tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55379640940594397372024-03-05T23:07:35.195-08:00Finishing Well in the DashEach gravestone is marked by two numbers - the year of birth and the year of death, separated only by a dash. I'm running a race, but only God knows when this dash will end. I want to live in such a way that in the end, I might hear Him say, "You finished well."E. Squirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02934958292570333030noreply@blogger.comBlogger260125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5537964094059439737.post-45411884531765484912019-10-23T20:01:00.001-07:002019-10-23T20:01:30.254-07:00Hello Again<div dir="ltr"><div dir="ltr"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04"><font face="georgia, serif">It's been about 2.5 years since I last wrote here. Coincidentally, little one is (nada!) about 2.5 years old!</font></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04"><font face="georgia, serif"><br></font></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif">Returning to this blog has been on my mind for quite some time, though. My mind and heart have been so busy, and so...tired...lately. And yet I can't help but suspect that God is actively working, perhaps more than usual, in my life. Over the last few months, He has used numerous events, people, friends (old and new), songs, sermons, and moments to poke, bolster, nudge (or maybe shove), rally, and move me. </font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><b>God made you different on purpose; embrace it!</b></span></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif">I went to a women's event at New Church recently. There were 94 women in attendance, and my inner introvert was frightened out of her mind. I brought a friend, though, and we survived together. :) After a very nice dinner at the horse farm (of all places), we heard from a speaker. And one of the things she said that stuck out to me was this notion that if God made us different, rather than bemoan the difference, we should embrace it, because He did it intentionally. </font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif">My immediate reaction was (and is) to bristle at this, because one of my key differences (race) is something I've almost never embraced in my life. But race aside, the underlying principle resonates with me: I do believe that God does things deliberately, and each person is His creation. And we know He doesn't make mistakes. </font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif">As someone who loves to admire God's creation, the idea of celebrating God's creativity in all of its forms should come easily. Somehow, though, when it comes to me being Asian, celebration doesn't really come to mind. Because...</font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><b>Being Asian is a liability, but it could have been worse.</b></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);">It's interesting. New Church is super-white. Super-duper white. And super-duper home-schooled. And super-duper lots-of-kids-per-family. Everything my family growing up was not.</span></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><br></span></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif">Rascal and I have been at this church now for about six months (so long already!) and we've had a lot of New Church folks come to dinner at our house so we can get to know people. It's been good. But what I never expected--ever--was that our short little time at New Church would lead to our meeting Dan (hapa) and Alyssa (Filipina), and having a meal with them in which we discussed our experiences with growing up Asian (or half-Asian) in largely white contexts. *MIND BLOWN* That was such a fun gift to receive, such a sweet surprise. And the discussion was so refreshing. Here we were, a group of strangers, all dumping out our stream of childhood insecurities that stemmed from looking different and being different from our peers and general society. Here we were, as adults, all able to say, out loud, words that we've always thought deep down, but never brought ourselves to say: <i>Being Asian is a liability...but it could be worse.</i></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i><br></i></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><b>It's hard to trust God with my weakness and insecurities, the parts where I feel broken.</b></span></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif">New Church Pastor gave a sermon recently where he talked about our failures to trust in God, especially in the things we're good at (because we rely on ourselves). I reflected on that, but felt that I actually do trust God in the two areas of my life that consume the most time and attention right now: family and work. I trust God with my family--and in particular my parenting--because I know I'm incapable of being the mom He wants me to be without His daily provision of wisdom, patience, kindness, energy, perseverance, and love. I also trust God with my work (mostly) because the things I do at work often have tremendous consequences, and I've experienced (at least once or twice) the awful feeling of failing at work and seeing some of those consequences come crashing down.</font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif">So there I was, feeling kind of good about myself, when New Church Pastor went on with his sermon. And he said, some people don't struggle to trust God in the things they're good at (me!). Instead, they struggle to trust God in their weakness and in the parts of them that need healing. They persist in their self-pity and brokenness, and don't turn all of that over to God. </font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif">Well turn on the waterworks. I was a puddle of tears for the next half hour because I knew that was me. </font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><b>Where this all began...</b></span></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);">You might be wondering by now...where is all this coming from? What is going on?? </span></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><br></span></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);">Welcome to my brain! I've had the same questions over the last few months as all of this has come creeping out of the woodwork. It all kind of coincided with our transition to New Church in April. Rascal and I had been praying about moving to a new church for more than one year, and come early 2019, we felt like an imminent change was necessary. By April, we were at New Church, where three of my friends already attended. </span></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><br></span></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif">New Church was different from Old Church (where we had spent the previous three years). It's hard to pinpoint exactly why. It's partly because we were in a different lifestage, partly because we had more points of intersection with people in the congregation, and partly a whole bunch of other things that I'm not thinking of.</font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);">One thing that I immediately noticed about New Church, though, was its makeup--and the fact that it reminded me <i>so much</i> of the church I grew up in (i.e. Home Church). The whiteness, for starters--but not just that. Also the homeschoolers. And the multiple children. And...just...something. And that really bothered me, and made me very apprehensive about making a home at New Church. Because I had sworn before in my life that I would never put my kids through what I went through as a child. And I kind of half-broke that promise by moving to Palmtreeville. And if New Church was like Home Church for them as it was for me, then I really would have broken my promise, and I did not want that for my kids.</span></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><br></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif">I can't explain what it is, but New Church triggers all sorts of things for me. And it scares me, because the triggers are resurrecting someone I knew long ago, but who I left behind in favor of a better life--a life in which I belonged, or at least created spaces where I belonged.</font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><b>I left her behind, but I didn't know it...</b></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);">I've spent a lot of time analyzing this. I'm sure that I haven't nearly begun to figure it all out, but I think I've figured parts of it out. And in my more lucid, less emotional moments, I can spell it out without breaking out any tissues. It goes something like this:</span></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><br></span></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);">Growing up, I didn't feel like I belonged. I was on the outside, looking in on a group of people who belonged to each other, and loved each other, and took care of one another. They delighted in one another. I did not belong. I did not feel loved. I did not feel cared for, and I certainly did not feel delighted in. This was at Home Church. </span></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><br></span></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif">Thankfully, I didn't feel like GOD said I didn't belong (to Him, anyway). So I served on the worship team, made friends with some adults, and taught Sunday School to younger kids, to give myself something to do and a way to avoid the awful feelings of not belonging. I did this while not paying very much attention to my feelings. Do more, feel less.</font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif">This persisted until I went away to college. Looking back, I largely avoided interaction with Home Church on breaks from college. I was part of a Bible study here and there, and even formed some friendships here and there, but much of it felt forced--probably on both sides. </font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif">Then I went to law school. There, for what felt like (and probably was) the very first time, I found a group of people who were truly my people. And what a magical three years that was, for that reason. Many of those people are still beloved friends today, even though we are scattered around the globe. I'm so thankful for the transformative years I had in a safe place to truly experience Christian community in a group setting, for the first time. </font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif">From there, I moved to New York. And there, for the first time, I experienced church community where I truly felt like I belonged, I was loved, I was cared for, and even delighted in. I spent seven years there, and believe God did a lot of healing in that time. At NYC Church, I finally felt like I was part of a church family. Even if I wasn't close to all 100+ people, they all felt like they belonged to me, and I to them. </font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif">In other words, many good things happened me in the 21st century. But what happened to the person I left behind? I became someone else along the way, but being at New Church makes me realize...the person I thought I left behind is still within me. She's still there, and still wonders if the world is still the same as it ever was. She's been hiding from a lot of people, and she's comfortable hiding. New Church and its triggers are like flashes of light, tearing away a heavy shroud and shining light on something (someone!) kept away for years and years and years. It hurts to see the light. It's more comfortable to stay inside. Broken, but safely so. </font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><b>Let's talk about cake.</b></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);">Approximately two decades have passed since I left Home Church. What I'm realizing has probably happened in those two decades is that I learned somewhere along the way that the cake (i.e. true me) isn't very palatable--especially not among God's people. (I should take an aside here and give a shoutout to my college friend SINE, who has always shown me incredible love and acceptance. SINE, if you're reading this, none of this is about you, and in fact, you were one of the first friends in my life to show me selfless and forgiving friendship, and in doing so, you changed my life.)</span></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><br></span></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif">And so, over the past two decades, I have taken it upon myself to decorate the cake. Not externally (ya'll know I'm not a girly girl), but more so in terms of the "life resume." That is, I have a cool degree from a cool school. Since graduating from my cool school, I have had four very cool legal jobs, each more cool than the previous one. In my four very cool legal jobs, I have gotten to do uber-cool things, that only cool people get to do. In other words, I do cool things. I am cool. Please like me, because I do cool things. Please enjoy this cake, and admire this cake, and be friends with the cake, because--look, it has fluffy frosting and really fancy fondant decorations, and ooh! a sparkler at the top!</font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif">Add to that "life resume" my human attachments--my loving husband, and my (mostly) adorable and truly beloved children.</font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif">Oh and--for all the Christian men and women who have ever made me feel like I am a sinner for being a mom who works outside the home--guess what, I bake delicious things and I sew my dresses and Halloween costumes for my kids. And I raise freaking monarch butterflies in my spare time. There's a defensive indignance, and perhaps a twinge of a sinful flip-the-bird (if I'm really honest), in my domesticity.</font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif">And allathat is the stuff that I pile onto the cake, and subconsciously, I rely on that to define who I am to others. I point to the stuff on the cake with arrows and shining lights, and use it to shroud what's on the inside because... well, I know from before, don't I? Home Church already taught me that the inside (my inside, anyway) doesn't belong. </font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif">I haven't thought about most of this in about 20 years. It hurts to think about it now. I don't like to think of myself in these terms. </font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif">Just to be clear: I don't have this issue with everyone...it's pretty church-specific, I think. And I mean church in general. Because along the way, there are absolutely a group of people (some in New Church, and a whole bunch at NYC Church) who love the cake and couldn't care less about the frosting and accoutrements. I am so thankful for all of those people, because their love and the difference of their love has helped me to identify the defining lines.</font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><b>Songs that spoke to me</b></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif">In all of this, the Lord has blessed me with several songs that have spoken to my heart. Some of these play on the radio. Some of these were sung at NYC Church retreat, which we were at recently (for the first time in five years!). The most meaningful excerpts are these:</font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><br></font></div></div><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i>A refuge for the poor</i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i>a shelter from the storm: this is our God</i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i>He will wipe away your tears</i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i>and return your wasted years: this is our God</i></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i><br></i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><i>A father to the orphan</i></span></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><i>A healer for the broken: this is our God</i></span></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><i>He brings peace to our madness</i></span></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><i>and comfort to our sadness: this is our God</i></span></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><i><br></i></span></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><i>So call upon His name, He is mighty to save, this is our God</i></span></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><i><br></i></span></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><i>[Chris Tomlin]</i></span></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><i><br></i></span></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><i>***</i></span></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><i><br></i></span></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><i>I am your beloved, your creation</i></span></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><i>and you love me as I am</i></span></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><i>You have called me chosen for your kingdom</i></span></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><i>unashamed to call me your own</i></span></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><i>I am your beloved</i></span></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><i><br></i></span></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><i>[Vineyard]</i></span></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><i><br></i></span></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><i>***</i></span></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><i>Wide awake while the world is