need to lower myself down, I simply collapsed under my own body weight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still not having shed all my “Viva Espana”
weight, then getting PMS like nobody’s business (I NEVER have it, NEVER, no
cramps, no tenderness, nada), I was sure we were in for a surprise, and not
like, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Ooooh, awesome!”,</i> but more
like, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Holy Ship My Pants-ness, Ryan’s
going to be a big brother?! #$%^&*.”</i><br />
<br />
I named off two friends I’d consider giving our baby to, since
they are looking to adopt. My heart was
heaving and not thrilled at the thought…at all. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">What can I say?</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, I celebrate and love children, but
these are the real thoughts that went through my head and heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m sure you’ve never thought
this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Clearly, </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I suck more than you.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Before I drifted off, however, I told Jason, “If it’s a
girl, I’m naming her Georgie.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This morning I looked at my calendar, counted days, tried to
remember what I was thinking or if I had been thinking and, HOLY SHIP MY PANTS,
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">were we even thinking</i>? I rolled out of bed, pulled up my bootstraps, and actually
smiled at the new found peace that had settled into my heart over night. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“Georgie…totally.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’ll name her Georgie, and maybe her middle name will be Madrid or Barcelona.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I headed into what is usually one of my favorite days of the
week:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>LAAAAAAA!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thursday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">My day.</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A day where Ryan hangs with our
fabulous babysitter and I head to the library, <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">word-nerd heaven</b>, where I sit amongst books and thoughts and dreams
to read and write and enjoy the quiet.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
First stop, the coffee shop for something with almond milk,
“to-go”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Second stop before
setting up my portable office at the library:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the ladies room.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(The following is a text conversation)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“You’re
lucky…” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
J:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“That made
me laugh.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’m glad my
bleeding uterus is funny to you. I almost shipped my pants with worry!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“But, the
name Georgie for a little girl IS fabulous!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Maybe it’ll
be my pen name…hmmm, yes!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
J:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Your pen
name should be Georgie or Bleeding Uterus?”</div>
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A:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Probably
Bleeding Uterus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s raw, catchy,
authentic…”</div>
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I’m not sure I’ll use “Georgie” or “Bleeding Uterus” or
something else entirely as a pen name, but I do know this:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will always write vulnerably and with
authenticity, because this particular lesson from Spain is:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>life doesn’t always turn out as we
plan, but I already know from experience, it can be more beautiful than we
ever imagined.</div>
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*<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">And, a couple bonus “Lessons from Spain:” menses symptoms are greatly affected by how clean one eats.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a reminder, and a heck of a way
to re-learn this, but my body tells me things and I need to listen. Moderation. And, make that appointment...<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i><br /></i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><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/AVvXsEi2cHNaKVm7lJjIN2PjRHaNDgCgIq2D-ZKhyphenhyphenjE3rk10SXa_2ITAOuRqYWhWIU5iq5zTPIaxtfWFS7JXA09Twb1rx6xHRDIiGqu7VTmPf5gUQK39Uku77ivyo5nL4qx3Td7LgsTKZw/s1600/2013-08-14+11.24.13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2cHNaKVm7lJjIN2PjRHaNDgCgIq2D-ZKhyphenhyphenjE3rk10SXa_2ITAOuRqYWhWIU5iq5zTPIaxtfWFS7JXA09Twb1rx6xHRDIiGqu7VTmPf5gUQK39Uku77ivyo5nL4qx3Td7LgsTKZw/s320/2013-08-14+11.24.13.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Foods that contribute to monthly bloating, mood swings, and cramps: amazing churros from Barcelona</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</i>
<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/AVvXsEgvWFvbq1jE_dJp73RQ4UTDxvBoRBayqP1yryL0tcmk3i4c3o1BV08h0tgMC-hLjLz85RBIyOYSlqRy0EXHbbrVePArGj47oyrBomEI3djWLq9xN9qbIcXsnlmM61HgaJuMdeGvOA/s1600/2013-08-21+00.15.43.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvWFvbq1jE_dJp73RQ4UTDxvBoRBayqP1yryL0tcmk3i4c3o1BV08h0tgMC-hLjLz85RBIyOYSlqRy0EXHbbrVePArGj47oyrBomEI3djWLq9xN9qbIcXsnlmM61HgaJuMdeGvOA/s320/2013-08-21+00.15.43.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A picture my husband said I'd never post since it's not flattering...I don't know what's not flattering about eating an entire crab by yourself, soaked in butter, but arrrrrr, I love crab! Living it up, eating without regrets/symptoms in Espana.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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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/AVvXsEhBgve-ByNVJl0RMF2wifXjdMRk9Z7YK7S3qcfpWB7gFhIo1fOwEmvHa-WcgK9L2BegwbCu8u-AveoiArxLwkJxHnU5xLdB0ZEe_oqjOhsnWjo9OhqW_t-t8AZo5lj_G9I-UhiSew/s1600/2013-08-24+19.20.52.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBgve-ByNVJl0RMF2wifXjdMRk9Z7YK7S3qcfpWB7gFhIo1fOwEmvHa-WcgK9L2BegwbCu8u-AveoiArxLwkJxHnU5xLdB0ZEe_oqjOhsnWjo9OhqW_t-t8AZo5lj_G9I-UhiSew/s320/2013-08-24+19.20.52.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Laguardia, Espana, aka, Wine Country, being kissed by my prince on top of a castle...*alcohol, another contributor to monthly swings.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEjIlCLcQ_jiOu7wCdH1Jnz7s0QP1vxFkRBHJI-GrdM2xsv4U8h0zajAMcObCdZysnUNzPdXLRnlLgwX8EykFv18p84rN61pKVKlIqKZi1tC_AqhVIVZjfRySHwOQGl2PQWvNqRSCw/s1600/IMG_9847.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIlCLcQ_jiOu7wCdH1Jnz7s0QP1vxFkRBHJI-GrdM2xsv4U8h0zajAMcObCdZysnUNzPdXLRnlLgwX8EykFv18p84rN61pKVKlIqKZi1tC_AqhVIVZjfRySHwOQGl2PQWvNqRSCw/s320/IMG_9847.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More on the food tour: constipation and bloating, <i>I mean</i> ice cream and molten chocolate cake with some sort of awesomeness on the side... </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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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/AVvXsEjGfaicUmqlDGe9OkuK5Bbwy_bzI73h0nb6eY8DPgt5bPf9_7V_pR7zFnSEAzE5DN3vRg2FW-o3ynG_7ooWRhWU3t2ze2_jxODjlAuMOyYxNNcIM58sfkCYAV_pZx8PaqqIKGs0Vw/s1600/2013-08-17+12.54.22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGfaicUmqlDGe9OkuK5Bbwy_bzI73h0nb6eY8DPgt5bPf9_7V_pR7zFnSEAzE5DN3vRg2FW-o3ynG_7ooWRhWU3t2ze2_jxODjlAuMOyYxNNcIM58sfkCYAV_pZx8PaqqIKGs0Vw/s320/2013-08-17+12.54.22.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Reminder, Adrienne: you feel healthy when you eat healthily<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEhyH7L59Qzrx4XyApZT0-jT1jxIppyWeNDVEa0BIimkLamOnCoErt7ami8nTGX7e1KlF8pEvmdEKpDf0C0mDt2K337RsTdFINFjJl7oenO78LFuurubNPXVM7vr5FiJOVONzRis7g/s1600/2013-08-28+19.38.59.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyH7L59Qzrx4XyApZT0-jT1jxIppyWeNDVEa0BIimkLamOnCoErt7ami8nTGX7e1KlF8pEvmdEKpDf0C0mDt2K337RsTdFINFjJl7oenO78LFuurubNPXVM7vr5FiJOVONzRis7g/s320/2013-08-28+19.38.59.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So, no. There is no Georgie Madrid Graves on the way. The only baby we brought home from Spain is this Spanish Mater. #vivaespana</td></tr>
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Adriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04101665341916407243noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32529371.post-50746483729439042572013-09-07T15:46:00.005-06:002013-09-07T15:46:50.173-06:00Lessons from Spain: Beauty is Freedom.<i>..and Freedom is Beautiful.</i><br />
<br />
When I recommend articles on Facebook or Twitter or here on my blog, due to the nature of life and the Internet, I don't always know the author personally, may not know their tone of voice in writing or if I'd even invite them to dinner...but a nugget here or truth there stands out to me, I take the good, throw out the bad, and move on with it...<i>it's the middle-child peacemaker in me, likely</i>. I've never agreed with someone totally and completely on everything. <i>Have you?</i><br />
<br />
<i>But, all that to say, writer's write, myself included, to start conversations, therefore I'm glad for the opportunity to discuss, regardless of whether we agree or not.</i><br />
<br />
So, last week, <a href="http://givenbreath.com/2013/09/04/fyi-2-the-one-where-everyones-covered-up/" target="_blank">when a mom I'd never heard of wrote an article</a> and a friend on FB posted it, I read it, took away a few nuggets like: what a great idea to share social media time as a family and we all should discern what we share/post, whether we're teenage girls or grown men or SAHM's or singles or marrieds, for self-respect sake. <br />
