tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18596471542652363112024-03-12T16:53:14.572-07:00Tofu tastes best when you catch it in the wild.Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12108288514453604202noreply@blogger.comBlogger143125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1859647154265236311.post-91323152001945233442016-03-16T19:22:00.001-07:002016-03-16T19:22:44.399-07:00Rocking Out<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This is Lana's latest favorite song. Queen's "We Will Rock You"<br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dy8PJdyk4gfYBwX-I1FLOn_rQmgrO5nQNripoEsywU4x5l31GqKWNpUdmTJjc30qt9KXbNZO8vQ0SUL0o-ePQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br /><br />Leave your thoughts and comments please!Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12108288514453604202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1859647154265236311.post-10694670004494160232015-10-06T17:46:00.004-07:002015-10-06T17:46:41.316-07:00Words to live and write by<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">MANIFESTO OF THE BRAVE <br /> AND BROKENHEARTED<br /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> There is no greater threat to the critics <br /> and cynics and fearmongers<span class="text_exposed_show"><br /> Than those of us who are willing to fall<br /> Because we have learned how to rise.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> With skinned knees and bruised hearts;<br /> We choose owning our stories of struggle,<br /> Over hiding, over hustling, over pretending.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> When we deny our stories, they define us.<br /> When we run from struggle, we are never free.<br /> So we turn toward truth and look it in the eye.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> We will not be characters in our stories.<br /> Not villains, not victims, not even heroes.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> We are the authors of our lives.<br /> We write our own daring endings.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> We craft love from heartbreak,<br /> Compassion from shame,<br /> Grace from disappointment,<br /> Courage from failure.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Showing up is our power.<br /> Story is our way home. Truth is our song.<br /> We are the brave and brokenhearted.<br /> We are rising strong.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"> - Brene Brown, "Rising Strong"</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span style="font-size: small;"><br />Leave your thoughts and comments please!</span></span></span>Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12108288514453604202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1859647154265236311.post-28527418670126359992015-09-24T18:05:00.000-07:002015-09-24T18:06:23.146-07:00How Time Out Works at Our House<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKk75Og9DkUQjacgLDfrGhB7MnXjetRZHgZi_EtE30CXzA1qSFW4_v9PKoASu76WZCKSTYTTfnuyW_br-hmFd8K_-5Cw7bWZfrwGKVF_6C_Y4Ha6FblsXMamYOTBJ7OSmhSB-LFVdyhi-D/s1600/freaking+out+mom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKk75Og9DkUQjacgLDfrGhB7MnXjetRZHgZi_EtE30CXzA1qSFW4_v9PKoASu76WZCKSTYTTfnuyW_br-hmFd8K_-5Cw7bWZfrwGKVF_6C_Y4Ha6FblsXMamYOTBJ7OSmhSB-LFVdyhi-D/s320/freaking+out+mom.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">You know those Mommy-Freak-Out Days? If you are a mom, you know what I
mean. Today is a Freak-Out Day for me. Details are pretty irrelevant -
typical reasons a mom might freak out, you've heard them all before. I
am just not handling anything right now. So I am in Time Out. I've
locked myself in my room and I'm not allowed to come out until I can
start reacting appropriately and rationally. (It's okay, Daddy's home
early from work, and Grandma & Grandpa are visiting, so my th</span></span><span class="text_exposed_show"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">reenager is not unsupervised.)</span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeULqJg67bH896KyUwRHy0u5CC-M9lCm42FAywXp1ZFar4dvb-sEgSELyybtSULUZUpcuJcc84YtB2pgKng35kD0dM6qyDAZsniEh7XNNiFObGqNAE4hLc5_S0q0pJ9Tl5k80bPtQ7eJHO/s1600/freaking+out+call.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="197" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeULqJg67bH896KyUwRHy0u5CC-M9lCm42FAywXp1ZFar4dvb-sEgSELyybtSULUZUpcuJcc84YtB2pgKng35kD0dM6qyDAZsniEh7XNNiFObGqNAE4hLc5_S0q0pJ9Tl5k80bPtQ7eJHO/s320/freaking+out+call.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYkcWUd2oKM9oA9pyLCYAAidmLqIWeAtRNP1ZFdEMmRjCm7W4axc82RRjARo1v3K9aneGJLrf-kUBb4E36ypO61nYS4GH3zR6EPW4ufMo5amoBRHwaNwQ3Av94HuHXeUSaLmkJCfyKxS9W/s1600/act+like+the+adult.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYkcWUd2oKM9oA9pyLCYAAidmLqIWeAtRNP1ZFdEMmRjCm7W4axc82RRjARo1v3K9aneGJLrf-kUBb4E36ypO61nYS4GH3zR6EPW4ufMo5amoBRHwaNwQ3Av94HuHXeUSaLmkJCfyKxS9W/s400/act+like+the+adult.jpg" width="313" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="text_exposed_show">I figure I better model how this Time Out thing works for my little
girl. You see, when she does something to get in trouble, there is a