sound asleep</i></span></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><i>too afraid of what might show up while you're dreaming</i></span></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><i>nobody, nobody, nobody sees you</i></span></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i>nobody</i><i style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);">, nobody, </i><i>nobody</i><i style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"> would believe you</i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);">every day you try to pick up all the pieces</i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);">all the memories, they </i><i>somehow</i><i style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"> never leave you</i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);">nobody, nobody, </i><i>nobody</i><i style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"> sees you</i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);">nobody, nobody, nobody would believe you</i></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><br></i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><i>God only knows what you've been through</i></span></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);">God only </i><i>knows what they say about you</i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i>God only knows how it's killing you</i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i>but there's a kind of love that God only knows</i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i>God only knows the real you</i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i>there's a kind of love that God only knows</i></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i><br></i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i>For the lonely, for the ashamed</i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i>the misunderstood and the ones to blame</i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i>what if we could start over, we could start over, we could start over</i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><i>'Cause there's a kind of love that God only knows</i></span></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><i><br></i></span></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><i>[For King and Country]</i></span></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><i><br></i></span></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><i>***</i></span></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);">If I </i><i>didn't</i><i style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"> </i><i>know</i><i style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"> what it hurt like to be broken</i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><i>Then how would i know what it feels like to be whole</i></span></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><i>if i didn't know what it cuts like to be rejected</i></span></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);">then I </i><i>wouldn't</i><i style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"> know the joy of coming home</i></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><br></i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i>maybe</i><i style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"> it's okay if I'm not okay</i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);">'cause the one who holds the world is holding onto me</i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);">Maybe it's all right if I'm not all right</i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);">'Cause the one who holds the stars is </i><i>holding</i><i style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"> </i><i>my</i><i style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"> </i><i>whole</i><i style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"> life</i></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><br></i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);">If I didn't know what it looked like to be dirty</i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);">Then I wouldn't know what it feels like to be clean</i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);">If all of my shame hadn't drove me to hid in the shadows</i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);">then I wouldn't know the beauty of being free</i></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><br></i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);">Father, let </i><i>your kingdom come</i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i>let your will be done</i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i>here in my heart as in heaven</i></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i><br></i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i>[We Are Messengers]</i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><br></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><i>***</i></span></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><i>A King is coming to this city</i></span></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><i>and crowds around are following </i></span></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><i>if I could see, i would follow too</i></span></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><i><br></i></span></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><i>He heals the sick with his hands</i></span></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><i>as He walks by, they reach for Him</i></span></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><i>if I could see, I would reach out too</i></span></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><i><br></i></span></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);">The blind won't </i><i>gain their sight</i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i>by opening their eyes</i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i>Son of David, have mercy on me</i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i>Son of David, have mercy on me</i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i>Son of David, I want to see</i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i>Son of David, have mercy</i></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i><br></i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i>I cannot leave this gate since I cannot see my way</i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i>But I can stand and call His name</i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i>No, I could never leave this gate</i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i>but I will stand and shout His name</i></font></div></div></blockquote><blockquote style="margin:0px 0px 0px 40px;border:none;padding:0px"><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><i>and I will count on His grace</i></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><i style="color:rgb(120,63,4);font-family:georgia,serif"><br></i></div><div class="gmail_default"><i style="color:rgb(120,63,4);font-family:georgia,serif">The blind won't </i><i style="color:rgb(120,63,4);font-family:georgia,serif">gain their sight</i></div><div class="gmail_default"><i style="color:rgb(120,63,4);font-family:georgia,serif">by opening their eyes</i></div><div class="gmail_default"><i style="color:rgb(120,63,4);font-family:georgia,serif">Son of David, have mercy on me</i></div><div class="gmail_default"><i style="color:rgb(120,63,4);font-family:georgia,serif">Son of David, have mercy on me</i></div><div class="gmail_default"><i style="color:rgb(120,63,4);font-family:georgia,serif">Son of David, I want to see</i></div><div class="gmail_default"><i style="color:rgb(120,63,4);font-family:georgia,serif">Son of David, have mercy</i></div><div class="gmail_default"><br></div></div></blockquote><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><br></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><b>Do you want to be healed?</b></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><b><br></b></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif">We recently went back to NYC Church retreat (with our kids, this time) for three days, and it was such a rich time of reconnection with church family. The very first activity that I was able to attend was personal devotions time. They had all these different devotion guides posted around the room, each bearing a different subway line to differentiate them. I chose the 2 line, since I spent several years riding that line to work.</font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif">The passage was from John 5, about the man who was sick for 38 years and lying by a healing pool. Jesus saw him there and knew that he had been sick for a long time. Jesus asked him whether he would like to be healed. The sick man replied that no one has helped him into the pool. Then Jesus told him to get up and walk, and the man was healed.</font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif">The initial questions posed in the devotional struck me. What did Jesus ask the man? (Would you like to be healed?) And how did the man answer? (No one helps me into the pool!) The man dodged the question with an explanation of why he was not healed. I'm sure this passage has other spiritual implications, but I couldn't get past the immediately applicable parallels.</font></div><div class="gmail_default"><br></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif">When Jesus asks me, in view of all that I've been processing, whether I would like to be healed, what do I say? Would I like to be healed??</font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif">And the honest answer is...I think so? But I don't know. Because a big part of me is scared to confront the past. I'm scared of what that may feel like (because even the bits that keep creeping to the surface keep making me cry, and I often don't know why). I'm scared of how long that may take. I'm scared of change, maybe? There's a lot of fear holding me back.</font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><b><br></b></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><b>The hero's journey</b></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif">I was sharing all of this with very close friends in New York last week, and our friend Peter told me about the hero's journey. Apparently it's a common template in mythology, and it generally follows a circle. You have the hero of the story starting out at home. Then he leaves into the unknown for an adventure. During that adventure, he changes because of all that it requires of him. Then he returns back the <span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);">known--but now as a changed man. </span></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><br></span></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);">I blinked at Peter. "And?" I asked.</span></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><br></span></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif">"That's where you are: you're back at home (in a way). And now the question is...what will you do, now that you're back home?" This was resonating too deeply. He was hitting a nerve and tears were welling up in my eyes (an all-too-common experience these days.) "Does it end well?" I asked.</font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif">Well, he said, we're going to see. That's what this is all about.</font></div><div class="gmail_default"><br></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><b><br></b></span></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><b>God cares too much to let you stay where you are</b></span></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif">One last story, from today.</font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif">We have friends from New Church whose sons play baseball in our neighborhood. They invite us to hang out with them during baseball practice, which I think is such a lovely thing. So we did today, and I was generally updating Ann on the latest in this journey. I've only really had an opportunity to share very broad strokes from time to time, so she doesn't know the details. But I know she's been listening, and I always feel such compassion from her. It's like she feels the burden, even if she doesn't know exactly what's inside. She still realizes that it's heavy, and that means a lot to me.</font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif">Today, as i shared a little more about what I've been learning and feeling and experiencing, Ann said, with tears in her own eyes, "You know, as you've been sharing this stuff the last few times, I just get the sense from God that He cares too much about you to let you stay where you are." </font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif">Cue the tears again. (Sigh, this is getting so old.)</font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif">But deep down, I knew she was right. And I appreciated so much, that right now--when I don't exactly have ears to hear--God has sent friends to hear for me. </font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);">The story continues.</span></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><span style="caret-color: rgb(120, 63, 4);"><br></span></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia, serif"><br></font></div></div></div></div> E. Squirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02934958292570333030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5537964094059439737.post-72797953511087937482017-04-20T14:40:00.001-07:002017-04-20T14:40:58.243-07:00Weeping and Mourning<div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">I've often heard of parents talking about how they have wept over their children. I personally have never done it...until now. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Yesterday, as Junior and I took her tricycle around one of the tree-lined lakes in the area, she did something disobedient and unkind. I called her out on it, and had the usual conversation with her about kindness and obedience (disobedience is painful, obedience leads to life, God wants us to be obedient, kindness is important, etc.). And some version of the following dialogue ensued (me in italics, her in bold):</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><i><font color="#783f04">That was unkind, Ducky. Do you understand?</font></i></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><i><font color="#783f04"><br></font></i></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><b><font color="#783f04">(Nods yes)</font></b></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><i><font color="#783f04">Is it important to be kind?</font></i></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><i><font color="#783f04"><br></font></i></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><b><font color="#783f04">(Nods yes)</font></b></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><i><font color="#783f04">Say, "Yes, Mommy."</font></i></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><i><font color="#783f04"><br></font></i></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><b><font color="#783f04">(Does nothing)</font></b></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><i><font color="#783f04">Ducky, listen to me. Kindness is important. Being unkind is disobedient. Disobedience makes God sad. Is it important to be obedient?</font></i></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><i><font color="#783f04"><br></font></i></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><b><font color="#783f04">(Shakes head no)</font></b></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><i><font color="#783f04">No, that's not right, Ducky. Obedience IS important. Disobedience is painful, and it makes God unhappy. Don't you want to make God happy?</font></i></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><i><font color="#783f04"><br></font></i></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><b>No</b>.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><i><font color="#783f04">You don't?! You don't want to do what God wants?</font></i></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><i><b><font color="#783f04"><br></font></b></i></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><b><font color="#783f04">No.</font></b></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><i><font color="#783f04">You just want to do what Ducky wants to do, huh?</font></i></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><i><font color="#783f04"><br></font></i></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><b><font color="#783f04">(Nods yes)</font></b></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><i><font color="#783f04">That's really sad, Ducky. That's really, really sad. Disobedience is painful, and only obedience leads to life. And you know...our words need to be true. And I realize that your words right now are true; you DO just want to do what Ducky wants to do. We are all like that. But...that's really sad. And we need God to change our hearts. I will pray for God to change your heart.</font></i></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><i><font color="#783f04"><br></font></i></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><b><font color="#783f04">No change heart! No change heart!</font></b></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><i><font color="#783f04">You don't want God to change your heart?</font></i></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><i><font color="#783f04"><br></font></i></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><b><font color="#783f04">(Shakes head no.)