<br />
<b><i>Did she specifically say this? </i> </b>No. She had a different agenda which I did not take away. She directed her post to teenage girls, and I'm not one, nor do I have one yet, and so I read it, got the overall gist of <i>what I wanted to take away</i>, re posted it, and then went back to folding laundry and randomly spray painting things around the house...like these...<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm7b-8sZC95iclCK-3gR-suYgf4PiTJJOwmaR2WU6CWTnBOO_h7BF8iiH8iYcdG_Q2DFrVATkAS4IP18Hm9EcMoYE5NF653g5ZsWim4m88nUlN1RKGfiMACVMn1zkQX2Rdayd37w/s1600/jar1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm7b-8sZC95iclCK-3gR-suYgf4PiTJJOwmaR2WU6CWTnBOO_h7BF8iiH8iYcdG_Q2DFrVATkAS4IP18Hm9EcMoYE5NF653g5ZsWim4m88nUlN1RKGfiMACVMn1zkQX2Rdayd37w/s320/jar1.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhim507j6NwIn9__RZ_r4kqFCBdl1ABlwU9A6cXinTNeebYO7bIgl0lweTBfQ_IgOUigChjTM_aM78c605nZ-SF6lSxevn6QNZ_iJGYDmsLDCdinBUmb3467-kG2DkhjkLfYtjEqQ/s1600/jar2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhim507j6NwIn9__RZ_r4kqFCBdl1ABlwU9A6cXinTNeebYO7bIgl0lweTBfQ_IgOUigChjTM_aM78c605nZ-SF6lSxevn6QNZ_iJGYDmsLDCdinBUmb3467-kG2DkhjkLfYtjEqQ/s320/jar2.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp5ctBa9_QloCKRGBvB9cdhAVKB1fO2GSTktD_9JDniRXImPuSZbyipYCsYwW67DrKgBZpI-CEiZEBUH5z4mKa9FSTSHKu7UmabfNjeZjPchUEIdluF6ClKS652VwWSxJ1RcLL1w/s1600/jar3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp5ctBa9_QloCKRGBvB9cdhAVKB1fO2GSTktD_9JDniRXImPuSZbyipYCsYwW67DrKgBZpI-CEiZEBUH5z4mKa9FSTSHKu7UmabfNjeZjPchUEIdluF6ClKS652VwWSxJ1RcLL1w/s320/jar3.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<i>Anyway...</i><br />
<br />
A friend was concerned about the post I re posted, so we dialogued a bit, I headed back to the post, re-read it, headed to the comments section of the blog, saw it had gone sour and that she was being eaten alive, some of it valid, other points out in left field, and <i>wished I had posted what I had learned in Spain about all this two weeks ago when I got back.</i><br />
<br />
You see, Europeans wear whatever they want. 300 lb women wear bikinis. Hairy men wear Speedos. 65 year old women only wear bikini bottoms. Little kids don't match and at the beach, clothing is totally optional when you are pint-sized. On the streets, in the cafes, strolling through plazas and parks, European women wear clothes they think are pretty, regardless of size or coverage. <br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Seriously, there's only one sized bikini in Europe, and every sized woman wears it....</i><br />
<br />
<b>And guess what? They all were beautiful! </b> I speak Spanish fluently and never once overheard a discussion on whether another person's beach attire was modest or immodest, whether they were causing another to stumble, if the exclusive, judgmental opinions of American Evangelicals mattered to them as they enjoyed a day at the beach with their family and friends on the other side of the world with their tops off. <br />
<br />
Instead, I witnessed freedom and beauty and laughter and living.<br />
<br />
People were not humping in the streets just because some epidermis was visual. On the beach, <i>every third woman had her bikini top off</i>, and looking around, as men, women, and children were soaking in the sun, playing volleyball, reading books, swimming and chatting, some smooching under their umbrellas, I didn't see one erection.<br />
<br />
<i>Can you even believe it?</i><br />
<br />
Gasp.<br />
<br />
That's right. I looked around for erections...because being a SAHWMFTB (Stay At Home White Mom From The Burbs) and a Christian one at that, I just was curious, because <i>from all the talk in Evangelical culture</i>, every man on that beach should have had a hard-on, but they didn't.<br />
<br />
Nope. Europeans just seem a heck of a lot more comfortable in their bodies...and with everyone else's bodies, too. Men and women. Kids, too.<br />
<br />
All shapes. All sizes. All beautiful. So very beautiful!<br />
<br />
My British girlfriend told me that when Jason and I went to Spain I needed to go to a nude beach. She said I needed to experience the freedom in <i>all my glory, the "outfit" God made me originally</i>. It's funny how in America, "nude beaches" are destinations. In Europe, <i>they are just beaches</i>...where you get tan...and have a picnic...and take a nap.<br />
<br />
We never did find the "nude" beach, but all the same, Europeans don't delineate which grain of sand is which and where they can take off their tops or bottoms. They just sunbathe. In their skin...<i>in the bodies God placed their hearts and souls and minds in to carry them through the life He breathed into them when He made them and thought they'd be an awesome addition to life on Earth, here and now, a display of His creativity, to commune and have relationships with all the other skin-covered people</i>.<br />
<br />
Tonight another friend <a href="http://putdowntheurinalcake.com/2013/09/dear-mrs-hall-regarding-your-fyi-if-youre-a-teenage-girl/" target="_blank">posted this</a> on my FB page. I loved it! Loved the message, the response, thought it was well thought out and well written. Would I have coffee with her? Totally, because she gets me...I mean, Ryan rubs his boogers on our couch, DAILY, so her sticky furniture would feel like home to me. In particular, I loved this paragraph:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;">"We </span><span style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; line-height: 24px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">see</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;"> you, sweetheart. We do. We see what you’re writing. We see what you’re posting. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;">We see more of you than you think we do. We see sometimes down to the very center of your soul. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;">And what you need to know is this: </span><span style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; line-height: 24px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">You are </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;">beautiful</span><span style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; line-height: 24px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">. You are </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;">valuable</span><span style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; line-height: 24px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">. You are </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;">worthy</span><span style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; line-height: 24px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; line-height: 24px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">You are your physical body, and you are </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-style: italic; line-height: 24px;">so very much more</span><span style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; line-height: 24px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">. </span><span style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; line-height: 24px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">And you, baby girl, </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; line-height: 24px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">have infinite chances for grace and redemption and relationship and community </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; line-height: 24px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">and wholeness and LOVE. </span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #333333; line-height: 24px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Always. Always and forever. Amen." - Beth Woolsey at </span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 24px;"><a href="http://putdowntheurinalcake.com/">http://putdowntheurinalcake.com/</a></span></span></div>
<br />
Anyway, IMO, Americans are being unnaturally influenced and inundated by hyper-sensitive "Christians" who are speaking on "every one's" behalf <i>without my permission</i> on the topic of beauty and sex and modesty and so much more. This is maddening and I have some opinions on this...<br />
<br />
But for now, until we understand, honor, and cherish<i> the part that we are all totally freaking awesomeness embodied in all shapes and sizes</i>, we've missed it. Here's an <a href="http://natepyle.com/seeing-a-woman/" target="_blank">awesome article</a> on that...<br />
<br />
<b>Modesty isn't a uniform and "modesty" itself doesn't make you beautiful</b>. But that's what much of the "discussion" is asserting.<br />
<br />
I've spent some time on the foreign mission field. I've spent years mentoring women. Recently I've spent a bit of time with very broken and bruised women over drinks in bars. In those times when heart to heart conversations were taking place, I can honestly say I don't remember what they were wearing or if it was modest or not, just that I was there to listen and they felt safe to pour their heart into mine. <br />
<br />
Nope. <b>Freedom in knowing we are loved by God is what makes us all beautiful.</b> <i>And how can "blocking" people from our lives be an avenue to demonstrate God's love?</i><br />
<br />
Yeah, I thought I was just going to Spain to celebrate 20 years of marriage with the love of my life. In addition to that expectation, I learned more in 2 weeks than I have in 41 years about loving myself. I learned a lot about beauty and sexuality and freedom and comfort with my own body and even how to love <i>you</i> better.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>...I learned that beauty is freedom and freedom is beautiful.</i><br />
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<b> I should go to Spain more often...</b><i><b>seriously</b></i><b>.</b><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The beach in Barcelona where I found freedom.</td></tr>