consequence, and she usually doesn't like it. But we reserve Time Out
for when she's not necessarily making mischief, she is just not handling
things appropriately. She is exactly like me in this. When everything
is blown out of proportion and we get snappy and cranky and angry, it
usually means we are hungry or tired or just need to cool down. And I am
just as susceptible to this as my child. So when I can't handle things,
when I'm overreacting, and food or a little rest doesn't help, I need a
Time Out. Lana often PUTS me in Time Out - she KNOWS. And we both know
that whoever is in Time Out needs to mellow down before they can come
out.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span class="text_exposed_show"><br /> Obviously, I have my laptop in Time Out right now. So I just
felt like saying, "It's one of Those Days." Not for pity, just for a few
"I have those, too - you are not failing because that happens." Because
that helps me calm down some. And also to make a commitment somewhere
that later, when I can handle life again, I am going to rewrite today
and make it better. Because I have the power to do that. Once I regain
control of my perspective, I can change it and focus on the good
moments, and make one of "THOSE (bad) Days" into one of "Those (great)
days." I can do it. ... in a few more minutes or so.</span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggJRYANC4RqMLJC572xyZXLs2IM3VUQ_TW73CA5rpooO1cID3r1ypH7Jwj_Teu7MYyd29KTToWZO5dKD_9tSg8dP6aAswJi-PDzBzBrD22lnbIKs027VeESBcpQnk9QBvce9-KMruUIM35/s1600/scream+now.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggJRYANC4RqMLJC572xyZXLs2IM3VUQ_TW73CA5rpooO1cID3r1ypH7Jwj_Teu7MYyd29KTToWZO5dKD_9tSg8dP6aAswJi-PDzBzBrD22lnbIKs027VeESBcpQnk9QBvce9-KMruUIM35/s1600/scream+now.jpeg" /></a></div>
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Leave your thoughts and comments please!Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12108288514453604202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1859647154265236311.post-41985419166335755952015-05-27T15:25:00.003-07:002015-05-27T15:26:37.899-07:00No Soliciting!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<img border="0" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilbXcHhuvz-SrK7M9VnLAQ5aVwQdGKy39pLPELW8jnlYUMXv7-RVQ1rsZqBU-RINj5XG87TgF6urZ1mJtE8HOqH1uFq9Mv7kPmOhhJYTr_N6a8eI4laAP7DvRXLAhgtyrtXhRpz0Azpc6_/s320/off+my+porch.jpg" width="320" /></div>
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Okay, I'm a nice person. I am. But nap time is sacred. And solicitors
are a pet peeve (I know, they're all just trying to earn money, but
still).<br />
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So I've got this handmade sign at my door that reads: "I'm
not buying; I'm not signing. You can't sway my vote or my religion. And
HEAVEN HELP YOU if you wake me or my baby from a nap. Seriously, NO
SOLICITING! (Exceptions: Girl Scout cookies and LDS Missionaries.) -
That covers most everything, right?<br />
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Now, I have a good view of the
front porch from my computer, and I often watch solicitors approach my
door, read the sign and walk away (or for better entertainment, read,
start to walk away, turn around, read again, then walk away a bit
faster). I think the capital letters really get my point across.<br />
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But today.... Today I watched two men, obviously not starving college
students, walk up to my door, read my sign, *during nap time!*, and
"knock,knock,knock,knock!" <br />
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I sat a while and debated whether to
open the door. They began to walk away, and I thought, "Oh no. Not
during nap time. Not today. Today I am feeling FEISTY!" And no one
messes with a feisty Hannah.<br />
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So I opened my door, caught them on the bottom porch step, and said, "Excuse me!" They turned around. "Did you read the sign?"<br />
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Open mouth and hesitation. "Uh yeah... Well... We were just at your
neighbor's house and they have the exact same roof and we're doing
pricing..."<br />
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I cut them off, point to the sign, and say with a smile, "Not buying."<br />
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Open mouths again. "Okay, but we'll be back tomorrow and..."<br />
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I cut them off again and point at the house, smile really big, "Baby's napping! Did you read the sign?"<br />
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This time hands are in the air and defensive positions are taken, whispered words, "Okay, sorry. Have a nice day."<br />
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<img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKgYEJdPkUI-VtTtmtm2KoHf66QwJQiHBTCQGMqlKVhtslr0E7yAXdwUzB7Q4TeEr0Wp5PZVlarFZQ0jn6l4-hEIKsZ8XqSVAU5OGLuBT2_aXlbptwURkCtWOZ7liwYC9XGnJ40XPhzHkC/s400/strike-a-defense-pose.jpg" width="400" /></div>
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I smile and wave them off.<br />