</font></b></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">* * *</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">I cannot think of a more heartbreaking conversation that I've had in recent memory. It made me weep and mourn. And yes, I know that she is only two years old. But the thing about it is...I do think she understands at some (rather significant) level what we were talking about. And she was completely unashamed of wanting what she wanted, end of story.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">What heartbreak to realize that the things she said--the things she feels and does--are a reflection of <i>all</i> mankind, including me. We all started out that way, and those whom Jesus called have been changed by his grace. All others are stuck in Junior's mindset and heart disposition--a terrible place to be. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">I was reminded of how desperate a situation all of our souls are in until Christ rescues us from the hand of death and leads us to an abundant life. How grateful I am for freedom in Christ...and how urgently I plead for the same grace to extend to my children.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small;color:#000099"><i><br></i></div></div> E. Squirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02934958292570333030noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5537964094059439737.post-83322878618861868312016-10-08T17:51:00.001-07:002016-10-08T17:51:33.084-07:00Pinch Me<div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Because sometimes I feel as if I am brimming with too much joy to contain. Is this life real? Is it really mine? Thank You, Lord, for making my cup run over--day after day after day.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">The last three days have been an unexpected gift. Hurricane Matthew shut down the courts and the schools, leaving Daddy, Mommy, and Ducky with a freebie four-day weekend on our hands. (Didn't have to use up any of my precious few vacation days!) So very thankfully, God spared us of Matthew's devastation--and even modern-day conveniences, as we didn't lose more than a brief flicker of power.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Instead of dealing with flooding, broken windows, life-by-flashlight, generators and gas stoves (let alone injury or loss of life), God mercifully and generously gave us several sweet days of close togetherness. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">...Extended time in our pajamas, reading in Ducky's "library room." And by "reading" I mean her "reading" books to herself and us watching her with great amusement. She is increasingly independent, and often wrests the book away, points to herself, and says, "Me." She wants to do it all herself...and all the better if it's done leaning against her favorite pillow (very particular, this one), with Bunny Blanket by her side, snuggled up between Mommy and Daddy. Once in a while, after she's had enough of "reading" to herself, she climbs into my lap, sticks her left thumb (it's always been her left thumb) into her mouth, grabs Bunny's ears to begin another stroke-session, and chooses a book for me to read to her. Her favorites include "Curious George and the Birthday Surprise," "God Bless You and Good Night," "Thank You Prayer," and "Should I Share My Ice Cream?" When she chooses one, that's usually the book we'll have to stay on for a long, long time. Because after each reading, she will tap her right fist into her left palm twice--Ducky language for, "Again! Again!" And so we read...again...and again...and again. The same book, over and over. And yes, sometimes it feels tedious. But mostly, it feels like a gift to be the chosen one who gets to read to this precious child over and over again, with her snuggled in my lap, utterly content. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">...The nonsensical soundtrack of our lives, which goes something like (bold font is Ducky; regular is Daddy and Mommy): "<b>MOMMY!</b> Yes, my ducky. <b>MOM!</b> I'm right here, my Ducky. What is it? <b>Meow. </b>Oh, you want to go see the meows? You want to go outside and see Miss Kendall's cats? <b>Goo-goo. </b>Yes, I see your acorns. You have so many acorns. Wait--that one doesn't have a hat. Can you find a hat for this acorn? Oh--you're stuffing them into Mommy's shorts pocket again, are you? No, no, not into the big pocket. You can put them into the small pocket. <b>Goo-goo! Goo-goo!</b> I know you love your acorns! <b>Mommy, goo-goo amiwadjanoowww Mommy! Mommy! Goo-goo ami meow ajdiwowwww. Whoa!</b> <b>Mommy! MOMMY!</b> Yes, my ducky. <b>Mommy WATSCH. </b>You want some water? <b>Nooooo. </b> Yes, you need some water. You need some watsch. <b>WATSCH. </b>Yes, I know. You need some water. Mommy's going to get you some. <b>Noooooo!</b> YES, my ducky. Come on. Drink drink. <b>Nooo! (whimpers)</b> Ducky. You need to drink some water. Look! Bobby (Bunny) is having some...Bobby wants you to have some. <b>Yeah!</b> Goooooood. Drink drink." On and on. Every day. Day in and day out. I kind of love it.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">...Playtime outside. This evening we played outside for over an hour after dinner, until after the sunset. At the outset, she wanted Daddy and Mommy to sit on a bench as she did the teeter-totter by herself. All by herself. So independent. Later, when I was talking to one of our neighbors, she wanted Mommy's attention...just to have it. Typical toddler. And then she wanted me to hold her hand so she could walk on the balance beam, step up the mushroom stools, climb up, and fall backwards as I caught her on the way down (and then I spun her around and she shrieked with delight). We did that at least fifteen times this evening. And then as the sun was setting, she held both of my hands and led me to the far end of the big green park past the playground...away, away, away under a glowing half-moon. Later, Daddy came to find us and she had a ball running back and forth to claim hugs from Mommy and Daddy, giggling and shrieking all the way. Yesterday we did a bike ride and she fell asleep halfway through. And this morning I took her to the lake to see swans, geese, and ibises. She was so entranced. She also wanted to walk on the red brick road on the edge of the sidewalk...and up and down the bridge...again and again...and then she wanted to walk backwards...and then she wanted to be carried (surprise, surprise). </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">...Speaking of carrying...These days I'm carrying an extra 15 pounds anyway--and she's another 26 pounds or so...so that's about 40 extra pounds of extra weight a lot of the time. But unless I really must, I don't force her to walk. These days of carrying my girl are limited. The days of snuggling with her while nursing, with her legs tucked between mine, for 30 minutes each morning...those days are numbered. The days of her wanting MOMMY! to come watch her, hold her, comfort her, be with her, hold her hand, read to her, entertain her, sing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" <i>ad nauseum</i> to her,...those days will end, and all too soon.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">...Family naps. My favorite. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><br></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">...All the other stuff inbetween. Collecting acorns on the sidewalk. Chasing firetrucks (and praying for them, of course). Hunting meows. Playing with glue, colored pencils, pens, and crayons. Watching her carry that wooden hamburger around (or pull a train of her plastic hamburgers back and forth -- "beep! beep!" -- this morning). The affection for the stuffies--soooo much affection for the stuffies (yessss). Reading, reading, reading, little bookworm. Playing on the piano, and having her invite Mommy to sit next to her (something new). Teaching her to say please ("peas") and thank you ("gank-you"), and to show kindness, generosity, thoughtfulness, patience, perseverance, and obedience (that's the really hard stuff). The snuggles and hugs and holding her hand. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Pinch me because I'm too lucky, and though the days can be long, the years truly are short. Thank You, dear Lord, from a truly grateful and content heart.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div></div> E. Squirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02934958292570333030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5537964094059439737.post-7965780270491576072016-07-25T19:01:00.000-07:002016-07-25T19:02:01.346-07:00Dear Junior<div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Dear Junior,</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Hi, my dear ducky. Bright shining light in my life. So much of who you are brings me life and joy: </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Your smiles and giggles. Your mischievous glint in your eye when you raise your eyebrows, as if to say, "Check this out, Mommy..." </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Your enthusiastic koala-bear hugs, the kind where you hug my neck so tight and cling to me with your legs--you give them spontaneously and freely, and melt my heart each time. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Your affection for Bunny Blanket, and the tender way you stroke his ears, give him heartfelt besos, and light up when you see him and get to drag him around (and how you take care not to drag him by his ears, but by his neck--good girl). </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Your tremendous affection for Daddy and Mommy, and how you are happiest when <i>both</i> of us are around. You are more content with Mommy by herself versus Daddy by himself, but you love it best when we both are present. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Your increasing ability to listen and obey. You do best when we tell you in advance what's going to happen, and you tell us that you understand (your ability to nod and say "yeah" is very helpful!). After that, you mostly don't get upset by whatever happens next. And more and more, you spontaneously say "thank you" (which sounds more like "ganku") at the appropriate times. :)</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">You are very particular. It's genetic--I knew it! You take after Mommy in that way. You like things to be in their place, and you like to keep your hands clean. You pick out a crumb on your tray at the start of dinner and hand it to Mommy for discarding. A little too particular, but I get a kick out of it. :) And it comes in handy for other things--like how you always keep your crayons at the table, put away your toys when told, and put away your duckies (upside down) at bathtime. Hehehe.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">You are very, very sweet. You love giving out hugs, you run to Mommy brimming with glee and love for no particular reason at all. You love being held, and can hang around in my arms, content, doing nothing in particular, for a long, long time. It makes me think that that's how God wants us to be in His presence. Thanks for teaching me about childlike love, little one.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">You are also very, very fun. You love to hide and seek. You love the unexpected. You love to make games out of anything (you get that from Daddy), and you love to giggle. You have been so blessed with a very fun and rich life, little one. Turn it all to gratitude and good as you grow up.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">I just wanted you to know. Mommy adores you and loves you so much. You are such a gift, and we give tremendous thanks to God for you!</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Love, </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Mommy</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div></div> E. Squirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02934958292570333030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5537964094059439737.post-11177465395930879662016-06-18T08:13:00.001-07:002016-06-18T08:13:59.855-07:00Reflections, Part III<div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">This is what happens when you're the parent of a toddler: gone is spontaneity; carpe diem is out, routine is in. (Frankly, as fun as spontaneity is, I love routine.) So it is Saturday morning again, Mr. Squire is at basketball (after letting me sleep in until 10 AM - GLORIOUS!) and Junior is napping.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">And so much happened this week. SO much. Sigh.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Let's start with the single mom living with us. We had a big talk with her last Sunday evening, and--thanks be to God--it went really, really well. She was pretty receptive to everything we were saying, we set out our goals for her (she's cooking her first dinner tonight!), and generally gave her what I would call tough-but-loving encouragement. And I think God really gave especially Mr. Squire (who was doing the bulk of the talking) a special patience and love that wasn't nearly as present during our private discussions beforehand. God heard our prayers :) So all that's good.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">* * *</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Then the rest of what happened last week happened... the Voice singer, the Orlando attack, the toddler and the alligator...oh. my. goodness.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">We were not directly affected by any of these events, yet they loomed large in our everyday lives. They weighed on our souls so heavily, and we trudged through the week feeling like we were carrying enormous burdens, but we weren't quite sure why. Of course, I've been incredibly affected by the attack at work; everything has changed about everything at the office--from what we are doing, to when we are doing it, to who is doing what, and to who is covering for the whos that are doing what, and when. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">But the hardest thing has been just the sheer weight of collective grief in the community and region. I will note that there has been tremendous comfort and encouragement in seeing the community come together, but there is still this corporate shock and mourning that is still raw and palpable from day to day. I'm usually the bright and sunny, chipper lets-do-this worker bee at work... but this week, I was just so tired, and each day I thought it was later in the week than it actually was. I seriously thought Tuesday was Thursday--the week just seemed to stretch forever. And then I slept 11 hours last night. Because seriously: it was that kind of week.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">It's hard to explain this situation to Junior, though I try, because she needs to know and we cannot (nor should we) hide the realities of evil in this world from our child. I explain to her that there are sometimes people who hurt others in a big way, and sometimes even in the name of God, but that's not who our God is. When she sees beauty, and order, and harmony, and compassion, and peace, and joy, and community--those are indicative of who our God is. And when she sees discord, and grudges, and evil acts against others, and fighting, and shaming--those are indicative of the enemy. And our job is to believe in God, and hope in Him, and reflect the things that show who He is. (And also know that we all contribute to the evil in this world, and need Jesus to help us.) It was a good teaching opportunity... but what a horrifically sad occasion to have a teaching opportunity arise.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">The thing I've craved most this week is human connection. Usually I bring my lunch to work and work through lunch so I can get home sooner, and my co-workers have to drag me out to lunch once in a while (or I have to commit to myself that I will go hang out with them). But this week, I found myself trolling the halls, looking for a lunch partner, every single day. I just wanted to talk to someone, and process everything that was going on, and ... I don't know... feel better.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">And then I missed, more than ever, our friends from our heart-home of New York. I received a few sweet and thoughtful emails over the course of the week, which I appreciated so much. I was actually surprised at how few people reached out; maybe they thought that because the attack took place in a gay Latino nightclub that we were wholly unaffected. But the grief is widespread, and I don't know how else to explain it, but when something like this happens so close to home, it's just different.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Anyway, I miss my friends. I miss my family. We have a wonderful life here, and it would be perfect, except for the big missing piece of our beloved community. And we are building community--and have been blessed in that respect--but it's just not quite the same.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Alas.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">* * *</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Father's Day is tomorrow. Yay for fathers, and for those of us who have fathers in our lives who are worth celebrating.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">I bought a card for Mr. Squire that features a big bear on a bicycle with a little bear in the bicycle basket. It is so appropriate (SO appropriate!) because he always takes her to and from school on the bike, and she sits in a seat directly in front of him. Everyone in our neighborhood recognizes the baby in the green helmet on the bike with her daddy. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">And she is, indeed, so so lucky to have Mr. Squire as a dad. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">He changes all her diapers without complaint. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">He makes her laugh when she is sad. And when she is not sad.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">He prepares her lunch, cutting all those mushrooms, beans, strawberries, oranges, and pieces of chicken without fail. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">He packs her lunch, making sure to include 2 cups (milk and water), 2 containers (fruit and lunch), and a half piece of whole wheat bread in her bee bag. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">He plays with her after school for 3 hours each day until Mommy comes home--taking her to the playground, chasing her around the house, helping her perfect the art of lounging, feeding and cajoling her into finishing the remainder of her lunch (while bribing with cheese and goldfish), helping her water Mommy's airplants, etc.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">He constantly studies her behavior in an attempt to understand her better. He knows that when she is not feeling well, she wants to sit in our lap and read "God Bless You and Good Night" (her book from Auntie Cze-Ja).</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">He cares for her so deeply and lovingly.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">He teaches her new things constantly.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">He shows love to her mommy.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">He's the best daddy ever. You're welcome, Junior. Mommy picked a good one. (Okay, okay -- time to be humble... you're welcome, Junior. Mommy can't take any credit: God gave BOTH OF US a good one.)</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Happy Father's Day, Daddy. We love you so much.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><span style="color:rgb(120,63,4)"><br></span></div></div> E. Squirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02934958292570333030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5537964094059439737.post-16138022721390872072016-06-11T08:34:00.000-07:002016-06-11T08:35:15.309-07:00Reflections, Part II<div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Well, this rarely happens... when Junior is napping and Mr. Squire is at basketball, and I am awake enough to not want a nap, and... I finally have the physical and mental space to reflect. Feels nice. :)</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">One of the things that we're challenged with is the single mom living with us (without her child). Yesterday she put us on notice that her aunt in another state (who is caring for the child) told her that she doesn't need to rush in reuniting with the child; she should take the time she needs to restore her own life.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">This puts a bit of a wrench in our plans... our plans had been to give her a home to stay in, for free, for 4 months so that she could get her life in order enough (e.g. find a place to live, move in, get things ready) to reunite with her child. She has a job--a decent-paying one--and no substance-abuse issues, and she's clearly intelligent, so we figured 4 months should be sufficient. Looks like she'll be with us longer than that.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">But we can't have her live with us forever; that's not good for her or for us. So it leaves us in a bit of quandary as to what to do next. We never expected to essentially be parenting a teenager at our age (it's as if we had had a kid at 16!). We (Mr. Squire and I) talked about it at length last night, though, and I think we have a go-forward plan... I just hope/pray that it works out and doesn't blow up in our face somehow. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Starting next month, we're going to set monthly progressive goals for her that will build on one another (the ones we have in mind are: wash dishes twice a week, and prepare a meal for the whole family once a week; set a budget for the future; attend a support group; wash dishes twice a week and prepare a meal for the whole family twice a week--and "look for housing options" will be on each month's goal list), and starting in Month 5, we will start charging actual rent that she will not get back (instead, we will subtract out what it costs for her to live with us, then forward the balance to a battered women's shelter or something like that). </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">The thing is, if she's not going to reunited with her child, then...I guess the only thing we can really work toward is helping her gain her independence, since she claims that her ex emotionally abused her to the point where she couldn't make any of her own decisions. So my hope is that by setting these monthly goals for her--and making her continued stay with us contingent on her meeting those goals--we can give her structure and incentive to do the things she needs to do. I've never really dealt with someone who claimed to have PTSD as a result of emotional abuse, and I told her at the outset that we were here to encourage and support her and give her a safe place to heal and grow, but that we weren't here to be her counselors.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">I feel like our role is to give her a bit of tough love and guidance, to teach her and not enable her. I feel like so many voices in her life are just giving her license to wallow in her misery without a real step forward. And there is a definite place for grieving and processing and working through that mess (and that's what counseling and support groups are for), but there's also an entire life that needs to be moved on with...and a child who is waiting for her mommy's return.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">It's hard to know what is the right thing to do. It's challenging to balance our sense of "come on, get with it" against our recognition that she needs compassion and mercy. I'm not quite certain what the point of this exercise is, and we did kind of jump into it headlong without a lot of time to fully weigh the way it might play out. But I'm sure God will help us figure it out...</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small;color:#000099"><br></div></div> E. Squirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02934958292570333030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5537964094059439737.post-58521049132363294012016-06-10T18:59:00.001-07:002016-06-10T18:59:24.528-07:00Reflections<div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">There's nothing like being sick--and spending more than 36 hours in bed over two days--to get me to stop and reflect.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">And be thankful for health, and all the other days that have come and gone, without enough sleep, without enough decompression time, without enough exercise, (probably) without enough nutrition... without issue.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">And be thankful that at least my child is healthy again, because seeing her suffer through a fever and a bout of hand-foot-mouth last weekend was awful, and the only consolation was that I was able to be there to hold her in my lap, the only place she wanted to be, all...weekend...long.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">And linger a nice while on that thought, of little Junior on my lap. I love it when she's on my lap. She loves to climb onto my lap when I'm sitting in a chair. She loves to plop down on my lap when I'm sitting on the floor. She loves to walk up to me expectantly and look up at me with those eyes that say, "Pick me up, bosh?" (Because "bosh" means please in Junior-speak.) She loves it when Mommy holds her. It can stop her from crying in a second, it can bring a joyful smile to her face (with an excited kick of her legs), it can make her squeal with delight, it can bring her to her safe and comfy space. What a privilege to be the arms that hold this little one! I never say no, and I will carry her for an entire afternoon, through Costco, through the gardens, through the Science Center, whatever...because I know the day will soon come when I can carry her no longer. Or she won't want me to. These days are precious and limited, and I am enjoying each one.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">And sign onto Facebook and consider the brevity of our lives here. The number of friends, or friends-of-friends, or law school classmates, or family-of-friends who have lost their lives under the age of 35 is astonishing. A lot of cancer and other health problems. Mostly, actually. The occasional freak accident. All sad. All reminders to enjoy each moment that we have.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Which...I mostly do. But I feel the insidious monster of discontent creep in eventually, and it has been visiting me as of late. <i>Oh, who are your friends here, really? Who's your bestie at work? Oh, you don't have one? You get along with everyone great, but no bestie -- even though nearly everyone else has a bestie, how about youuu? And no mommy friends? Well, no close mommy friends? Well, that's what happens when you're a working mommy...no mommy friends for youuuu...</i></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><i><br></i></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">and on and on.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">I could finish, but it's time for my next nap!</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div></div> E. Squirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02934958292570333030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5537964094059439737.post-7063876403139422172016-05-11T18:27:00.001-07:002016-05-11T18:27:54.258-07:00Pause<div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">It's been one thing after another lately, and I just want to PAUSE...and reflect, even if just for a few minutes (because I need to pack for our trip tomorrow!).</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Since my ten-day stint away from home for training, a lot has happened. We bought a house (fewer than three weeks elapsed between the house going on the market and our closing), moved in, and I did my first trial. Oh, and we took in a single mom to live in our home for the next four months (but without the baby, who is in a different state...long story). Talk about...whew.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">It's been good. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">The house has been such a blessing. It is beautiful and practical, in the ideal location (for us), and came <i>furnished</i> (I know--whaaa???) in exactly the style that I love. It came with stuffed animals (hello! Match made in heaven!), including an elephant that is the exact twin of Junior's favorite stuffie from her first daycare. It came with the same drinking glasses that we received for our wedding but broke during our second move. It has a little yard where I can plant wildflowers. It has oodles and oodles of natural light. It is perfect for us, and such an amazing blessing. We are incredibly thankful at how generous God was in giving this to us.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">The move was fairly uneventful...for me. :-p Mr. Squire the long-suffering servant leader took care of most of it. Our third move in 20 months (and my 15th or so in 15 years). And our last one! YAY!</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Trial is still going. But it is almost over. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">The single mom living with us was unexpected and sudden. But we felt like God had given us this house just in time to meet her needs. So it was a leap of faith (we didn't even know her last name until three days before she moved in), and so far things are fine. It's a stretching experience for me to share my emotional space with someone who isn't family; I'm an introvert and especially with working on trial, I'm just tired/preoccupied most of the time. But it's been good and we continue to walk in faith that this is the right thing to do at this time.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">In other news, Junior is super-fun and has finally decided that she's willing to wear sunglasses. She is starting to talk more (more recent words include "hot," which sounds like "ahch"), is very expressive about most things, and is showing more interest in coloring (probably thanks to her wonderful teacher at school!). She is also pushing boundaries more, but almost always does a great job correcting her behavior when you tell her "no, let's try that again." She's a joy and a gift. We are so thankful for her!</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Mr. Squire continues to be the best life partner ever. I think the stress of the move was hard for us, but now we're more relaxed and back to our usual selves. :)</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Unpause...packing time!</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small;color:#000099"><br></div></div> E. Squirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02934958292570333030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5537964094059439737.post-20039586398666410952016-04-29T19:01:00.001-07:002016-04-29T19:01:37.019-07:00Fwd: Directions<div dir="ltr"><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04">Mr. Squire recently took a trip, leaving me alone with Batty for the first time since she started at her new school. She is only there part<div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small;color:rgb(0,0,153);display:inline">-</div>time, so I never drop her off and I never pick her up. It is always daddy who does all of that. So, kind of to my amusement and kind of to my embarrassment, Mr. Squire sent me a very detailed message to outline what exactly I should do and how I do it in order to find my way around and keep her routine the same. It was another reminder of how much Daddy does for the family. :)</font><div><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04"><br>---------- Forwarded message ----------<br>From: daddy<br>Date: April 2016<br>Subject: Directions <br>To: EmDash<br><br><br></font><div dir="ltr"><div><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04">Make sure you have her cup for water, and her bee bag w/ just milk and another cup and a bib.</font></div><div><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04">Walk in. <br>Say hi to Ms C at the desk and ask Batty to give her a smile.</font></div><div><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04"><b>Punch in xxxxx</b> enter. (code for Batty)</font></div><div><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04">Go thru the door to enter and take a left and go down the hallway. Bathrooms are on your left. End of the hallway. Ms K is in the corner, and Ms L the next door on the left. </font></div><div><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04">As you enter, drop off her watercup on the counter to your right (there is a bin).</font></div><div><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04">Also, to the left of the door, there are cubbies. Put her bee bag on top (have her help you). You can ask her if she wants Po Po. (Since it's the first time, I would bring Po Po to next room). Go back out and downhallway toward exit. Instead of exiting on right, take a left, and then the first or second door to the left is where before care is. I'm not sure who is there on Friday, but I think it's Ms. H.</font></div><div><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04">Sit down with her for 5 minutes or so. Hand her over to whoever the teacher is for a hug, and tell her you will be back at 6, a little on the later side.</font></div><div><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04">Good Luck honey.</font></div><div><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04">Pickup:</font></div><div><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04">Ring the doorbell. Someone should come get you. Sign out.</font></div><div><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04">Punch in <b>XXXXX</b> to sign out. </font></div><div><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04">Give her lots of hugs. </font></div><div><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04">I would enjoy the pickup. <br></font></div><div><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04">Sometimes she needs a few minutes before getting on bike/ in car. But tell her firmly after 5 minutes or so that you will give her milk when you get home and thru the garage.</font></div><div><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04"><br></font></div></div> <br></div> </div> E. Squirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02934958292570333030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5537964094059439737.post-36580285943028408822016-03-07T18:44:00.001-08:002016-03-07T18:44:22.624-08:00Pictures from Mr. Squire<p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkc1p4gHk0aRXszApXVudgvgCcNwR7TWLUFbYVsRTa9dnaDoIOgomtaaeS2_vXZdfrpvldrVRALPtWh0SUI_IFDa3JScefQflcQ-yPT47QvxGCq7-mnZ0YidTqahItf0E_2HqZWVweEwB4/s1600/10002950_10102695428726021_712253759534287920_n-762625.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkc1p4gHk0aRXszApXVudgvgCcNwR7TWLUFbYVsRTa9dnaDoIOgomtaaeS2_vXZdfrpvldrVRALPtWh0SUI_IFDa3JScefQflcQ-yPT47QvxGCq7-mnZ0YidTqahItf0E_2HqZWVweEwB4/s320/10002950_10102695428726021_712253759534287920_n-762625.