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<i>*I'd love to continue the conversation if the focus of modesty lies not with what we wear or don't wear, but rather valuing every single person with whom we come in contact. Once we begin to cherish and honor tangible people as awesome hand-crafted pieces of art shaped by the hand of God, then I think we'll be onto something...however, if one-piece bathing suits and a 3-inch wide tank top on our daughters shoulders is your idea of a "teaching" on modesty, count me out.</i>Adriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04101665341916407243noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32529371.post-70392157380895462512013-09-03T05:32:00.003-06:002013-09-03T05:34:41.778-06:00Lessons from Spain: Life is a CelebrationOne might think all the planning which may go into a two week, second honeymoon, 20th wedding anniversary vacation would solely entail where to eat, play, and relax. And truly, one would be correct in such thinking. Sure, "What should I wear?" directed some of the planning, a little more than necessary and looking back I would have taken the smaller suitcase, but, I didn't, and thus had plenty to wear. But as far as the eating, playing, and relaxing, <a href="http://www.tripadvisor.com/Tourism-g187497-Barcelona_Catalonia-Vacations.html" target="_blank">Trip Advisor</a> was our BFF, as well as just wandering the streets, figuring it out on our own.<br />
<br />
But now that I've gone to Spain, played hard for 2 weeks, which I liken to the Israelites feasting and celebrating certain ceremonies, then needing to get back to life and reality, pulling in the belt a bit, there are <i>many lessons</i> I learned looking back on our time. All this to say, I never really expected our time in Spain, <i>our getaway, our escape from reality and celebration of friendship and true love</i>, <b>to teach me </b>anything. <br />
<br />
<b>I was wrong.</b><br />
<br />
<i>Who knew it would be educational?</i><br />
<br />
And it would be tragic if I did not share these lessons with you, whomever may care to read, especially because I had intended to blog from Spain but never did, though in my head I blogged quite a bit, and so, whether you read and learn and take away nuggets or not, <i>I must write these here for myself to look at again and remind myself of what living a life of intention looks like</i>, 8 hours east of here on another continent.<br />
<br />
This lesson of freedom will likely turn into many posts as the Spaniards are a free-spirited people. It's a theme which carries into much of life, however, keep in mind, my perspective is only from a woman on vacation free from all responsibilities at home, so you must read through my rose-tinted glasses. <br />
<br />
We arrived in Barcelona at 7:30 am after a stellar layover in Toronto where my husband introduced me to the schmancy United Club. SAHM <i>had never been in a United Club, </i>eh-ver. <br />
<br />
Back up a sec. As I entered the plane to Barceleona, I was SO excited, likely from sleep deprivation since we left Denver at the crack of dawn before Jesus and the sun rose...so, as I entered, I couldn't contain myself and I squealed to the flight attendant, "WE'RE GOING TO SPAIN!!!! It's our 20th wedding anniversary and we're going to Spain! I can't believe it!" (Clearly at this moment I didn't care if she thought I was a freak! Remember, I'm a SAHM and don't get to Spain often...) 3 minutes later after finding our seats (thankfully in a 2-3-2 plane, we were in a 2 situation...), two glasses of champagne showed up. <br />
<br />
Ka-chow!<br />
<br />
Back to the United Club: for those of you who do not know, it's all you can eat hummus and veggies and all the Bailey's your coffee can hold...all. day. long. Plus free wi-fi and free, FREE, totally gratis magazines. Like, good ones. Some were in French so I didn't read those, and one said something on the cover about watching for 5 up and coming Canadian writers, so I flipped through the pages fully expecting to see <a href="http://sarahbessey.com/jesus-feminist/" target="_blank">Sarah Bessey</a> and <a href="http://chasingsilhouettes.com/about-the-book/" target="_blank">Emily Wierenga's</a> names, but they were referencing five other Canadians ;) All I know is, as I chowed on tons of veggies, hummus, and pesto, all the while Facetiming my kids, I wasn't sure how our trip could get better. *Wink, wink...<i>hello, let's not forget the destination...</i><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And we're off!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl0mWGfADsJZamUMX3-Sa0vam7ejjsJ71ohU2nu1uET6-17Wxp1JfrmOfK39KuE0075KMyePbSl76nVQZpT9R6lPAxGJmEJJVKVfGaJRfZsjo-2jGArUMNGRcqR_JYR6BU7rMxOQ/s1600/2013-08-12+13.57.39.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl0mWGfADsJZamUMX3-Sa0vam7ejjsJ71ohU2nu1uET6-17Wxp1JfrmOfK39KuE0075KMyePbSl76nVQZpT9R6lPAxGJmEJJVKVfGaJRfZsjo-2jGArUMNGRcqR_JYR6BU7rMxOQ/s320/2013-08-12+13.57.39.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hi <a href="http://www.emilywierenga.com/" target="_blank">Emily Wierenga</a>, <a href="http://sarahbessey.com/" target="_blank">Sarah Bessey</a>, and, of course, let us not forget, <a href="http://www.hgtv.com/love-it-or-list-it/show/index.html" target="_blank">David and Hilary</a>!<br />
(*None of these people endorse me or "know" me, really, but I'd totally want to hang with any of them, and who wouldn't want Hilary to redo their house, hello?!)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrriu0rDCthIqzPdt3QgGCKVJEuamIvz0v-pevV-OD-0VGRaHW3fbI_Jt5E00ibRVhA1pgRJY7Fsl_9YfZU7W3XiiNKRxDQN_cOIQAWGI284mrMnSkbpPW9x0o4DxVFy1az89sGg/s1600/2013-08-12+14.42.22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrriu0rDCthIqzPdt3QgGCKVJEuamIvz0v-pevV-OD-0VGRaHW3fbI_Jt5E00ibRVhA1pgRJY7Fsl_9YfZU7W3XiiNKRxDQN_cOIQAWGI284mrMnSkbpPW9x0o4DxVFy1az89sGg/s320/2013-08-12+14.42.22.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My new creation: pesto ON TOP of hummus. Yeah, I'm a SAHM who thinks outside the box. You're welcome...(yes, I like to line veggies on my plate so they look pretty, and that's okay.)</td></tr>
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<br />
SAHM <i>needs to get out more, is all I gotta say</i>...<br />
<br />
The short train trip from the airport into the heart of Barcelona <a href="https://www.google.com/search?q=morning+glories+in+Barcelona&safe=active&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ei=f8UlUvGyMoXA2QW88oDwDA&ved=0CAkQ_AUoAQ&biw=1343&bih=783#facrc=_&imgdii=_&imgrc=F2o-yj9-RjRR6M%3A%3B_uxO67jhCuUDAM%3Bhttp%253A%252F%252Fkerokit.typepad.com%252Fphotos%252Funcategorized%252F3_10.JPG%3Bhttp%253A%252F%252Fkerokit.typepad.com%252F%3B800%3B600" target="_blank">was lined </a>with purple Morning Glories. <i>Seriously? </i> Just growing, wild and free, <i>as if they were weeds or something?</i> I purposefully bought Morning Glory seeds and planted them in my yard and smile their way as they greet me each morning, and here they are, just growing, literally everywhere. <i>Good start, Barcelona, you're beautiful!</i><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This one is in our backyard, but just so you have a visual of what is growing all over in Barcelona, vine after vine after vine. And, yes, the centers "glow" like that...</td></tr>
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A two-block walk from the train stop and we walked into the lobby of our hotel where we were greeted by 2 of the nicest guys in Espana. Jason asked if they had a room with a king-sized bed. I could see the guys squirm a little, exchanging side glances as they told us they had already upgraded us to a <i>certain room</i>. I gave him a little knowing look and toe kick and we received the keys and headed upstairs...<br />
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...<i>to the nicest room in the hotel.</i> They learned it was our 20th and gave us the only room in the place with a rooftop terrace, plus a bottle of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cava_(Spanish_wine)" target="_blank">Cava</a> and uh. maze. ing. dark chocolate truffles, to boot! <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We were about a 1/2 mile away from<a href="http://www.sagradafamilia.cat/" target="_blank"> La Sagrada Familia</a>, which we could see from the terrace. Of course, along with the spires were cranes which are almost always a part of the landscape. (*One of two times my hair was straight in Spain...the rest of the trip I embraced the way God made me...<i>lessons on that in another post</i>...)</td></tr>
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<i>Dark truffles for my first breakfast in Espana?</i> Si, <i>gracias! </i><br />
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<i>(*</i><i>We didn't drink the Cava for breakfast, hello...so when we got back from hours of exploring they had left a note which said it was a free gift from them and "Happy Anniversary", thinking we didn't think it was free, though we did...anyway, <b>along with another row of chocolates</b>! Love these guys! Viva Barcelona!)</i><br />
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SAHM just upgraded from the Toronto airport United Club, BIG TIME, <i>you know what I'm sayin'</i>!?<br />
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So, anyway, since this is long, and since you couldn't see it all on the screen at once, you have already moved on. In that case, <b>the lesson here is: </b><i> Don't be afraid to tell people why you are celebrating life, not because you may get a free upgrade, but because...</i><br />
<i><b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></i>
<i><b><span style="font-size: large;">...life is a celebration and other people enjoy celebrating with you!</span></b></i><br />
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More lessons to come.<i> Heck, this post only lets off at 10:30 on the first morning...</i>Adriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04101665341916407243noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32529371.post-21206350031298362342013-09-01T16:00:00.001-06:002013-09-01T16:00:25.919-06:00Re-entrySpain was mucho awesome. (I will share more later...)<br />
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I learned many things there and am inspired upon returning home to make some changes, finish some projects, write about some stuff, throw stuff away, and at the same time, I'm overwhelmed at the thought of any of it.<br />
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There's this major crash which happens after a stellar time away from reality. It's the collision of re-entry and I've hit it hard this time.<br />
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I'm not complaining that I had time away, nor am I disappointed about being home, back in my life.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Part of the crash comes when you realize your two weeks of other people preparing you meals has come to a halt. #sangriaatnoon</td></tr>
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Maybe it's more disenchantment...and not that I don't siesta on a regular basis or drink sangria for lunch, truly, but more so because ever since Noah died, I've been disenchanted with the "American Dream" and get overwhelmed easily when I feel the margins shrinking in on me.<br />
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<i>And I'm the only one who can change the margin width of this life document.</i></div>
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So, I'm not sure what this margin expansion will look like, but I know it will involve a lot of purging because my head and heart always feel better with less clutter. The creative juices were also recharged in Spain, so designing and writing will be major contributors to creating more margin, too. <br />
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It was fitting this morning when the pastor shared his thoughts on God as Creator. As a creative person I am often stifled by feeling boxed in, pigeon-holed, feeling stuck and then either staying in the stuck moment growing stagnant, or lifting my eyes to the One, the Ultimate Creative, and trusting Him to lead me as I live this life with intention, purposefully being creative for His glory, ugly mistakes and all.<br />
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Anyway, here are some random thoughts I wrote down today. I hope they encourage and inspire you, as well:<br />
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<ul>
<li>Regarding 40 years in the wilderness, sometimes in order to move into a new season in our lives, something has to die (a dream, behavior, former way of thinking or living...) </li>
<li>For 40 years in the wilderness the manna was new and fresh every morning, trusting God as the Supplier and Source of each day. This time gathering and eating the daily bread was what gave strength for the day's journey.</li>
<li>Before moving into a new season, take time to celebrate and remember God's faithfulness and steady love in the former season. Stop. Celebrate. Give thanks. He doesn't change but the seasons do. </li>
<li>Restlessness can create change in our hearts. Be attune to your restlessness and lay it before God for what's next...</li>
<li>"Sometimes we have to say goodbye to a good season in our lives in order to move into a great season," said the guy who was substitute speaking today. (Cliche, yet often true...)</li>
</ul>
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God is my Creative Director. Though His love hasn't changed in all of time, He is Creative and brings a new day with new beginnings, life outside the box kind of living, stuff we've never seen, each and every day, if we seek Him. </div>
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<i>If you've measured God by the standards of men all your life, there is no wonder why you continue to be disappointed in Him.</i></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Don't box Him in and just see what He will do. </span></b></div>
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*Do you have a story to share of how you boxed God in and He showed up to show you just how Big He really is? How do you create margin in your life? Are you on the edge of a new season in your life? If so, looking back, how can you show thankfulness, even in difficult times, in order to move forward with a new perspective?<br />
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<br />Adriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04101665341916407243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32529371.post-61076138967612978412013-08-08T14:01:00.003-06:002013-08-08T14:10:09.636-06:00Fear Has No FutureJason and I celebrated <a href="http://www.adriennegraves.com/2013/06/history-in-pictures.html" target="_blank">20 years of marriage</a> in June, but since January, we've been dreaming and planning out the details for a trip to Spain, just the two of us. We have spent hours and hours looking through books, reading reviews, mapping out our adventures, talking about it on date nights, road trips, in bed at night.<br />
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The destination and trip itself will be awesome, no doubt, but dreaming and anticipating have been part of the fun, as well.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkZ19HxI3eoLx0RWQBJ6fI1xcbH1Yh55fmtb07A23J3cDzy9s6uVebepeUDFLJlObRODGZg3KWN2uA6jjajRaHTVRKTYzv6csRgMiwu-xq3ljmJtDI0nyxMKMmjuvePmjO6KlmEw/s1600/spain-map-from-askfrancisco.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkZ19HxI3eoLx0RWQBJ6fI1xcbH1Yh55fmtb07A23J3cDzy9s6uVebepeUDFLJlObRODGZg3KWN2uA6jjajRaHTVRKTYzv6csRgMiwu-xq3ljmJtDI0nyxMKMmjuvePmjO6KlmEw/s320/spain-map-from-askfrancisco.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picture from <a href="http://askfrancisco.wordpress.com/2009/10/20/francisco-answers-is-barcelona-part-of-spain-or-is-it-an-independent-country/spain-map-from-tsq-2/" target="_blank">AskFranciso</a></td></tr>
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<br />
<i>Except for the part </i>where we realized it was about time to write out a <a href="http://2ndgradecloseteater.blogspot.com/2013/08/cinco-de-agosto.html" target="_blank">Will and Trust</a>...<i>that part took the spark out of the trip</i>, at least for me, <i>for a good week</i>. My sinuses were clogged and swollen from crying, imagining not being the ones to raise our children, these gifts God loves more, but has graciously entrusted to us to love, nurture, and fan to flame the awesomeness God placed within each of them...<br />
<br />
...and I almost cancelled.<br />
<br />
"Sweetheart, we can just get a hotel downtown for the weekend..." <i>Forget the part that I've dreamed of going to Spain ever since I was in college when Profesora Calderon first sparked my romance with the language and country. Forget about how we were going to do this trip for our 15th but then Jason lost his job and we knew it probably wasn't financially wise to travel on "credit."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I have come to terms, as I have for years, but clearly needed a reminder, that God knows the number of our days. It doesn't do me or anyone else any good to live in fear of the "what if's?" <br />
<br />
<b>There is no freedom in fear, nor is there a future</b>. I knew a 90-something year old who harbored many fears...sure, in years, <i>she lived a long life</i>, but she was crippled by her fears, <i>not experiencing what freedom in God's love has to offer in a full life</i>.<br />
<br />
I have spent many hours praying and pleading, asking God to be gracious to our family and reunite us again to continue to live out the purpose He has for us on this earth...and I trust Him and have peace this will be the case...<br />
<br />
So, do I hope to relax, sleep a little longer, go on 24-hour dates for two weeks straight with my husband, in a beautiful country, surrounded by people God created, all rich with stories, experience the smells, sights, make new memories, and see pretty much the whole countryside of Spain? <i>Yeah. I do</i>. And I'll miss my kids like crazy, wondering what they are doing at such and such a time.<br />
<br />
But this is good for my marriage, a celebration of friendship and love and thankfulness, and <b>it will be good.</b><br />
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If this were my last post, on this blog, ever, not just my last post prior to leaving for our trip to Spain, I'd want to leave the world with this:<br />
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<b>God is totally, completely, 100% in love with you.</b> Don't try to understand it, just accept it. Please stop looking around at all that is wrong in the world, in yourself, and everyone else. Instead, find the good and as you do, allow your eyes to be turned upward to look at The One who made you, to see it as an expression of His love to a broken world. He knows you intimately, has good in store, like deep down heart-good, and He sees a bigger picture which your head and heart are now allowed to contain at this time. <b>He loves you.</b> Love begets love...not war, back-biting, gossip, slander, politics, isolationism, competition, or elitism, nor pride or self-seeking. <b>Love begets love, and God. Is. Love.</b> <b>He is love and is in love with you, totally, completely, 100%.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>That's all...</b><br />
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(*We may blog from Spain, but the #loneviajera won't be alone...<i>watch for it</i>, and for a super fun blog by <a href="http://www.jessicaquadra.com/" target="_blank">this girl</a>, one of our date nights in Barcelona...)<br />
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<br />Adriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04101665341916407243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32529371.post-30325084479991425482013-08-01T22:55:00.001-06:002013-08-01T22:55:52.913-06:00Recycle Those Pillowcases, Girls!I'm a thrifter. I love thinking outside the box and have been recycling, or upcycling, or repurposing old clothes or sheets or parts of clothes for a very long time. Once I made Emily and myself skirts from a pair of Jason's khaki's he had cut off...and I've even stooped to make myself workout shirts out of Jason's old pitted out white-T's, cutting out the pits, <i>obviously</i>...<br />