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6259507083535739154" /></a></p><p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6miohXOcznr-0of3f78zI4mfIgj3B4KLg-Wnf3fZBnG0hBwQWGJOBiW8HpvTheb_xicyn1O-P6rQ5WaR2sbrnSdK2AlpG3IzLSTlCuz6C8I_3b9Q_iTrfNHLEwANfPPNIWkLsGc-BkAAt/s1600/12801331_10102695429030411_8598954433099147955_n-766238.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6miohXOcznr-0of3f78zI4mfIgj3B4KLg-Wnf3fZBnG0hBwQWGJOBiW8HpvTheb_xicyn1O-P6rQ5WaR2sbrnSdK2AlpG3IzLSTlCuz6C8I_3b9Q_iTrfNHLEwANfPPNIWkLsGc-BkAAt/s320/12801331_10102695429030411_8598954433099147955_n-766238.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6259507102540728114" /></a></p><p class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1ApsEevafonHhfbjNvl6fqJMXyZP7u-2tFeOYLSnupk31OwdtN-B-n5sI8o1nTk7FYa5hC3VdsS3WLBd_QgI5jOv0IIwvIhF3owTyO4r8MqeE0rjER5Jykrnxx4lrXNYZq-WMPYl3535R/s1600/12814559_10102695431819821_927838836371412778_n-769237.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1ApsEevafonHhfbjNvl6fqJMXyZP7u-2tFeOYLSnupk31OwdtN-B-n5sI8o1nTk7FYa5hC3VdsS3WLBd_QgI5jOv0IIwvIhF3owTyO4r8MqeE0rjER5Jykrnxx4lrXNYZq-WMPYl3535R/s320/12814559_10102695431819821_927838836371412778_n-769237.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_6259507116625333906" /></a></p><div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">That (to him) basically sum up his week with Junior as I've been gone. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"></font><br></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Hehehe.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"></font><br></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">I actually think they're pretty accurate.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"></font><br></div><div class="gmail_default" style="color:rgb(0,0,153);font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><br></div></div> E. Squirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02934958292570333030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5537964094059439737.post-85044492173869664052016-03-06T07:29:00.001-08:002016-03-06T07:29:40.410-08:00Excerpt from MLK's Mountain Top Sermon<div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia,serif">Delivered the day before he was assassinated:</font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia,serif"></font><br></div><div class="gmail_default"><p align="justify"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia,serif"><em>Let us develop a kind of dangerous unselfishness. </em></font></p><p align="justify"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia,serif"><em>One day a man came to Jesus; and he wanted to raise some questions about some vital matters in life. At points, he wanted to trick Jesus, and show him that he knew a little more than Jesus knew, and through this, throw him off base. Now that question could have easily ended up in a philosophical and theological debate. But Jesus immediately pulled that question from mid-air, and placed it on a dangerous curve between Jerusalem and Jericho. And he talked about a certain man, who fell among thieves. </em></font></p><p align="justify"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia,serif"><em>Y</em></font><font color="#783f04" face="georgia,serif"><em>ou remember that a Levite and a priest passed by on the other side. They didn't stop to help him. And finally a man of another race came by. He got down from his beast, decided not to be compassionate by proxy. But with him, administered first aid, and helped the man in need. Jesus ended up saying, this was the good man, because he had the capacity to project the "I" into the "thou," and to be concerned about his brother. </em></font></p><p align="justify"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia,serif"><em>Now you know, we use our imagination a great deal to try to determine why the priest and the Levite didn't stop. At times we say they were busy going to church meetings--an ecclesiastical gathering--and they had to get on down to Jerusalem so they wouldn't be late for their meeting. At other times we would speculate that there was a religious law that "One who was engaged in religious ceremonials was not to touch a human body twenty-four hours before the ceremony." And every now and then we begin to wonder whether maybe they were not going down to Jerusalem, or down to Jericho, rather to organize a "Jericho Road Improvement Association." That's a possibility. Maybe they felt that it was better to deal with the problem from the casual root, rather than to get bogged down with an individual effort.</em></font></p><p align="justify"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia,serif"><em>But I'm going to tell you what my imagination tells me. It's possible that these men were afraid. </em></font></p><p align="justify"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia,serif"><em>You see, the Jericho road is a dangerous road. I remember when Mrs. King and I were first in Jerusalem. We rented a car and drove from Jerusalem down to Jericho. And as soon as we got on that road, I said to my wife, "I can see why Jesus used this as a setting for his parable." It's a winding, meandering road. It's really conducive for ambushing. You start out in Jerusalem, which is about 1200 miles, or rather 1200 feet above sea level. And by the time you get down to Jericho, fifteen or twenty minutes later, you're about 2200 feet below sea level. That's a dangerous road. In the day of Jesus it came to be known as the "Bloody Pass." </em></font></p><p align="justify"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia,serif"><em>A</em></font><font color="#783f04" face="georgia,serif"><em>nd you know, it's possible that the priest and the Levite looked over that man on the ground and wondered if the robbers were still around. Or it's possible that they felt that the man on the ground was merely faking. And he was acting like he had been robbed and hurt, in order to seize them over there, lure them there for quick and easy seizure. </em></font></p><p align="justify"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia,serif"><em><strong>And so the first question that the Levite asked was, "If I stop to help this man, what will happen to me?" But then the Good Samaritan came by. And he reversed the question: "If I do not stop to help this man, what will happen to him?"</strong></em></font></p><p align="justify"><font color="#783f04" face="georgia,serif"><em></em></font><br></p></div></div> E. Squirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02934958292570333030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5537964094059439737.post-15377390298817889492016-03-04T15:22:00.001-08:002016-03-04T15:22:44.624-08:00Dear Junior<div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Dear Junior,</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><br><font color="#783f04">We are apart for the first time ever as Mommy goes on a business trip. Ten days! We sure jumped in with both feet first on this. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"></font><br></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Mommy left on Monday and it is Friday evening. What a long week it has been. I'm so grateful that your grandparents (Mommy's parents) came to help Daddy out. You've been having a lot of fun with them, and it has made me very relieved and happy to see you having fun in my absence.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"></font><br></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">You've been giving Mommy besos and trying to hug the iPad when we FaceTime. It breaks my heart but warms it as well. Thanks for not getting mad at me (yet) for leaving you. I'll be back within a week.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"></font><br></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">In the meantime, Mommy has been learning a lot and practicing a lot of trial advocacy skills. It's been an encouraging week; I'm learning a lot of the things I need to know to do my job well, and I've been seeing what my strengths are in the courtroom. For the first time, I'm seeing what my gifts are in the courtroom, and I'm really experiencing the fact that God has prepared--and gifted--me for all of this. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"></font><br></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Daddy and I pray that for you all the time: that you would discover the gifts that God has given you and use those gifts to bless others. It truly brings joy and meaning to life.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"></font><br></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">I miss you so, so much. I can't wait to give you a gigantic hug, smother you with besos, and pretty much not let you go when I get home.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"></font><br></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Have a great weekend, my little. Mommy loves you tons.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"></font><br></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Love to Junior,</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Mommy</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"></font></div></div> E. Squirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02934958292570333030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5537964094059439737.post-21106976307025886902016-01-31T17:40:00.000-08:002016-01-31T17:41:11.897-08:00Lessons As of Late<div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default" style=""><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><span style="color:rgb(127,96,0)">It seems I experience spiritual growth in fits and starts as of late, and I am grateful because the last couple of days have brought bits of fits and smatterings of starts. Some convicting, some illuminating--and all reassuring of God's love and involvement in my life. He cares enough to speak to me, and for that I am always grateful, whether the speech brings encouragement, admonishment, warning, or direction.</span><br></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#7f6000"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#7f6000">Here's what I've been hearing lately:</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#7f6000"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#7f6000"><b>Lesson of the Hi-Chew (taken from an email I wrote recently)</b></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#7f6000"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#7f6000">Yesterday Junior had a big bag of Hi-Chews and was taking all of the candies out and putting them back in. She toddled around the room and when I asked her to share some with me, she did. Then Daddy asked her to give Mommy a <span class="">beso </span>(since she has been refusing to do so lately; she just shakes her head), and instead she gave me three Hi-Chews. She did that, like, three times. :-p So I ended up with a handful of Hi-Chews and no <span class="">beso</span>. I told Batty that this was a good object lesson for our relationship with God. God says He doesn't want our gifts and sacrifices; he wants our love and affection and heart. He doesn't want the Hi-Chews; He wants the <span class="">beso</span>.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#7f6000"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#7f6000">Easier to see now that I'm in the parent role how hurtful it is to God when I attempt to do stuff for Him, but don't also spend time and give Him my love and heart. Doing stuff for God is great--but only with the heart there too. Of course, I know Batty loves Mommy; I'd be a lot more stressed about this <span class="">beso</span> thing if she didn't cry out 3 times a night for me to hug her, and if she wasn't uber-clingy all the time on the weekends. Haha. But the Hi-Chew/<span class="">beso</span> thing made me think.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#7f6000"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#7f6000"><b>The Chaff and the Wheat, the Wicked and the Righteous</b></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#7f6000"><b><br></b></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#7f6000">I've been listening to Matthew 13 in my slow slog through the Gospel of Matthew. I feel like I've been working on getting through Matthew for what seems like forever. I don't advertise this, but in many ways the Old Testament is easier for me to understand than the New Testament because I often feel like I don't "get" Jesus. I don't really understand the magnitude of what He did on the cross. Like, I "know" that I'm a sinner and I need a Savior, and I know He died on the cross and rose again to conquer death, and because I believe that His death and resurrection paid for my sins, so I can have a right relationship with God, but... so often I don't feel that I really <i>know</i> what that means.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#7f6000"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#7f6000">So then I read things like the Parable of the Sower in Matthew 13, and freak out a little bit in my soul when I hear about the fact that weeds and wheat are permitted to grow <i>together</i>, and it's only in the end times that Jesus will sift through them and pick one apart from the other in judgment. I freak out because the judgment is so severe: the chaff will be raised together with the good stuff, but cast away into the fire. But I freak out only a little because Jesus talks about the wicked versus the righteous and when I think about whether I'm more wicked than righteous, mmm...I tend to think of myself as tipping on the scale of righteous more than wicked.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#7f6000"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#7f6000">Ah, but WRONG! Last night (and yes, it was just last night that this clicked) I had an epiphany. And like many of my revelations about Jesus, they are late in coming and seemingly elementary to many of you. But they are relieving and dear to me because while I feel I have a strong grasp on the Father and the Holy Spirit, King Jesus just seems so elusive most of the time.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#7f6000"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#7f6000">So the epiphany went essentially like this: The references to the wicked and the righteous have nothing (directly) to do with my deeds here on earth (i.e. the metric by which I measure my own "more righteous than not" status). They have purely to do with the state of my soul as tainted by sin, or not. And Jesus's work on the cross and his subsequent resurrection took the dead, twisted, rotted weed of my soul and covered it with the likeness and newness of fruitful wheat--ripe for the final harvest. He made me righteous, and not by anything I have done, but only through what He has done. On the cross.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#7f6000"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#7f6000">Simple, I know. And why it took me so long to arrive at this, ...not sure. It's one of my great spiritual struggles. There you have it. I'm glad to have that piece resolved.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#7f6000"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#7f6000"><b>Notes from Today's Sermon</b></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style=""><ul style=""><li style=""><font color="#7f6000" face="georgia, serif">God doesn't call us to remain within our community, just taking care of our own. He called us to do what He did: go <i>out</i> to others who do not believe, and find them, and seek them, and get them. <u>Intercede</u> for them, <u>invest</u> in their lives, and <u>invite</u> them to join the community and ultimately to believe in Jesus.</font></li></ul><ul style=""><li style=""><font color="#7f6000" face="georgia, serif">Our world favors the following hierarchy in terms of prioritizing our time: financial (earning a lot of money), intellectual (knowing a lot of stuff), physical (how we present ourselves to others), relational (how we relate to others), spiritual (how we relate to God). And while all such endeavors have their own level of importance, perhaps the better order of priority for our counterculture as Christians should be the inverse: first spiritual, then relational. Then physical, then intellectual, then financial. I don't have a lot of free time these days, with Junior on our hands and a job that is more manageable but still time-consuming (especially with my first trial coming up!). And now that I've stepped away from private practice and am doing the work I felt God had always called me to do, the financial aspect has gone away a lot. And I do feel that I've placed a much greater emphasis on spending time with people. But in listening to the sermon, I was convicted by this concept of the temporal versus the eternal. I've always had a dream of owning a magazine-looking house. Not a big one, but a very cozy one that is inviting and nice to be in. One that will make people want to visit, and feel welcome when they do visit, and one that will provide great memories for our kids....But that's the thing: it's not the house that makes the memories, nor is it the nice-looking decor that makes people want to visit. I want to <i>think</i> that the slick kitchen backsplash, six-burner gas range, stainless steel appliances (seriously, where did these wishes come from--HGTV?!?!), the shiny wooden floors, the tall ceilings, the modern arches, the bright and airy layout, the cozy throw over that perfectly placed corner chair, the minimalist-but-sophisticated decor, the plantation shutters (ha!), the granite countertops (that never seemed to matter to me before I knew about them), you get my drift... I want to <i>think</i> that all that stuff is necessary to the making of a welcoming, inviting, cozy, good-memory home. And it's not. In fact, I could have all that stuff and have just that: stuff. Without a home at all. And there's the rub: true life is found in the spiritual and relational. Not the temporal stuff. So all this time I spend (and it's not that much, but it's still a waste) on Pinterest fantasizing over this <i>stuff</i> is...wasteful. It's not where true life is found. That is time I could and should be using on spiritual things: writing an email of encouragement. Praying for the needs of brothers and sisters. Interceding for the salvation of friends and family. Reading the Bible. Meditating on it. Being still and knowing that He is God. </font></li></ul><ul style=""><li style=""><font color="#7f6000" face="georgia, serif">The Gospel should drive us to spend our time, talent, and treasure on God's mission, for His glory. Amen!</font></li></ul><div><font color="#7f6000" face="georgia, serif"><br></font></div><div><br></div></div></div></div> E. Squirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02934958292570333030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5537964094059439737.post-22731158472311202592016-01-10T17:12:00.001-08:002016-01-10T17:12:41.511-08:00Dear Junior<div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Dear Junior,</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Oftentimes I go through our days together as if I'm watching a magic show. A magic show with lots of "crayons stay on table, please" and "not in your mouth, please" and "can you please share with Mommy? No? Okay..." and wiping up seemingly endless yellow snot and the occasional poopy diaper (though Daddy takes care of 95% of those). But magical all the same. And I wonder if every mom feels as lucky as I do.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">You make so many moments special, particularly when you flash your winning grin--with your teeth showing and your face all scrunched up and a giggle gurgling from the back of your throat. You give me this face when I come get you in the morning. When we lie down to nurse. When you see me enter the room. When you walk, because you realize that you're actually walking. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">You reach out for Mommy all the time. Still in your clingy stage, and Daddy tries to reduce the amount of time Mommy holds you to alleviate my foot pain, but I keep telling him--I don't mind. That's right; Mommy doesn't mind. These years will be short, my little. So very short. And soon you'll be too big for me to ergo to sleep at church and too heavy for me to carry to and fro. So no, I don't mind at all. Let me carry you whenever you reach for me, and joyfully and with gladness and gratitude.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">And you're just plain busy. It's often fun just to sit back and watch you do your thing: pick up the poker chips and put them on the couch. Then bring them to the table. Then bring them to and from a cardboard box on the floor in the living room. Grab your baton and walk about as you carry on with the rest of your many tasks. Visit the stuffies--Birdie, JJ, Froggy, Bunny Blanket, and Sleepy Sheepy continue to be your favorites. You grab them with great excitement, then pat them lovingly on the back. Then you carry them in one arm and continue on your merry way. You like the bigger stuffies--ones that are half your size--so you look funny as you amble about with your treasured fuzzy friends. Mommy can't get enough of it.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">You do a funny thing with books: you just flip the pages back and forth with extreme interest. And you attempt to write, but always with the wrong side facing the paper. You shake your head no vigorously when we ask you questions. Sometimes your no means no. Sometimes it actually means yes, we think. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">I continue to watch with great amusement when you drink out of your straw cup. It feels like such an achievement to have had you skip the sippy cup altogether (to avoid dental problems). Now I need to figure out how and when to wean you from sucking your thumb. Oh, your left thumb. That will not be easy. You and it have been such close friends for almost an entire year now...</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">You're mostly obedient, though you do like to cry out when you don't get what you want sometimes. That always makes me uneasy, but thankfully you settle down pretty quickly, and Mommy and Daddy encourage each other not to give in. We remind ourselves that you need us to provide the structure that you don't know how to create, and creating that structure will give you boundaries that make you feel like life is safe and predictable.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">You have an extensive palate. Right now I think the only food you really shun is corn. Yellow corn. Poor, poor yellow corn. You'll eat everything from dried seaweed to roasted mushrooms, roasted sweet potatoes (including the purple, white, Chinese, North Carolina medium, and North Carolina jumbo varieties we tried this weekend), green beans, spicy tofu, garlic anything, brown rice, avocado, yogurt, carrots, and all kinds of fruit. But not yellow corn. Oh well, more for Daddy!</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">You bring us endless delight, my little. I treasure each day with you and am so thankful I get to be your mommy. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Lots of love to Bathands,</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Mommy</font></div></div> E. Squirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02934958292570333030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5537964094059439737.post-16014897898499554682015-12-28T17:42:00.001-08:002015-12-28T17:42:24.962-08:00Let's Be Real...<div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Life is good here in Palmtreeville. Mostly. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">I still pinch myself most days, tickled and shocked at the fact that I'm finally living out my dream at work. Unbelievable. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">My wonderful baby girl and her dad are fantastic (albeit exhausting) housemates. This evening, Daddy was trying to build a tower taller than Junior with her new wooden blocks, and Junior was toddling over and knocking it over like Godzilla. Good times had by all. These are the moments that make life magical.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">And ridiculously hot weather aside, it is beautiful here. Flowers, trees, puffy clouds, a beautiful sky, and a piercing sunset every evening as I leave the office. The fact that I leave at a time at which I can still see the sun is a shocker.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">So...life is good here in Palmtreeville. Mostly.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Today at lunch, I took a walk (yes, I took my lunch hour! Again, a shocker), and walked round and round the nearby lake, passing hoards of sandpipers, herons, swans, and geese. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">It was nice. But I was lonely.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">My mind was in New York... on the grimy, nasty streets of New York. On the crowded, bustling sidewalks of New York. On the beautiful, beloved faces of my friends-like-family in New York. I kept thinking (as I often do these days) that I can't wait to go back to visit. Surely, it won't be the same--and that will be a mixed blessing--but I still can't wait to go back and see the faces that I love, and the City that I was too busy to learn to love.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Reminded of our call to remain grateful in all things, and reminded of the tremendous abundance of life that God has given me here and there and everywhere, I tried to pray. I really did. But not much came out. Some praise, some thanks, and then I fell silent.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">And I decided that it was probably okay for me to just be still and know that He is God. (Always my excuse when I don't have prayers readily on my lips.) And that He was walking with me, mourning with me a while, encouraging me to be glad, and helping me remember my prior life with thanksgiving and some sorrow.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small;color:#000099"><br></div></div> E. Squirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02934958292570333030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5537964094059439737.post-34193366649087068382015-12-26T08:13:00.001-08:002015-12-26T08:13:41.901-08:00The Struggle is Real, And Grace Is, Too<div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04">I've been reading a fantastic book called "Have a Little Faith," by Mitch Albom (who is not a Christian). I read last night a section when Mitch went to an old dilapidated church in Detroit and got to know the pastor there. The pastor (a former drug addict and dealer) mentioned that sometimes his parishioners came to church all high on drugs, and Mitch said, "Really? Don't you mind?" And the pastor's response was this:</font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><blockquote class="gmail_quote" style="margin:0px 0px 0px 0.8ex;border-left-width:1px;border-left-color:rgb(204,204,204);border-left-style:solid;padding-left:1ex"><font color="#783f04"><span style="font-family:Muli,'Lucida Sans Unicode','Lucida Grande',Verdana,Tahoma,Arial,sans-serif;font-size:13px">"I don't care if you're drunk, or you just left the drug house, I don't care. When I'm sick, I go to the emergency room. And if the problem continues, I go again. So whatever's ailing you, let this church be your emergency room. Until you get the healing, don't stop comng." </span></font></blockquote><div class="gmail_default"><span style="font-family:Muli,'Lucida Sans Unicode','Lucida Grande',Verdana,Tahoma,Arial,sans-serif;font-size:13px"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></span></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04">That response reminded me of Jesus saying that He came to heal the sick, not the well. And it convicted me, because I spend a lot of time trying to be "well" -- or at least do things that make me look like I'm "well." But God knows the truth, and deep down, I do too. I am sick and I need help. And in addition to mourning this and repenting, I need to also REJOICE! Because Jesus is our emergency room, and he invites us to come to him for healing... over and over...and over... and over. Until we get the healing, He says, we are still welcome--don't stop coming. How wonderful!</font></div></div></div> E. Squirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02934958292570333030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5537964094059439737.post-12527752509011446582015-12-23T18:30:00.001-08:002015-12-23T18:30:53.681-08:00Dear Junior: Christmas is Coming!<div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Dear Junior,</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">It's been a rough week for all of us. First you got sick with roseola, then you caught the common cold--which you generously shared with Daddy and Mommy. (Not on purpose, we know!) Then things got extra-bad when Mommy came down with mastitis, which is still keeping Mommy down. We are all still coughing and sneezing and wiping our noses and chasing away fevers. But we are together and I keep thinking to myself, <i>what a crazy endeavor it is--to raise a child and have a family. It's so much work! And so very worth it. I feel luckier than lucky to be blessed with such an opportunity. Thank You, Lord</i>.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Some of the fun/funny things you've been doing lately include:</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style=""><ul style=""><li style=""><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04">"Wiping" your face with both hands (from top to bottom), then grinning widely (i.e. with scrunchy face). Not sure why you think this is hilarious, but it brings you such delights both when you do it and when I do it. </font></li></ul><ul style=""><li style=""><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04">Impressing us with your capacity to eat. You ate almost an entire avocado at dinner today! And that's on top of quite a few green beans and a generous serving of your all-time favorite -- blueberries.</font></li></ul><ul style=""><li style=""><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04">Speaking of blueberries, you always know when we have them. (I guess we have them every day.) But you always know where we keep them! (Though I guess we always keep them in the green cup.) So when we bring out the green cup, you always point to it because you want its contents. And when I start to pour out some berries, you stick your little fingers in and help yourself to some more...and some more...and some more... silly Bathands. It's so cute.</font></li></ul><ul style=""><li style=""><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04">You're getting much better at not crying at daycare dropoff anymore. Yay! It was always so hard for me to leave you crying. So thankful that you have adjusted, and it seems that you have fun while you're there. Daddy says that when he goes to pick you up, you get really excited and start waving goodbye to all your school friends as soon as you see Daddy through the window. Funny Batty. Funny, funny Batty.</font></li></ul><ul style=""><li style=""><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04">You have discovered Mommy's Stuffies. And not just JJ (who, I should remind you, is originally Mommy's). You have discovered where Mommy's Stuffies live! So when you find yourself in Mommy and Daddy's room, you like to point to the Stuffie Apartment and get all excited when we bring you there. You aren't partial to any particular ones...mosquito, raccoon, macaw, roachie, hippo, sheepy -- you love them all (though you seem to have a particular affinity for Sleepy Sheepy and his soft blue sleeping hat). Whenever you reach for one or we hand one to you, you eagerly reach for it, and give it a big, tender hug. You have great capacity to love, my ducky. Ama first observed your tremendous tenderness and we've seen it many times since. This is good, ducky, very good. :)</font></li></ul><ul style=""><li style=""><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04">Your little pointer finger continues to be one of your best modes of communication. You point at the music box at dinner when you want Mommy to play it for you (you have a fascination with the music box). You point at food or your straw cup when you want something in particular. You point to the Stuffie Apartment when you want one of Mommy's stuffies. You point to Mr. Yellow when you want your highlighter. It's really cute and fun. Hopefully you will start to talk a little more, though :) (Although we do hear you babble to yourself before you fall asleep, though, so know you CAN talk!</font></li></ul><div><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04">You continue to bring us such delight. We love you so much. It's hardest when we see you crying because you're sad (mostly just in the context of daycare dropoff) or when your sinful side shows itself and we have to discipline you. It's hard to know whether what we're doing, or the way we're doing it, is right. But we continue to pray (often in front of you) for wisdom from God, who <i>does</i> know the right way to discipline and raise you. And we trust that God is answering our prayers and will provide, and will give grace where we fail.</font></div><div><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04">We love you tons and tons and tons, our dearest ducky.</font></div><div><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04">Love to Batty,</font></div><div><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04">Mommy</font></div></div></div> E. Squirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02934958292570333030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5537964094059439737.post-57857905757541402432015-12-07T18:54:00.001-08:002015-12-07T18:54:45.265-08:00I Will Look Up<div dir="ltr"><div id="lyric_tt" style="margin-bottom:20px;font-weight:bold;font-size:14px;line-height:22px"><h2 style="margin:0px;padding:0px;font-size:14px"><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04"><span style="font-size:13px;font-weight:normal">All the worries of this world</span><br></font></h2></div><p style="font-size:13px;line-height:22px"><font face="georgia, serif" color="#783f04">I will lay them at Your feet<br>Surrender every anxious thought<br>For perfect peace, Your perfect peace<br><br><br>All the loved ones I hold dear<br>All my hopes and dreams and all my fears<br>I will choose to trust Your name<br>In everything, with everything<br><br>I will look up for there is none above You<br>I will bow down to tell You that I need You<br>Jesus Lord of all, Jesus Lord of all<br><br>I will take You at Your word<br>For Jesus You have taken hold of me<br>All my life is in Your hands<br>You are my strength, You are my strength<br><br>I will look up for there is none above You<br>I will bow down to tell You that I need You<br>Jesus Lord of all<br><br><b>I will look back and see that You are faithful<br>I look ahead believing You are able</b><br>Jesus Lord of all, Jesus Lord of all<br><br>Prince of Peace, Perfect Healer<br>All my life, all my cares on You<br>King of Kings, Mighty Savior<br>All my life, all my cares on You<br><br><b>I will look up for there is none above You<br>I will bow down to tell You that I need You<br>Jesus Lord of all</b><br><br>I will look back and see that You are faithful<br>I look ahead believing You are able<br>Jesus Lord of all, You're Jesus Lord of all<br>Our God is Jesus Lord of all, You're Jesus Lord of all</font></p><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small;color:rgb(0,0,153)"><br></div></div> E. Squirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02934958292570333030noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5537964094059439737.post-17064877594605813652015-11-28T07:42:00.001-08:002015-11-28T07:42:45.680-08:00Post-Thanksgiving Reflections<div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Dear Junior,</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">At this moment, you are napping peacefully in the big bed, clutching JJ with one arm. JJ is your best stuffie friend these days, though Froggy and the Bunny Blanket are a close second and third. You can go hours on end, roaming around the apartment and playing with various toys, and clinging to JJ with your left hand. (And when we go outdoors, you clutch a yellow highlighter instead.)