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But let me tell you, old sheets and pillowcases are the best! I have yellow and white checked gingham pajama pants from my Grandpa's sheets, cornflower blue with rose bud pajama bottoms from 1974 (the sheets from my childhood bed), and when Em was little I used two of my favorite pillow cases to make her a sun top and super wide-legged flare bottom pants.<br />
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In 1993 when we got married, Ralph Lauren bedding was ALL THE RAGE ;) No, but really, every. single. piece. of. bedding. we. had. was prepster, for sure. <i>Remember when mixing plaid and floral and stripes and solids and paisley's was super cool? </i> And then when Ralph was mixing up the patterns with rustic western themes, this Arizona girl got all giddy and bought up some o'dat. Mixed up on our old 4-poster log bed and it was very Taos-esque, Southwesternish, even in the Midwest. <br />
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About 9 years ago I made a pillowcase skirt by simply cutting off the end which is sewn shut, folding it over twice, about an inch in width, sewing it and lacing it with a drawstring. I stitched an antique handkerchief onto it...<i>dang that thing was cute...I think I recently gave it away...anyway...</i><br />
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I've had these pillowcases forever and have wanted to use them to make a skirt or dress but they have just been sitting in my pile...for a very long time. But, with Spain around the corner, and my goal being to wear a sundress almost every day, I thought why not whip one up?<br />
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Here goes (hope you are easily able to follow along with the instructions): <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/AVvXsEiLpj4dxX_JsRzEpi6HDsnbCcTY-lxGXtciWk7n-Xy-b_3xScsFpCGmTtoQQN1dXAgLwwUzJ6D6ZUgbyoGc8gBJdHYdUBhhmiRO9umwbHng3xiJ8yj6HrXsCBYcPxzlg62napneoA/s1600/dress1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLpj4dxX_JsRzEpi6HDsnbCcTY-lxGXtciWk7n-Xy-b_3xScsFpCGmTtoQQN1dXAgLwwUzJ6D6ZUgbyoGc8gBJdHYdUBhhmiRO9umwbHng3xiJ8yj6HrXsCBYcPxzlg62napneoA/s320/dress1.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pick your favorite pillowcase. This is circa 1993, old school Ralph Lauren bedding, probably from his Taos collection ;) Oh, and it's a KING SIZE case, which gives you ample length with which to work.</td></tr>
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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/AVvXsEgo5wAUsguivUQ82J1KQTWj0T-UAb1pMo6VxSFyxVS7_iQUCVVYcj_Q4RD_t_z9Izq4wgxGpszsDVqy2QeLHyD4IS8ENvh_0u13m3FkBXsikE8YQyvLBJlGl8VyJAwKrCLJrY3ilg/s1600/dress2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo5wAUsguivUQ82J1KQTWj0T-UAb1pMo6VxSFyxVS7_iQUCVVYcj_Q4RD_t_z9Izq4wgxGpszsDVqy2QeLHyD4IS8ENvh_0u13m3FkBXsikE8YQyvLBJlGl8VyJAwKrCLJrY3ilg/s320/dress2.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fold the pillowcase in half length-wise (so it's narrow) Use scissors or your handy dandy cutting mat and fabric slicer to cut the sewn end of the case off.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxJSMjZBkOvYG8tt-IoV5JFvB8PPSgWnPxs6n-OEavZP1ZuKS2YX1DvxW810FSuRyloXcb4exytRlh-4gGGTj2pNJ7HgX-ENn0t-IWrRkSbf7OPRZSQO8Nglvn3W9NxUEDIEr8Q/s1600/dress3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxJSMjZBkOvYG8tt-IoV5JFvB8PPSgWnPxs6n-OEavZP1ZuKS2YX1DvxW810FSuRyloXcb4exytRlh-4gGGTj2pNJ7HgX-ENn0t-IWrRkSbf7OPRZSQO8Nglvn3W9NxUEDIEr8Q/s320/dress3.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sorry, I don't know why this one is horizontal, but then turn the pillowcase inside out and use the natural fold, as well as the seam as your guide.</td></tr>
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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/AVvXsEhgzP_WojvluAaq66qME1t2fzfB7h_DhzxPaLSNGbkwy1HPd2fNNw4YyfOKaV6i7e1EIoL1p-6d1K1EOairBjJ237VjYoMPLrc1wq675Rqcet735YUfA-zWciqA-WHd5gx43YzvJw/s1600/dress4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgzP_WojvluAaq66qME1t2fzfB7h_DhzxPaLSNGbkwy1HPd2fNNw4YyfOKaV6i7e1EIoL1p-6d1K1EOairBjJ237VjYoMPLrc1wq675Rqcet735YUfA-zWciqA-WHd5gx43YzvJw/s320/dress4.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fold the fabric over one inch, the part that will be the top of the dress. The cuff or ruffle on a pillowcase will be your natural hem at the bottom. </td></tr>
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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/AVvXsEgrPkd0rZ9m_u_OZygyffjadHTxbPLlpxbrbabKVXwpThc10HRn4Vb2Ys4Ul4as4Qr3l0sdSAmijf-4biKL57wyrE3Aeooew0We_AsZ8RU6zVBM2hIJoo4hJkA675nrXuC1IEKYiA/s1600/dress5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrPkd0rZ9m_u_OZygyffjadHTxbPLlpxbrbabKVXwpThc10HRn4Vb2Ys4Ul4as4Qr3l0sdSAmijf-4biKL57wyrE3Aeooew0We_AsZ8RU6zVBM2hIJoo4hJkA675nrXuC1IEKYiA/s320/dress5.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Find a random piece of good elastic in your sewing box, or actually buy some for this project. I happened to have a piece that, when pulled taught, was the exact width of the pillowcase, so decided to try it and see if it would work. I kind of wing it like that...but it worked, so you can follow these instructions ;) </td></tr>
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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/AVvXsEhGmfotRXPHYMZ2yZ9ZYVrpkz0HUHvouftjRIqNjMbjCcKsbyk3Bgyy4LEKXiriYH7Jd-AUeOHb3y_0qPDDDEWJQSdXEhq7BAAu8Bw_QXT3kgK1FSGMsL5-z983Qwve8X9qi7U9Uw/s1600/dress6.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGmfotRXPHYMZ2yZ9ZYVrpkz0HUHvouftjRIqNjMbjCcKsbyk3Bgyy4LEKXiriYH7Jd-AUeOHb3y_0qPDDDEWJQSdXEhq7BAAu8Bw_QXT3kgK1FSGMsL5-z983Qwve8X9qi7U9Uw/s320/dress6.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the natural seem, with one inch of the material folded over but not sewn down, sew one end of the elastic on securely with a zig zag stitch.</td></tr>
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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/AVvXsEirC3x_tBPyaIgsUBL-je00gKAO0Qkfzy80zCyiWC0_ToOTosT8qnUrvNfI87gsG5rT-6EbcioXMbONEJpvyeyo0SQfDAVGQBCeiOXs7fhbZ7zMIt_HXUTLTd0DJ5SYEBB6MHmD1g/s1600/dress7.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirC3x_tBPyaIgsUBL-je00gKAO0Qkfzy80zCyiWC0_ToOTosT8qnUrvNfI87gsG5rT-6EbcioXMbONEJpvyeyo0SQfDAVGQBCeiOXs7fhbZ7zMIt_HXUTLTd0DJ5SYEBB6MHmD1g/s320/dress7.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Then, pull it tightly and sew the other end to the natural fold on the opposite side of the pillowcase.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNugeDmxOYSsT8qo1WGCeDVIpe_S_0_Xk0EvvdGXvJcEmsPElPrQbD-C9FuOW5n5iEGj-Eb06D2-puLLR91R1dQ727CD1ak4Ox-SgzEa29H4DeQKSm_n3_aqZjlRs4DG0EY3L6Eg/s1600/dress8.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNugeDmxOYSsT8qo1WGCeDVIpe_S_0_Xk0EvvdGXvJcEmsPElPrQbD-C9FuOW5n5iEGj-Eb06D2-puLLR91R1dQ727CD1ak4Ox-SgzEa29H4DeQKSm_n3_aqZjlRs4DG0EY3L6Eg/s320/dress8.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I have a base on my machine that can be removed for sleeves...remove that if you have the option, but otherwise, fold the elastic over one more inch and pull it taught with both hands, guiding it slowly through a straight stitch on your machine. DO NOT SEW THRU THE ELASTIC BUT NEXT TO IT, so you are creating a pocket, basically, for the elastic. (Sorry, I'm not sure I'm a "technical" writer...)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj98f5WgyvWPyjxssq853tZac8dzLDmX7OEaNRcnle3_YDacADBtBQQzUB95IwfoVqz7y68AKF9EF7I1ZuP8r9_m3MKI_bh4Tri0bb8aEF438BBmAF9ohDYbhM-6N0bD8NYBbz_9g/s1600/dress9.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj98f5WgyvWPyjxssq853tZac8dzLDmX7OEaNRcnle3_YDacADBtBQQzUB95IwfoVqz7y68AKF9EF7I1ZuP8r9_m3MKI_bh4Tri0bb8aEF438BBmAF9ohDYbhM-6N0bD8NYBbz_9g/s320/dress9.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the front side of the top hem, you will have one seam from sewing the twice folded one inch roll all the way around. I then wanted to stitch a few rows of thread on the top front edge for a little extra touch. <br />***Note, when I tried it on, it was a little loose, so, tomorrow when I have a few minutes, I am going to pinch one inch on either side of the top hem, probably centered over each breast, one, to make it stay up better, and two, to bring some of the poofiness that is going on in the back around to the front to add dimension, if that makes sense???</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz_n-NA3davlKt6HF8-voEPy6quKCVeq2n93zCRJ8JLo7xR4vBE9n8i19lR1Seq4v3q3Iu9hG7VytOzmCr81hNRuwyBoMhw1dYrsx_Kjob56kpQLEWZkOqWNXyfshZbuy7TUS21Q/s1600/dress10.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz_n-NA3davlKt6HF8-voEPy6quKCVeq2n93zCRJ8JLo7xR4vBE9n8i19lR1Seq4v3q3Iu9hG7VytOzmCr81hNRuwyBoMhw1dYrsx_Kjob56kpQLEWZkOqWNXyfshZbuy7TUS21Q/s320/dress10.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Add a belt and some boots, and a partial afro since I haven't used a blow dryer all summer but am trying to be "natural", and there you have it. A pillowcase dress in less than 20 minutes, but that I've had hanging around for 20 years in the linen closet. I'm taking this little number to Spain to eat tapas and drink wine with mi esposo.</td></tr>
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Adriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04101665341916407243noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32529371.post-58926008978469340692013-07-17T08:57:00.002-06:002013-07-17T08:57:19.486-06:00Reading Through the Bible in 90 DaysTime is my love language.<br />
<br />
For whatever reason, time is a really big deal to me. How I use it or the people it is filled with, it's a big deal because there is only so much of it and deep in my heart I desire to be a good steward of this <i>gift called time</i>. <br />
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As a result, tangible gifts from me will be haphazard, at best. When I am out and about, if I see something which reminds me of you, two things may occur. If I have money in the budget, I'll buy it for you because it may bring a smile to your face. However, if it's something I can make, <i>I'd rather spend the time</i> using my hands to create it for you, one because it's therapeutic to use my hands, and two, I'm a bit old fashioned. Homemade gifts are timeless and remind me of a more simple way of living. The second thing which may occur is not a purchase at all, <i>but some time spent thinking about you</i>, because a particular thing or place reminded me of you. I'll talk to the Creator of the Universe who knows you better than I do, and I'll ask Him to bless your heart, fill you with His Spirit, <i>spend a bit of time</i>, honored to know you, humbled to communicate with our loving God who made you on purpose, because He loves you and has a plan for your life.<br />
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<i>Time</i>.<br />
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In my life, time can equal love and goodness, or it may equal angst and contempt, depending on the people who fill it, the circumstances surrounding time spent, and how my heart is rooted in God's love to filter it either way.<br />
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So, <a href="http://www.adriennegraves.com/2013/06/the-next-90-days.html" target="_blank">as you know</a>, along with a group of women all over the country who joined me randomly via Facebook, I am reading the Bible cover to cover in 90 days. I don't say this because I think I'm all that and a bag of chips. I'm just saying it. <i>It's what I've chosen to do with a good chunk of time most every day for the next 90 days or as long as it takes.</i><br />
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<i>And let me just say, all at once, this time has been a real pain in the ass and completely beautiful.</i><br />
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In 26 years of Bible reading, I've never read it cover to cover, beginning to end. I've read the New Testament dozens of times, studied it, marked it up, some books more than others, some chapters over and over and over. As far as the Old Testament goes, I've spent time in every book, studying some stories or books more than others, but admittedly, skipping over names and lineages of names I can't pronounce. I've also knowingly skimmed and brushed over the wars and fighting, the doom and gloom, the bloodshed and some of the prophecies of time here or in the future, all of which is in God's hands and line of sight, not really wanting to get swept away with all the, "What if's?"<br />
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Really, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cherry_picking_%28fallacy%29" target="_blank"><i>cherry picking</i></a>, if you will, choosing to spend time reading the words which challenge me and fill my heart.<i> </i><br />
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<i>But in reading cover to cover, in a concentrated amount of time, there is no such luxury. </i>As far as it being a pain in the ass, I read the Laws and literally cry out to God, <i>"Really?! Are You serious?! I'd rather spend time reading something sweet and lovely, Lord!!!"</i> And then the bloodshed and massacres, wars and looting, rape, incest, murder and deceit...I am grateful to know there is more to the Story. More to come. <i>Time not yet fulfilled</i>. I am torn because we are appalled at modern day atrocities, yet they aren't modern but a continuation of a world lost without God leading the way in the day to day, in countries and communities, tribes and families, individual <i>hearts</i>.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOWBeRCWBjeKte5F3K7nYJ0M9B3u4pJPaD9vq9g1XNVQ0S_m8FesEYbSgiHjGA183EbhMDFng-XJGUWmO_Fktj0-qLJbciD83Qy3-8Mq88iXmw_sTqYRAGuSe16Sw0zFDbG7GddQ/s1600/true+love.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOWBeRCWBjeKte5F3K7nYJ0M9B3u4pJPaD9vq9g1XNVQ0S_m8FesEYbSgiHjGA183EbhMDFng-XJGUWmO_Fktj0-qLJbciD83Qy3-8Mq88iXmw_sTqYRAGuSe16Sw0zFDbG7GddQ/s320/true+love.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"True Love" Tattoo brooch by <a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/32960808/red-true-love-heart-tattoo-brooch?ref=sr_gallery_44&ga_search_query=%22True+Love%22&ga_view_type=gallery&ga_ship_to=US&ga_page=2&ga_search_type=all" target="_blank">Zoe Larkins</a>, Etsy shop owner.</td></tr>
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<br />
However, <b> there is where the beauty lies</b>. As I sit with these heart-wrenching stories, dredge through lineages and unnecessary gore, anticipating what I know is a True Love Story, realizing the ground work of what I am reading is a picture of WHY Jesus came in the first place, I'm reminded of His words and instructions which I have known not only for 26 years, but since I was a little child, at night, before bedtime...<i>one day at a time, Your Kingdom come, Your will be done...</i><br />
<br />
And somehow this time spent filling my head and heart with pictures of historical mayhem and the future not yet revealed has also filled my spirit with<i> interface time with the God of the Universe who loves all of us</i> and sees a bigger picture which has good in store.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Even in wrestling with the difficult questions, I'm wrestling with the Divine. The very thought of which is beautiful.</b></div>
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<br />
<br />
<i>Time well spent</i>.<br />
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<br />Adriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04101665341916407243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32529371.post-43095958457572722872013-06-26T06:50:00.000-06:002013-06-26T12:49:06.207-06:00History in PicturesHappy 20th Anniversary, Sweetheart! <i>20 years</i>. I wrote a "Husband List" before we even met and started dating. <i>It was 6 pages long.</i> No pressure, right?! I think it was the "thing" to do in Christendom way back when, now hidden in a journal somewhere in the basement. On it were things about integrity, wisdom, a sense of humor, someone who was a good financial steward. Truth be told, I don't recall all the things <i>I thought a husband should be</i>, or at least things I wanted in one, but I remember the first item and it read like this:<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li><span style="font-size: large;"><b>My husband has to love God more than he loves me. If this isn't in order, nothing else will be.</b></span></li>
</ol>
In my immaturity as a 21 year old girl marrying the love of her life, somewhere in my heart I'm sure I thought you would be all those things when we walked down the aisle.<br />
<br />
<i>Time and maturity and many moments on our knees before God have shown me how very short the list could have been in the first place.</i> The rest has been icing on the cake. After I self-righteously scribed "The Husband" list years ago, the person leading us in the exercise said, "Okay, now, before you can expect those tings from another person, you have to be willing to let God instruct YOU in them, as well."<br />
<br />
It's safe to say, this has been a journey of learning, the best and hardest lessons of my life, but I can't imagine not learning to love and live without you by my side. <br />
<br />
For a man of few words, you sure married a wordy girl. I could just write, "I love you," but there's just so much more to it with 20+ years of inside jokes, memories shared, world travels, losing loved ones, having kids, remodeling 2 houses, job losses and gains. All I know is, you could write a post entitled, "What Every Husband, and Guy Whoever Wants to be One, Needs to Know to Have a Happy and Healthy Marriage." Sweetheart, you are an expert in this field, and I think it boils down to you doing these three things very, very, very well:<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>You love the Lord your God with all of your heart, soul, and mind...and you love your neighbor as you love yourself.</b></span><br />
<br />
<i>And by neighbor, that would be me. *wink, wink</i><br />
<br />
Marriages are crumbling and dying all around us. This isn't to say we haven't walked through gray areas, dry zones, and faced what seemed insurmountable obstacles. We have.<br />
<br />
<i>But I love God more than I love you, too</i>, and so it's worked. <b>We work.</b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9zn0Rg7h2jAONxH7jBgW0xGocicy9alfdtHwFUY8ExgRolQW7xFn9fQ-fXDaO9n2KJUNGRM7Zq62oNe2m3uC1BFQ4KblcukW3UmPn8cDdUns02Ev01MaOb68jxV6sHeT00a-Gjg/s1600/31.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9zn0Rg7h2jAONxH7jBgW0xGocicy9alfdtHwFUY8ExgRolQW7xFn9fQ-fXDaO9n2KJUNGRM7Zq62oNe2m3uC1BFQ4KblcukW3UmPn8cDdUns02Ev01MaOb68jxV6sHeT00a-Gjg/s320/31.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I told you "I love you" first.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF3SVgXf2hWt9ccZtuYtjejZfsb_kVLGfn5HAY5ZLXFyWhU1CW1JG4uttMeedCQ5c8n2D4C_NVtHjhXTyWrL4PTFWdaTzsvYPwu6_S_d1JHPpJJg3MgI945gvfM77ZI9E3dyuTPA/s1600/33.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF3SVgXf2hWt9ccZtuYtjejZfsb_kVLGfn5HAY5ZLXFyWhU1CW1JG4uttMeedCQ5c8n2D4C_NVtHjhXTyWrL4PTFWdaTzsvYPwu6_S_d1JHPpJJg3MgI945gvfM77ZI9E3dyuTPA/s320/33.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A note your mom gave to me before our wedding. This is a letter every mom should write to their future child-in-law. </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiCp62KzhIrpfkEkDi3fLlO6GoxlMn8xJFkUmGWNv1E1YF5nwWgHRAciz1sb9g6EWoC16m-S4GaEQO65MWMmeuY7CEUQhX6_1WGj9YbY89ahHyGeFnwdXio0rem3IiB83lE8GqNg/s1600/30.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiCp62KzhIrpfkEkDi3fLlO6GoxlMn8xJFkUmGWNv1E1YF5nwWgHRAciz1sb9g6EWoC16m-S4GaEQO65MWMmeuY7CEUQhX6_1WGj9YbY89ahHyGeFnwdXio0rem3IiB83lE8GqNg/s320/30.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">June 26th, 1993</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnAkHClgZjJTbz-OqA_IkCBzwLh4pCHfiilWtQoTxnv8IEj2G24oehBW5fX2GMRUuonnQ07_7LxCjY7YAmuLTKPx78-EikcoCC6cs6Su-u_9Uzq_X8jtjFadX5GsZIMySRHRiK7w/s1600/24.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnAkHClgZjJTbz-OqA_IkCBzwLh4pCHfiilWtQoTxnv8IEj2G24oehBW5fX2GMRUuonnQ07_7LxCjY7YAmuLTKPx78-EikcoCC6cs6Su-u_9Uzq_X8jtjFadX5GsZIMySRHRiK7w/s320/24.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our first self-portrait as Mr. and Mrs. Jason Graves, ready to set out on the first of many adventures.