</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Thanksgiving has come and gone. Your Ama and Yeye came to visit, and you've been having a great time with them. Yeye has kept his distance so as to intrigue--rather than scare--you, and you finally are starting to approach him yourself with curiosity. You and Ama are good friends, and you play with her and give her lots of smiles all day long. It's fun to watch you have so much fun with them. Thanks for bringing us together, little one.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">You took your first step--and second, and third, and fourth--on Thanksgiving day. You've been getting yourself to a standing position quickly on your own lately, but until Thanksgiving, you hadn't taken any steps. Well done, ducky!</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Today you also started feeding yourself yogurt with a spoon at breakfast, and I think I saw you take three real sips from your straw cup! Perhaps Mommy will win in avoiding giving you a sippy cup altogether after all. :)</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">You continue to eat and eat and eat, though it takes you a long, long time to do so. You love all foods--except corn. You used to eat yellow corn, and now you have decided that you don't like it. But you eat everything else--carrots, peas, green beans, Chinese greens, beef, noodles, chicken, duck, meatballs, avocado, yogurt, cereal,...and fruit. Always lots and lots of fruit. Watermelon seems to be a front runner (that's my girl!), followed by oranges, bananas, apples, Asian pears, grapes, and berries of all sorts. You're eating pretty well. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Daycare transition hasn't been the easiest for you--or for me. It's really hard to leave you every morning, crying. I usually hang out for at least 10-15 minutes and watch you play. And then it's like you know my departure is imminent, and you get super-clingy and start wailing. Breaks my heart every time. I'm glad you love me, as I love you, and I'm even glad that you love me enough to miss me, as I surely miss you. But seeing your weepy face makes my heart so sad. You're in good hands at school, ducky--and you love other children. I can't wait til you love being there full-time. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Work has been going well for Mommy. I absolutely love my job, and while there are a million things to learn, I am slowly absorbing the incredible body of knowledge I need to perform effectively. My colleagues are superb, and the work is super-meaningful. For the first time in my adult life, everything is all in line: I have an incredibly loving and wonderful hobey, a precious and fun and incredible daughter, and a job--THE job--that I love. What a journey it has been, but God spared me a 40-year wandering and made it more like 14 years. I am so deeply grateful when I look back on the journey; surely the winding and uncertain path makes arrival at the destination so much more sweet and triumphant. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">The challenge is maintaining a close walk with God in these good days. It's easy to forget God, and to feel as if I don't need Him that badly. But I need Him more than ever. Thankfully the daunting task of parenting keeps me on my knees, but even more than that--I continue to need God for life. You do, too. And we pray for you each day, with you and for you, that you would know how much God loves you, and how He knows you, and how He wants to be known and loved by you. My desire for you to know those things reminds me each day that the same apply to me, too.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Have a good nap, my little. Mommy will be here to play with you when you get up.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Love,</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Mommy</font></div></div> E. Squirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02934958292570333030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5537964094059439737.post-69104111874291403592015-11-13T18:35:00.000-08:002015-11-13T18:36:03.340-08:00Dear Junior - Happy Birthday!<div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Dear Junior,</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">We had such a blast celebrating your birthday. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">What a joy it was to spend the entire day with you again. Your enthusiasm made it clear that you were happy, too. Thanks, my little. Mommy needed that reassurance; it just about broke my heart when (after my first couple days at work) you didn't rush to greet Mommy, and you just looked at me and sucked your thumb when I came home. I keep reminding myself that I am in this job for a reason, and the part about missing you and you missing me may be our cross to bear -- and God will help us through it. We must trust Him.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">For your birthday, we FaceTimed with both sets of your grandparents. And during your morning nap, Mommy snuck out to get birthday candles and five balloons -- pink, yellow, blue, green, and purple. (And I paid the extra 15 cents per balloon to get the special spray that makes them last longer...and indeed, they've lasted a couple extra days!) You had a lot of fun playing with the balloons and their ribbons, and I had a lot of fun watching you. It's so fun to watch you do a lot of things. :)</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">We played at the playground (and took your balloons along), and there were a lot of kids there to keep you company. Daddy helped you climb up (yes, up) the slide, and Mommy stayed at the top as "bait" since you always got really excited to crawl up to Mommy. You had a good time. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">After dinner, Mommy upended a container of plain yogurt, surrounded it with frozen berries (your favorite!), and lit a candle. Voila! An unsweetened birthday cake. :) We sang to you and read you your cards. You loved it, and we had (yes, again) a lot of fun watching you go to town on that cake. By the end, it was everywhere: in your hair, ALL over your face, and even on your feet. How did you manage to accomplish that??</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">So there you have it. A simple birthday for my incredible girl. An entire year has passed since God sent you to us, and we love you so, so much. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">In other news, Mommy is now two weeks into the job. Half a month! It's amazing how much Mommy loves her work. And everything is easier here... my roundtrip commute is usually 35-50 minutes total--which is less than some of my one-way commutes were back in the City. And I leave home late enough to go to the gym, shower, and eat breakfast with you...and I come home early enough to (sometimes cook and) eat dinner with you and play with you before bed (even though you go to bed a full hour earlier than you used to). After you go to bed, I catch up on things like email and blogging and yesterday, I even put up our Christmas tree. On a weekday! I'm very much enjoying this slower pace of life. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">(Oh, and did I mention that the lunch hour actually exists here?? Apparently it's a thing--to actually take a lunch break. My mentor goes to the gym during that hour. My boss closes her door and reads the WSJ for an hour. A group of us go out to lunch some days--especially Fridays. On the off days, I get emails and other tasks done during that time. Another colleague picks up his kids and wife and has lunch with them at home during the hour. AMAZING!)</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">We are also making friends here, by God's grace. He has answered swiftly our pleas for community and fellowship here. I have my Thursday-morning women's breakfast prayer group with four other like-minded sisters. Daddy has his Wednesday-morning meetup with the husband of one of those sisters. We are making friends at church and at small group. We are making friends in the neighborhood at the playground and with our neighbors. Tomorrow we're even going to a dinner party at our neighbor's house! Such abundance could only have come by God working in ways we cannot see.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">So we enter a season of joy and gratitude. Even as we continue to long for our loving and beloved friends and family back at home, we turn our faces to the light and embrace the richness that God has given us now. It is good. We are thankful.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Lots of love,</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Mommy</font></div></div> E. Squirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02934958292570333030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5537964094059439737.post-10927080423935514042015-11-03T04:53:00.000-08:002015-11-03T04:54:17.725-08:00The First Day<div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04">Was awesome! I actually met 80% of the office yesterday at the boss's house; he had invited everyone and our families over for dinner. It was a wonderful way to meet people so that on Monday, a lot of faces looked familiar. </font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04">It definitely feels like this is what I'm supposed to be doing. It's like climbing a mountain and looking over the vista and feeling such a sense of rightness and satisfaction. I am so, so, SO thankful for this -- for the manageable hours (I was home in time to bring Junior to storytime at the library!), for the meaningful work, for the amazing work environment (seriously, I've never met a nicer group). It's just incredible.</font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04">I've finished reading Deuteronomy, and am back in Joshua, where Joshua and the Israelites are about to cross into the Promised Land. Deuteronomy held strong warnings for Israel, and for me: do not forget the Lord your God when you enter the Promised Land. Do not bow down to false idols. Serve the Lord and worship Him only. Love the Lord your God with all your soul, heart, and strength--and it will go well with you and those after you.</font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04">I know how easy it is to forget God--even after He has accomplished so great a victory. I'm not talking about the Promised Land; I'm talking about Christ's salvation. And how much more easy it is to forget Him after lesser (but still great) victories. Praying against any forgetting of the journey that brought us here, and any forgetting of the Lord of our lives as we press forth in joy and service.</font></div><div class="gmail_default"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div></div></div> E. Squirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02934958292570333030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5537964094059439737.post-14821248859317732942015-10-31T14:14:00.000-07:002015-10-31T14:15:01.345-07:00The Remaining Days: the Eve of the Eve<div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">How quickly they have gone! And how to measure the days?</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Seven visits to the playground.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Approximately 20 miles walked around the neighborhood.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Five visits to Publix. I'm not very efficient.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Four items picked up from the dry cleaners. My suits are ready to go.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">One movie. ("The Imitation Game" was amazing!)</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">One TV episode. (Catching up on "Sherlock"!)</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Ten e-books, downloaded from the public library. Now that Junior is almost a year old, I'm <i>finally</i> getting back to nighttime reading. Yesss!</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">A couple new friends, or "maybe-friends," I should call them. Don't know if they'll really be friends. But had a playground date with one mom and her kiddos, and that was fun.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Three trips to the library, including one for storytime.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">One new ham-and-beans recipe. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Six pounds of BBQ ribs.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Two carrot cakes. (One for dinner at my new boss's house tomorrow, together with my new colleagues!)</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Lots of salad. Many pounds of prepared salad.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">A pineapple. A goldendew. Four pounds of grapes. And one beautiful, juicy, amazing watermelon(!!!). Exiled to the corner of Costco and we found it anyway. *slurp*</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Many, many hours with Junior -- swinging her on the swings, benchpressing her up into the air to make her squeal, reading and rereading the same books, driving her to and from the library, nursing and nursing and nursing round the clock, feeding her bananas and Cheerios and salmon and green peas and her beloved carrots and my beloved watermelon, luring her to the piano by playing it, steering as she "walks" her stroller around the apartment, keeping her hands away from the edge of the bed and computer wires, (only semi-successfully) making sure she doesn't eat mulch at the playground, singing and dancing together, giving lots of snuggles, watching her grow up day by day.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Good talks and reconnection with Mr. Squire. With the move and transition, we got a bit lost. We're good again. :)</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">And now, Halloween in Palmtreeville. It's a very, VERY big deal in this neighborhood. Neighborman said he went through TEN bags of candy last Halloween. Ten bags of candy FROM COSTCO. I kid you not. Can't wait to check it out, although it honestly is way too hot to put Junior in her (super-adorable) lobster costume.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">And tomorrow, November. And the day after that...back to the workforce. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">It actually just occurred to me yesterday that I'm returning to work on Monday. Since then, I've been trying to sort out how I feel about it. And I've concluded, after much proverbial head-scratching, that...I don't feel a lot of the things that I feel that I should be feeling. I'm a little nervous, yes, but...not really that nervous. I'm a little scared, yes, but...actually not much. I'm a lot excited, yes, but...I'm not losing sleep over it. In other words, this feels a lot like how I felt the night before I got married. Excited, happy, but totally level and chill. Because I knew it was right.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">I felt more right about marriage than I do about this job, but it's pretty close. And I guess that's what happens when you have spiritual conviction, plus decades of dreaming, working, praying, hoping, and one huge years-long setback, followed by deliverance. This is it. The time has come. We're on the eve of eve, and all I can say is, "It is good." That, and "Thank You so much for the last two months. And all that preceded them."</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div></div> E. Squirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02934958292570333030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5537964094059439737.post-27817633006313979392015-10-25T18:33:00.001-07:002015-10-25T18:33:59.178-07:00Days 55-58: Gifts and Lessons<div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">One more week left until I start work! And some big things are starting to come together more in a tangible way.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><b>Daycare. </b>We brought Junior to the daycare that she'll be joining in a few weeks (she'll spend the first couple at home with Daddy until our health insurance kicks in), and she LOVED it. Got right into the thick of it and started exploring and wandering away--far, far away from Mommy--immediately. Definitely a good sign. I wasn't altogether surprised, because she's very curious and pretty independent, and she LOVES other kids. But it was, of course, encouraging to witness firsthand her ability to take off and do her own thing. I know it's not quite the same, because I was still around. But she's going to be just fine, and I'm really happy about that. It's a wonderful program and I couldn't have asked for anything better for her.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><b>Halloween. </b>We've attended two Halloween-ish events in our area already. One was a kids' fest, and one was a trunk-or-treat hosted by a local church. Both were fun. Junior didn't go in costume because both were outdoors and it is Palmtreeville (aka Furnaceville), after all. We're waiting for the costume day at the library this week...then she hopefully will cooperate with Mommy's attempts to put her in the adorable lobster costume I picked up at a local consignment store for less than $3.50. :) It's great to know that there are so many awesome kid-centered and community activities around here. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><b>Church! </b>As I've written about before, Sundays have been tough here as we've been looking for churches. Every Sunday, I would come home and either feel like crying, or just outright cry. I knew all of this would take time, but going through it is still hard -- especially since the churches we were visiting just didn't feel like the right fit for one reason or another. We continue to pray for God's leading and direction. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">THANKFULLY (!), the church we visited today shows promise for being our long-term church. It is close to our home (which was important to us - living near our fellow church congregants), the sermon was excellent in terms of style and content (very challenging, and happened to mirror the passages in Deuteronomy and Joshua that I've been studying for the last few weeks on my own!), people were really welcoming (something that hadn't been true at some of the other churches), we met a couple InterVarsity staff who attend there (IV folks are always a good sign - and we had some good GJ fandom going on together), the size was about the same as our City church (so not a huge megachurch), it was okay-diverse in terms of age range and we saw at least a few minorities besides ourselves, they have lots of community groups and an emphasis on journeying together in smaller groups (we will attend one tomorrow night), they have some great involvement in terms of community outreach, and it reminded me a lot of the church I attended (and loved) in college. Pretty good combination. :) </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><b>A Conversation with Junior. </b>One of the things discussed during today's sermon was the fact that pleasing God requires (a) believing in Him and (b) believing that He rewards those who earnestly seek Him. And God says we must lay down our crosses and follow Him for the sake of His kingdom--regardless of the cost. As the preacher (who was teaching out of I Corinthians 10) discussed various temptations that the passage warns against, one that stuck out to me was the temptation of leading an easy, comfortable, familiar, and utterly unproductive life. Taking the talents and gifts God gave me and just...enjoying it, and not multiplying it for His kingdom. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">This stuck out to me, in part, because we happen to live in a really nice neighborhood. And Junior will be going to a really nice daycare. And probably will go to a really nice school as she grows up. And while I miss my City family terribly much, I will be the first to admit that friendships aside, life is significantly easier here. From the traffic to the noise to the in-unit laundry to the niceties of living where we live,...life is just easier here. I can see why people come here to retire. :-p </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">I was reminded, through the sermon, and I'm sure also through the Holy Spirit's nudging, that everything I described in the previous paragraph is NOT the reason why we were sent here. I believe they are fringe benefits that God has given to us as an act of mercy and generosity and compassion, because He knew how difficult the transition would be. So He has granted our prayer for a soft landing here in Palmtreeville. But there's more to my life than this. So much more. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">And who knows what costs God may call me to cough up along the way. But of immediate concern I know of at least one major one: significantly less time with Junior. How I have treasured and savored these two months at home with her! I delight in watching her eat. I delight in watching her play. I delight in snuggling with her (as I've mentioned a gazillion times). I delight in nursing her. I delight in making her smile and laugh. I delight in hearing her speak. I delight in reading to her. I simply delight in her so very much. ...and now we're scaling back a ton again. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">In light of the sermon, and in light of my desire to prepare my daughter for what lies ahead--and my desire to model the things I'm learning from God as they happen--I had the following conversation with her before she went to sleep this evening:</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><i>Hi Batty. I just want you to know... as I've been telling you, Mommy is going back to work soon. In just a week, Mommy is going to start her new job. We won't be spending all of our time together anymore. I've had such a great time with you! Mommy loves you so, so much. And just because Mommy is leaving to work, doesn't mean she doesn't love you. God called us here to Palmtreeville for a reason. We're here for a purpose. And Mommy needs to live out that purpose and use the talents, skills, and opportunities God has given her to do the work that God set forth for her. This means a lot less time with you -- and that's going to be really hard for Mommy. But God wants us to carry our cross and follow Him. And for me, less time with you is a cross to bear. I just want you to know why I'm doing it, though. I hope you grow up to understand -- and that you'll never question how much Mommy loves you. May God protect you when Mommy cannot. A</i></font><i style="color:rgb(120,63,4)">nd may God provide for you in Mommy's absence much more than Mommy could have provided by clinging to you. </i></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><i style="color:rgb(120,63,4)"><br></i></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">I'm not saying it won't be hard. But I am saying that I believe it will be worth it.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div></div> E. Squirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02934958292570333030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5537964094059439737.post-57646185986197275012015-10-21T18:33:00.001-07:002015-10-21T18:33:22.277-07:00Days 52-54: Savoring the Final Days of Freedom<div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Dear Junior,</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">We're back to the weekdays, which means life is easier and hurts a little less. Daddy is back to work now, so it's just you and me during the day (though Daddy joins us for lunch). </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">You're sick (again!), which stinks. But you are such a trooper. Even with your hoarse, pitiful-sounding cough, you still issue plenty of crinkly-nose smiles and crawl around the apartment with alacrity. Just...with less precision than usual, and you seek snuggles from Mommy a lot more. And Mommy is more than happy to oblige! As I always say, "Do you just want some snuggles from Mommy? Is that all you need? Sure, I can give you some snuggles. Mommy always wants to give you snuggles." </font><span style="color:rgb(120,63,4)">Snuggling with you is one of my favorite things ever!</span></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><span style="color:rgb(120,63,4)"><br></span></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Unfortunately with your illness comes bad sleep, again. You still don't know how to sleep through the night, but these days you are waking us up every 1-2 hours again. Just like when you were a newborn! So we're a little bleary-eyed, but it's still good. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">You usually want to be up (even though you're sick) by 7:30 in the morning. I usually lay in bed with you and try to convince you to rest for another hour or so as I try to squeeze in a little more sleep and pray that you'll get more too. You usually quietly suck your thumb and get drowsy enough to trick me into thinking that you'll sleep--but then your bright eyes pop open and you flip-and-grin, pursue the blinds pulls that you love to put in your mouth, of start twiddling with my face, my shirt, or your frog again.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Then we get up, and we play for a little bit. These days you love pushing your stroller around. You stand up behind it and push from the back, walking happily behind until you get stuck behind a wall or the couch. Mommy then redirects you and you're on your merry way again. You also love putting EVERYTHING in your mouth. Still. I actually don't mind--except when it's stuff that's really not good for you (like our shoes) or it's your books. Books are for reading, not eating, little one! You also like waving your arms back and forth and making an "UH-uh-UH-uh-Uh-uh-UH-uh-UH-uh" sound when you're on your knees and either excited about something or wanting us to pick you up. You also continue to exhibit a preference for Mommy over Daddy (which I'm sure will switch at some point, and then Mommy will cry big, hot tears). When I reach out to hold you, you turn toward me with open arms, grin widely, and totally melt my heart. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">After you play, we go out for a stroll. You don't like this part, but I insist on you getting some time in the fresh air and making sure your eyes get some real exposure to sunlight so your circadian rhythm isn't off. We've been exploring all parts of our gorgeous neighborhood and meeting neighbors and their kids at the various playgrounds as we go along. You love seeing the bigger kids, especially. The playgrounds aren't great for you (yet) because they're built for toddlers and up, but you'll grow into them soon. Thankfully you are finally getting into the swing and having fun with it now.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">After the stroll, we come back and play and have lunch. Then we play some more or have an outing, and then you have your long nap. And that's when Mommy catches up on all the tasks on her to-do list. :-p Then more playtime (maybe another trip to the playground closest to us) and dinner. Mealtimes are fun because you know how to feed yourself, and we're always interested in seeing what foods you're into. These days you loooove carrots, avocado, all kinds of fruit, and legumes. Not so much into meats. Or Cheerios. And you love not only getting your hands all dirty -- you love <i>putting those dirty hands in your ears and in your hair. </i>SO GREASY. SO MESSY. EVERYWHERE. AND IN YOUR EARS AND YOUR HAIR(!). Cleaning all of that up (without getting dirty myself) is one of my least favorite parts of the day. But you're so cute, and that helps.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Anyway, after dinner and some playtime, then bedtime. The days just pass, one after the other. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Sometimes when I feel like I've recited "Barnyard Dance" to you ten times in a row and chased you around the apartment <i>n </i>times, and tried to make your stuffies have interesting conversations with you multiple times, I start to wonder when lunch time or nap time or dinner time or bedtime will be. And I want those times to come sooner rather than later. But I know that the days are passing quickly, and the years will pass even faster. You won't long remain this non-walking, food-in-hair, semi-babbling bundle of joy that I can carry around with one arm. You're almost a year old, and the next two decades will zoom by. I should be willing the time to move more slowly, not more quickly.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">And that's why I take time to journal about you and what you're doing, and what you're into, and what you're like, from time to time. In a blink, you'll change again. In two blinks, the only record I'll have of what you were like today will be in a couple precious photos, maybe a video, and this. And my memory. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">What a precious gift you are, dear Junior. Better than I could have hoped or asked for. You're truly my pride and joy. I love you through and through and hope you know it all your life.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">I've been warning you that I start work in a few days. I hope you take it okay. Please know that I'm not abandoning you. Know that I love you and will return home to you every day. And frankly, I think you're going to love daycare because you love socializing and you're going to have a blast making friends and playing with others. You'll hopefully miss me at least a weensy bit--but I'll be coming home right around the time you start to miss me. </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">We still have a few days left together. Feel better soon! And let's enjoy the rest of our full-time days together to the max. This has been such a tremendous gift. I'm so thankful!</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Love,</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Mommy</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div></div> E. Squirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02934958292570333030noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5537964094059439737.post-5569445892310082972015-10-18T18:43:00.000-07:002015-10-18T18:44:19.767-07:00Days 48-51: It Only Hurts When I'm Breathing<div dir="ltr"><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Okay, that's a little extreme, I admit it. But honestly when I sat down to write tonight, that's the first phrase that came to mind.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Just had a really good processing/debriefing/reflecting/prayer time with Mr. Squire and God just now. I really needed it. Day to day, when we're at home bumming around and just trying to get to know our way around the beautiful neighborhood and mapping out new meals to add to our dinner rotation, it's not so bad. Life in the capsule of just Daddy and Junior is pretty awesome, I'm not gonna lie. Funny, endlessly entertaining husband, and a super-cute and super-snuggly baby who is just learning to stand and gets her hands on everything. Plus a 250-meter swim in the outdoor lap pool under the vast blue sky in the afternoons. Not. Bad. At. All.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">But Sundays...Sundays are really tough here. I am reminded of how alone we are. I miss my brothers and sisters from our home church. I miss their love, care, concern, presence, and company. I miss seeing how the pregger sisters are doing, and catching up with the new moms, and learning from the old ones. I miss giving and receiving encouragement, from heart to beloved heart. I miss our routine of driving into the City, hoping and circling for a parking spot (and finally getting one!), attending prayer meeting, scavenging for snacks at the welcome table, catching up with people before service, bopping to the worship with Junior and other moms with babies, going through service and learning from the messages (which have gotten a lot better in recent years), and catching up with people after service. I just miss doing life with my community, my family. They're gone.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">Monday through Saturday, it's easy to feel that we're just on one big vacation (especially since I haven't started work yet). But on Sunday, as we visit other churches, I am reminded that this is permanent. And then I think to myself, <i>what have I done?!</i> My heart sinks. It gets sad. I begin to feel lost. I start to cry on the inside. I sort of drown in the quicksand of regret. At some point, I kind of snap out of it as I remind myself, <i>God led us here. This is what we prayed for. This is what He gave us. God brought us here. He has a plan. He will provide. Don't long for Egypt, don't wish for a return to slavery. You don't know what God will do. You've only been here for a few days! Community takes time. God will provide. God has a plan. Don't be foolish; trust in Him! Rejoice and give thanks. God brought us here.</i> </font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">It makes me feel better for a time, but only a time. So today when we got back from church, I had me a good chat and cry with God. I confessed my fear, my lack of trust, my lack of gratitude, how easily I have forgotten and discounted His provision. Thankfully God is a good Father who disciplines and loves and forgives. I believe He will be patient with me as I grow, and He wants me to grow -- and He will help me grow. But growing is tough, and it takes work and effort and time. I've forgotten how hard it is to start over. Apart from my student days, I've never actually started over in a place without any friends (although now I have my own family, and that certainly helps a ton). It's hard! And lonely. A good reminder that God is our help, though. Always our help and loving Father.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04">On to our second full week here.</font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div><div class="gmail_default" style="font-family:georgia,serif;font-size:small"><font color="#783f04"><br></font></div></div> E. Squirehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02934958292570333030noreply@blogger.com0