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT9VJOGKUFCV_6AAAmItXR6XXPcsl7dP8r8Grf0UQo_0vrgevddSahFHYM68Kj6AwmBxfajXhQW4KjHccfgga1f6jDE0NUDsSOsWYrrl2mf0TWHZ85HAuxYr-PT9wSNxwy1-vNqA/s1600/32.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT9VJOGKUFCV_6AAAmItXR6XXPcsl7dP8r8Grf0UQo_0vrgevddSahFHYM68Kj6AwmBxfajXhQW4KjHccfgga1f6jDE0NUDsSOsWYrrl2mf0TWHZ85HAuxYr-PT9wSNxwy1-vNqA/s320/32.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">10 nights in paradise</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizzxJ6ZrtjNpCJbaodC8V8AJeeCtEq9OhOFhsbNLNS81w_nsGqUsPrNO1BstHUqwZLrYII3Fi7jhZ505adKezpQ8SFsEYHo_Q9h1PBjXaHrFUe276rFESJcJBKrn1cn__81zhi4Q/s1600/23.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizzxJ6ZrtjNpCJbaodC8V8AJeeCtEq9OhOFhsbNLNS81w_nsGqUsPrNO1BstHUqwZLrYII3Fi7jhZ505adKezpQ8SFsEYHo_Q9h1PBjXaHrFUe276rFESJcJBKrn1cn__81zhi4Q/s320/23.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Your leg was shaking as you braced yourself over the waterfalls. Thanks for splurging on our student income...Maui was a fantastic memory!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisiR-AXKYEyClx8SGxelnvyD1ra3ghPxwOWrdp-CH8XW5dBtaoTx1Axs3Zsq3YHWAG-1xUZX8NEUmJaCDvOT8Hx8uOAsWAcFh_FnEoGpbryJtwNSbfPfKtxuw1olZa3cKqBUAqHA/s1600/22.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisiR-AXKYEyClx8SGxelnvyD1ra3ghPxwOWrdp-CH8XW5dBtaoTx1Axs3Zsq3YHWAG-1xUZX8NEUmJaCDvOT8Hx8uOAsWAcFh_FnEoGpbryJtwNSbfPfKtxuw1olZa3cKqBUAqHA/s320/22.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Remember the storm that morning? So much has changed since the time this picture was taken. I was so blessed to know your dad, Sweetheart! And my heart is full to call your mom a dear friend and to walk and do life with my parents in the day to day. We are so rich!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5xcQkQ4II9aA-cRV-f77sdyO90XPCERnuIV2xNr3NZn8pj_Yo95J_oAVKWhJTwpAWjGHAeMoZDC_0GZvi5G2K1G7fMHRN5tIJ4TXx6SecooMl_HNpj_231Yt_RaoRCrN8x6spvQ/s1600/21.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5xcQkQ4II9aA-cRV-f77sdyO90XPCERnuIV2xNr3NZn8pj_Yo95J_oAVKWhJTwpAWjGHAeMoZDC_0GZvi5G2K1G7fMHRN5tIJ4TXx6SecooMl_HNpj_231Yt_RaoRCrN8x6spvQ/s320/21.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Your first Weber at Foxfire, Tulsa, OK</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh25T95QpO20d8ombFBy8O35ZBBV-kg9pYSwdWcnqdwtqUD5s-6cz4QBA2_jM82oekum5IoHkNaEOGWCS6Ak7P09J_XUSJYlULg0QbGOQD_qPTbN6r0Beo2lRPCcGOJFcXmxtqxIQ/s1600/20.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh25T95QpO20d8ombFBy8O35ZBBV-kg9pYSwdWcnqdwtqUD5s-6cz4QBA2_jM82oekum5IoHkNaEOGWCS6Ak7P09J_XUSJYlULg0QbGOQD_qPTbN6r0Beo2lRPCcGOJFcXmxtqxIQ/s320/20.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love that besides Mexico, every country I've ever traveled to, it's been with you! Here's a sweet little Siberian fan of yours. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheZyuTKMzG_lCdT3TgWaQFf7yA-8oQXW2z9M8RWQFcRsmDImcmzo6YIlgQ1SUlQTGwNZeeh-atZSLiCnat5k7igZG4qqhoYxkMLfPQOfw2RSfB9s8KHCJZrvigv2hIrmbCdv_YzA/s1600/15.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheZyuTKMzG_lCdT3TgWaQFf7yA-8oQXW2z9M8RWQFcRsmDImcmzo6YIlgQ1SUlQTGwNZeeh-atZSLiCnat5k7igZG4qqhoYxkMLfPQOfw2RSfB9s8KHCJZrvigv2hIrmbCdv_YzA/s320/15.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I believe this anniversary consisted of strange tasting pizza in St. Petersburg, followed up with 60 teenagers asking us how our date went...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhADKeFLGJ0H70O0bkohs-3Qk13xe6wxUKC4c51FBTDaXOXoabtoY_qXYSgDpI4_264T2FHTuaVWwpn58Snpno1RxaUS3QRNryu225o0aLyWMMDVyrl8M3Aevl4-qlouS-ROuEFDw/s1600/19.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhADKeFLGJ0H70O0bkohs-3Qk13xe6wxUKC4c51FBTDaXOXoabtoY_qXYSgDpI4_264T2FHTuaVWwpn58Snpno1RxaUS3QRNryu225o0aLyWMMDVyrl8M3Aevl4-qlouS-ROuEFDw/s320/19.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I know we moved to MN for your PhD, but I just want to thank you for putting up with me and my love of student ministry and mentoring girls. Those 5 years I worked at NWC were a highlight of my 20's, even as rough as some of them were. I can't believe I got paid to hang out with hundreds of young women year after year! Thank YOU for being secure in who you are and never being jealous of the time I spent with the girls! I loved
that job and every girl I met there. My life is richer for knowing each
one, and though you were quiet and working on your thesis most of that
time, I felt your constant support, so thank you! You seriously are the best!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNQ33e1bUj5msvWGbfy457fFbHuQobi3TCf38-DcfXAo8gKWxxV6bqYPG7gH-LmxMsSnPUViaN6iDsNzhYWgxRsYExOjEJo5h3MkQk2BrfMvQfe477-p3BXrFmwwqKWIibwqMCXg/s1600/16.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNQ33e1bUj5msvWGbfy457fFbHuQobi3TCf38-DcfXAo8gKWxxV6bqYPG7gH-LmxMsSnPUViaN6iDsNzhYWgxRsYExOjEJo5h3MkQk2BrfMvQfe477-p3BXrFmwwqKWIibwqMCXg/s320/16.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here you are on a bro-mance getaway to Alaska...because that is something we both shared openly up front: friendship and time with our guys or girlfriends is important. I appreciate so much your healthy, balanced approach to knowing you can't fill my every need, nor can I fill yours. I'm so grateful you have had man getaways and I just want to say, "Thank you!" for the times you've encouraged me to be with my Bevies!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-huwBjq1296wDXy5za4eGXlNqrqjTFCbbusOz12vvQ5YWgOH_lg8zOllFx3fFoXF3f9YTqXwN3EQkjrWMO8YraENvpq0WtQCTFWW7hu0wl_4KDjP5u6MSU0qpXj_TWfxEOqkl-A/s1600/17.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-huwBjq1296wDXy5za4eGXlNqrqjTFCbbusOz12vvQ5YWgOH_lg8zOllFx3fFoXF3f9YTqXwN3EQkjrWMO8YraENvpq0WtQCTFWW7hu0wl_4KDjP5u6MSU0qpXj_TWfxEOqkl-A/s320/17.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">More bro-mance happening over turkey carcasses...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMbSO9wR3HbASFP-LktmpRGvgAFmZRfGQyU-tLlB9kgYDXG9UqmW4OEsv8U6dyfOHB-aN_bI-i4Ff41p4APLUPwF0WgbWBlyb__N5GexPSj3n61-22ACODuySYtLjeCys8TTnMhw/s1600/18.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMbSO9wR3HbASFP-LktmpRGvgAFmZRfGQyU-tLlB9kgYDXG9UqmW4OEsv8U6dyfOHB-aN_bI-i4Ff41p4APLUPwF0WgbWBlyb__N5GexPSj3n61-22ACODuySYtLjeCys8TTnMhw/s320/18.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On top of the world...or at least the Andes. I always wanted to travel the world...I didn't figure we'd always have teenagers with us, but hey, leading trips meant they were paid for, hey hey!!!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisAF-NUjhP635aPztsxz2VzPG5onZfTyJ0xS9ifMtbuAVQTow2O2bslR8PUqZvdxgGKTv05WoZXIMEn03s4BsV3rWvrqbIPLGPeCdSDWzsEA7AI5x2MA2j_nUcrmHGlOSvpVW_8Q/s1600/12.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisAF-NUjhP635aPztsxz2VzPG5onZfTyJ0xS9ifMtbuAVQTow2O2bslR8PUqZvdxgGKTv05WoZXIMEn03s4BsV3rWvrqbIPLGPeCdSDWzsEA7AI5x2MA2j_nUcrmHGlOSvpVW_8Q/s320/12.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thanks for allowing me this one semi-crush. Bono is too short for me, and married and all, but I never wanted to marry him...you have always been the only man I ever wanted to marry. Thanks for all the concerts over the years.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3kbDPyXJT-yDAKFId3I1nQCGSbEVoQQBkqubMjhPrG6dukXoI9-rdePhx280nRfVP3wSIttxcsdsULwznKRIyv5Yu11oCJynb9M8d8MKxfRKExsak1lYQjZ5p9KgKATdrB5nrNw/s1600/photo+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3kbDPyXJT-yDAKFId3I1nQCGSbEVoQQBkqubMjhPrG6dukXoI9-rdePhx280nRfVP3wSIttxcsdsULwznKRIyv5Yu11oCJynb9M8d8MKxfRKExsak1lYQjZ5p9KgKATdrB5nrNw/s320/photo+4.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our first house in White Bear Lake. We sure did make that thing cute! I remember being in the basement, barely pregnant with Emily, watching airplanes fly into the Twin Towers. Better memories, however, were living only a few blocks away from Ryan and Shannon, walking over to that burger place or Einstein's, and playing pranks on our friends.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0udi7em9Rqm4ViEH4zzSYlvf9Re0jL0zhn_kT5JVGlfyzA5Dw84S1YDOFdGavcIlJEFL14JAHnOb9oQ87GMegMvu6qgS_PNhD6Ha9FZqhTGvSVx6Pp_ygy94v3aF5KVWiCVccYQ/s1600/photo+5.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0udi7em9Rqm4ViEH4zzSYlvf9Re0jL0zhn_kT5JVGlfyzA5Dw84S1YDOFdGavcIlJEFL14JAHnOb9oQ87GMegMvu6qgS_PNhD6Ha9FZqhTGvSVx6Pp_ygy94v3aF5KVWiCVccYQ/s320/photo+5.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ahh, Gramma Pat's house. Thank you for your patience with me as the daughter of a builder who saw no reasons why we couldn't just <i>knock down that wall and that wall and that wall</i>, all while pregnant with our firstborn! Were we crazy? All I know, I was large and in charge! You did a beautiful job on that place, Sweetheart! Thanks for making 803 Poplar our home!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEgbAceKtkF6EI2T7ZJyubhRRQRQ3JpSnFCtRtja0pF6UxXanKcDwaxrUKKyXPpAynFADk9W7KhuWCk6bqrVNmgyvxXUqVeoLD4JVz6pJ5HAHx845viVWTH9n8SeUgOKqQn_nPOQ/s1600/photo+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEgbAceKtkF6EI2T7ZJyubhRRQRQ3JpSnFCtRtja0pF6UxXanKcDwaxrUKKyXPpAynFADk9W7KhuWCk6bqrVNmgyvxXUqVeoLD4JVz6pJ5HAHx845viVWTH9n8SeUgOKqQn_nPOQ/s320/photo+3.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I always knew you'd be a great dad! You were pretty in awe of Emily making her sweet entrance into the world! Thanks for holding my hand, helping me breathe, and pushing my hair out of my face. It still blows my mind that God would say, the very moment she was born, "I love her more!" </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkAN-xPyMetTiMcMPVlxKUrSrmRMxoZHpD79R1glYRLm1JONpQej5y5MNdplex0N_tv3uTGg0Wi6-beieHMh3OWIx_2IIwuwbL2r1q_YVhMI6lM5u_o0xf7h4YjAszLAJbVGw4eg/s1600/9.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkAN-xPyMetTiMcMPVlxKUrSrmRMxoZHpD79R1glYRLm1JONpQej5y5MNdplex0N_tv3uTGg0Wi6-beieHMh3OWIx_2IIwuwbL2r1q_YVhMI6lM5u_o0xf7h4YjAszLAJbVGw4eg/s320/9.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our Peanut, Firstborn, Daddy's Girl. circa 2004</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFq5N1wRe9NWgMFNcroODKY18hS1GxKk_z6iHBiHw-oxYrOylr2dnb8ILyWTlrvWctWNlHTgbea3Tr4sZvFTP7nUBr4V7_oOQgDEtaXQuwYPmRZSH0BCBGv5ZiYXQNd7agTANbqA/s1600/10.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFq5N1wRe9NWgMFNcroODKY18hS1GxKk_z6iHBiHw-oxYrOylr2dnb8ILyWTlrvWctWNlHTgbea3Tr4sZvFTP7nUBr4V7_oOQgDEtaXQuwYPmRZSH0BCBGv5ZiYXQNd7agTANbqA/s320/10.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And since you or I had never been a parent before, all I can say is, I'm glad we've gotten to "wing it" together! We haven't done it all right, but I think she's turning out alright...and that because you place God first.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKWHWtvoM6iXue6AWNNpY3OxmbLHwjZ67U9zJKPiU1lhymYiLkB7JPlbIRyMqzORlgkurcatZg6L6kTVY4Wks_wtgH4NvRv4zmC0ItWZqocT5NpEv8az0kwY81TVLWYON06zTu5Q/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKWHWtvoM6iXue6AWNNpY3OxmbLHwjZ67U9zJKPiU1lhymYiLkB7JPlbIRyMqzORlgkurcatZg6L6kTVY4Wks_wtgH4NvRv4zmC0ItWZqocT5NpEv8az0kwY81TVLWYON06zTu5Q/s320/photo+2.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I think this was our first official nugget of time away from Em. Thanks for playing in the Big Apple with me! We've been in some pretty fun places together! Can't wait for some more!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3ijXLuQ8VNxEdlQLomro-D70LZrTNE1SZ7FBXEJSeHgbxmElxhy0ma4DQhh_1pefF4Y9gpZioB4LYfFw7pgaWi4qR3-CuxOUhTy0bC_3OSRh1QIwtdlyiXco39kM7aK0hNdggSQ/s1600/8.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3ijXLuQ8VNxEdlQLomro-D70LZrTNE1SZ7FBXEJSeHgbxmElxhy0ma4DQhh_1pefF4Y9gpZioB4LYfFw7pgaWi4qR3-CuxOUhTy0bC_3OSRh1QIwtdlyiXco39kM7aK0hNdggSQ/s320/8.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pretty sure this is our 12th anniversary when we first discovered <a href="http://www.vestagrill.com/" target="_blank">Vesta Dipping Grill</a>.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-1u2jqsOBqc4wVvzhHsIM8geo9vB1y2r1rrvDpHScLyNHvitcGQz0PTaRGGNJAfavM5BcBJqxQSnlmx4TFm7oOefG5Xn4SlvbLfSbjJE44q6D_vlkULJPGCJfPXEuYyDjHYeNIw/s1600/DSC00172.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-1u2jqsOBqc4wVvzhHsIM8geo9vB1y2r1rrvDpHScLyNHvitcGQz0PTaRGGNJAfavM5BcBJqxQSnlmx4TFm7oOefG5Xn4SlvbLfSbjJE44q6D_vlkULJPGCJfPXEuYyDjHYeNIw/s320/DSC00172.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Perks of you working for a company out of England...Thanks for letting us tag along for a couple of weeks. Thanks for being sweet and enduring my love of Lady Di and having lunch at that one place plastered with her pictures, too.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMcZA39sp_yhIiFcu8LbpDVYgjIPcaWzH8GwZ7Z1J7diqu15VEthG_KwSov3q1XfDz6QMnl-XP3VKxsEQBgiBAd6LGB5yuALIeS757adKQkNbkutgxOxPSKKvq14Mv2jflB-HsRA/s1600/DSC00817.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMcZA39sp_yhIiFcu8LbpDVYgjIPcaWzH8GwZ7Z1J7diqu15VEthG_KwSov3q1XfDz6QMnl-XP3VKxsEQBgiBAd6LGB5yuALIeS757adKQkNbkutgxOxPSKKvq14Mv2jflB-HsRA/s320/DSC00817.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh man, this was a fun trip! Remember the little Japanese ladies who came to our hotel room and walked on our backs? How was that naked business meeting of yours? Awkward? #japanesebathhouse #nikkojapan #tallestpeopleinjapanthatweek</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_1Z6ogzlr5h9ccsmTIJ8cgteciWjNzWpkkCuscuPGG1jWfTKt8q5CMz37kNx8vX4EthUe2EPbEtbz6KApzw78CrnE31gppQDKSn38D2-kA3ykoDI3dupe7xAKWg_YK3EE4rj1IQ/s1600/DSC02164.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_1Z6ogzlr5h9ccsmTIJ8cgteciWjNzWpkkCuscuPGG1jWfTKt8q5CMz37kNx8vX4EthUe2EPbEtbz6KApzw78CrnE31gppQDKSn38D2-kA3ykoDI3dupe7xAKWg_YK3EE4rj1IQ/s320/DSC02164.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our firstborn son. Oh man, I was so happy to give you a boy, and selfishly to soak him up myself. Thanks for being a champ and going along with inviting all my Bevies into the delivery room! Thanks, too, for choosing Noah's name. It was beautiful...<i>he was beautiful</i>!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgleOEK_iSPZsmYEpivYSGWRTrByB32ng1imvl-1t2ONo0TorwdhRe-iN5M8ar15ZaBMopHFwNRiiTNypHX1MxwSAvUFHUFG0hyphenhyphenajLIym9yBwAYvZDX4_z1WM32rp9jG6GJoog0ig/s1600/DSCN1030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgleOEK_iSPZsmYEpivYSGWRTrByB32ng1imvl-1t2ONo0TorwdhRe-iN5M8ar15ZaBMopHFwNRiiTNypHX1MxwSAvUFHUFG0hyphenhyphenajLIym9yBwAYvZDX4_z1WM32rp9jG6GJoog0ig/s320/DSCN1030.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mt. Evans hike with your man cub, June or July 2006.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjgDh9LRZkQX1RaU9FMvMt1bA5Qlxh9p04IRU2y36cILqMei0grNYhWAUqUzlZy-qkInjWvO_Sr2BrBKVSXEHo7fqio6ij7Q_FdDt5FJs65e5RcrLxpB8wNfeWNsKtUUj8RbsN_Q/s1600/DSC02795.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjgDh9LRZkQX1RaU9FMvMt1bA5Qlxh9p04IRU2y36cILqMei0grNYhWAUqUzlZy-qkInjWvO_Sr2BrBKVSXEHo7fqio6ij7Q_FdDt5FJs65e5RcrLxpB8wNfeWNsKtUUj8RbsN_Q/s320/DSC02795.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">August 2nd, 2006. God was my Solid Rock, you were my hand to hold and shoulder to lean on. Your faithfulness was unmatched.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSlGTQ05ohh0PjSm10jTcHPcWGGKks5iQxMLU4YbA83I8x7ay9q7MnCPCgmXbwOkqv_xjOJvrm4di4-3-OLC2LC9lxwsWxCQDSHtSOA3IkFCiBZc1ci0LtbxL0id2ufsYDJEYrHA/s1600/DSC04608.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSlGTQ05ohh0PjSm10jTcHPcWGGKks5iQxMLU4YbA83I8x7ay9q7MnCPCgmXbwOkqv_xjOJvrm4di4-3-OLC2LC9lxwsWxCQDSHtSOA3IkFCiBZc1ci0LtbxL0id2ufsYDJEYrHA/s320/DSC04608.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We celebrated his 1st birthday surrounded by friends and rainbows in the sky. He was the only one not in attendance.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0NfwzWhMrmbi2zhaD7C7F-c4zNy9rEY5eobjnehPVkrMVfR8cxYPMZaCcyZ2Wi9c6j-kFXwLgzIq4fzmPza5TX9-qV-YIyovJPJDic2rfBsnh3bwy2G_6KDg4qmjWx8DSt8hygA/s1600/DSC07118.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0NfwzWhMrmbi2zhaD7C7F-c4zNy9rEY5eobjnehPVkrMVfR8cxYPMZaCcyZ2Wi9c6j-kFXwLgzIq4fzmPza5TX9-qV-YIyovJPJDic2rfBsnh3bwy2G_6KDg4qmjWx8DSt8hygA/s320/DSC07118.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Years later, on this anniversary, I think we had found our smile again...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3FGkTxcZZTk24d5B9i84E4kYnmVRUuPaxIdRDaAtHaTm9dcAGbNafUHGq4GSgq-eX4wRzToVKMoX5TYNDWu-u83L9lrA5e_bSJ7Xp-RExgdE78nRLGjcLg3688THmaQ7QP_dFYw/s1600/IMG_1569.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3FGkTxcZZTk24d5B9i84E4kYnmVRUuPaxIdRDaAtHaTm9dcAGbNafUHGq4GSgq-eX4wRzToVKMoX5TYNDWu-u83L9lrA5e_bSJ7Xp-RExgdE78nRLGjcLg3688THmaQ7QP_dFYw/s320/IMG_1569.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On this one, I know we did, because the following picture is a result...wakka, wakka</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXOjhvssZQDTUYuB0wQNch-NjuS1jJ_RE2ebY6MNF5Uf-zlnAE8VjYWhC8tLzTLfMwF0y2hineeVOPAKC9f1bKk3RY_oYiXku_OaITXeUbBf3fXk1kkoD264YpPMq4B1XS3MiFBg/s1600/IMG_3984.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXOjhvssZQDTUYuB0wQNch-NjuS1jJ_RE2ebY6MNF5Uf-zlnAE8VjYWhC8tLzTLfMwF0y2hineeVOPAKC9f1bKk3RY_oYiXku_OaITXeUbBf3fXk1kkoD264YpPMq4B1XS3MiFBg/s320/IMG_3984.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brave, protective big sister...scared mama, trying to treasure the life of the one growing in me. Thanks for taking a risk with me, Sweetheart! Trying this whole "having a kid again" thing was a rollercoaster, but one I'm glad I got on. Thanks for holding my hair back as I puked my way through the fear. You're kind of awesome!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjItBjz0JhlAdQ8jM4X1cu5A5KTOBitiVX_GX29jSh0kEKlBwOo8b1vU7mRkm-0Hojo_tyCGedfdsBLVsWLRxl_fWx8v2GOLTxFQdtbIjaBeQdD0udfjL-6NecOoGyCvCYIR73QQ/s1600/IMG_4244.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjItBjz0JhlAdQ8jM4X1cu5A5KTOBitiVX_GX29jSh0kEKlBwOo8b1vU7mRkm-0Hojo_tyCGedfdsBLVsWLRxl_fWx8v2GOLTxFQdtbIjaBeQdD0udfjL-6NecOoGyCvCYIR73QQ/s320/IMG_4244.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I know you were tired, physically and emotionally. By this picture, you and I had already celebrated 17 anniversaries! Honored to welcome into our lives this son named after your friend. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVkk8utTi44l1OF1qqI7iGMPThHyQq2VkfAOSmUUENgKRCk3zAcWcyVhtPvxaoqB0h94sEHAtnEupFyQyB6WxCRC9iC-Bg6TjdA4ULHk0Hv_DSz6Dy-fTAukvKP108IGOvsLzx8g/s1600/IMG_4297.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVkk8utTi44l1OF1qqI7iGMPThHyQq2VkfAOSmUUENgKRCk3zAcWcyVhtPvxaoqB0h94sEHAtnEupFyQyB6WxCRC9iC-Bg6TjdA4ULHk0Hv_DSz6Dy-fTAukvKP108IGOvsLzx8g/s320/IMG_4297.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">#deepcontentmentandthankfulness #utterexhaustion #ilovemyguys</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfPqtT1MaR5IEg_zOXYnA0qr8DQ5SAxnt2KemvRxkBIgo-QmM69U3kOzszgq1fl1L0zRu-6HX45k2bHmkTIZsGLs6o3c66VEZ_k_9QopQBqR1FNxCLtv98CbMJxtA5g9R6CLqEpg/s1600/IMG_6256.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfPqtT1MaR5IEg_zOXYnA0qr8DQ5SAxnt2KemvRxkBIgo-QmM69U3kOzszgq1fl1L0zRu-6HX45k2bHmkTIZsGLs6o3c66VEZ_k_9QopQBqR1FNxCLtv98CbMJxtA5g9R6CLqEpg/s320/IMG_6256.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">20 years, Sweetheart. 20 years. You are the most generous man I've ever known. You are wise, in fact, those scriptures in Proverbs about wise guys with few words, well, I know God wrote some of those specifically about you. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX3Orhy2iwBgsR-ZsG7Gg243oUTXqutizBdho-LkBAHW1ABQArCydrFCtsPnfyxyoLiPUHdCml9i5RCeYaJpZnzCAMaeCClrBmpA9I2mxXjGlmLvSh9Bdl6MPtgAcBlSre-kPojA/s1600/IMG_8302.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX3Orhy2iwBgsR-ZsG7Gg243oUTXqutizBdho-LkBAHW1ABQArCydrFCtsPnfyxyoLiPUHdCml9i5RCeYaJpZnzCAMaeCClrBmpA9I2mxXjGlmLvSh9Bdl6MPtgAcBlSre-kPojA/s320/IMG_8302.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is from our 19th wedding anniversary last year having Spanish tapas in downtown Denver. This year we'll be having tapas in Spain. I can't wait for more adventures, though I do not take for granted all we've already shared.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Jason Aaron Graves, you are my very best friend and I'd say "I do" all over again if you asked me. But this time I would skip the poofy dress...</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>I sure love you, Sweetheart!</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>xoxox </b></span></div>
Adriennehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04101665341916407243noreply@blogger.com1