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Yep. Those capital letters really get my point across. I didn't have to
yell. Didn't have to get all mean. I just smiled and repeated a couple
phrases from the sign. Feisty Hannah is still nice - they just knew that
"HEAVEN HELP YOU!" was standing behind my pretty smiles. <br />
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<b>Leave your thoughts and comments please!</b></div>
Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12108288514453604202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1859647154265236311.post-52375634193186980112015-05-18T00:55:00.001-07:002015-05-19T02:11:15.129-07:00The Refiner's Fire Is Real<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/-DIIgm6xABQ" width="560"></iframe><br />
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May I learn to see my life's challenges as part of refinement. And may I learn to apply refined qualities in a manner such as this.<br />
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God has been schooling me (in different areas) <a href="http://wildtofu.blogspot.com/2014/02/the-cracks-let-light-shine-through.html" target="_blank">to know how to comfort</a>, to know "how to do it because I've been through it."<br />
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May I also bear my own testimony that the deeper the sorrow and the longer you spend in the valley of death, the greater your capacity to experience joy and savor the sweetness of life!<br />
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Leave your thoughts and comments please!Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12108288514453604202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1859647154265236311.post-86709064251257654912015-04-30T16:39:00.001-07:002015-04-30T16:43:58.498-07:00Gems of Love<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">Last week I was blessed to attend bridal showers and receptions for three separate weddings, all for people I greatly admire. Amidst it all, I was reminded of a line from "Eat. Pray. Love." which I will misquote here: "The funny thing about weddings is that you always end up thinking about your own." It was only too true.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">Part of it may be that once upon a time two of these wonderful young women were students of mine and seeing them married was a big reality check to how much time has passed. Most of it is probably that I am approaching my own tenth wedding anniversary this summer. Time has this funny way of seeming simultaneously too short and too long. As in, "I can't have been married for ten years - I'd have to be older for that!" and at the same time, "Has it only been ten years? We've been through so much and know each other so well it may as well have been thirty."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">So as I reminisced about my own wedding, I pulled down my photo album and spent some nostalgic time enjoying the pictures. We had a team of two photographers - a married couple - and while one took all the posed shots, the other moved around and outside us snapping candid shots. I love all our pictures, but I've come to appreciate the candid shots so much over the years because they captured genuine, unexpected emotions.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">As I looked at the pictures, I thought about what I knew about love ten years ago and what I know about it now. At bridal showers and receptions they often ask for marriage advice. So I've decided to dispense some of my meager advice about love. They say a picture is worth a thousand words, so consider this advice very, very lengthy. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;"><u>And</u> - Happy encroaching 10th Anniversary to my wonderful husband and myself.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDKEulwVEW8DgoCEQrgftTJkMPI6VfnwfuL9Qsntq8UlAuCB4mpyBN_ib0dmTaBB4scP9ARo9x_hydh2SXuqIr_YL-7fnYIlkcfHqF7Fu38uiMGd_8bunka4TUnkMhWcP-FdF9S0hvJUAG/s1600/Temple.Pics139.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDKEulwVEW8DgoCEQrgftTJkMPI6VfnwfuL9Qsntq8UlAuCB4mpyBN_ib0dmTaBB4scP9ARo9x_hydh2SXuqIr_YL-7fnYIlkcfHqF7Fu38uiMGd_8bunka4TUnkMhWcP-FdF9S0hvJUAG/s1600/Temple.Pics139.JPG" height="426" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijJYjzgJ2j5T-aOsrcP22WLAMfbSF3-X-OePR5xMLGEv1QpF-V7ZNJEWDil3hy2Kc0xOr8-OKSdB8okoqRw4Dl3Ngsii_JwGhDxpUcJM7u2s6JUxJaByfGj4s33v2HyrIGFr5i9f8B3sDx/s1600/hannah1.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijJYjzgJ2j5T-aOsrcP22WLAMfbSF3-X-OePR5xMLGEv1QpF-V7ZNJEWDil3hy2Kc0xOr8-OKSdB8okoqRw4Dl3Ngsii_JwGhDxpUcJM7u2s6JUxJaByfGj4s33v2HyrIGFr5i9f8B3sDx/s1600/hannah1.png" height="213" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAgUyrZJDkv2o_JAQeLA4FUYYtlDsdu1Fc9XJS3qJYPhBdKdaUGvxXDTF0KQyFkG_RQ6X500Te1RQmWrkr66XE63hoY4bbpb5gwtQQ6ETYnLIz3SABKdsZ2oMKOI9OKplgOmNe3q5E35jo/s1600/Temple.Pics019.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">This was us - ten years ago.<br />They say love is blind. That may be why each of us see these and say, "Oh, I've gotten old!" and Anthony sweetly says, "No - you look</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj80QPe4u4MSDP5F6I2mxZZtNpYBu-rSx8uHK_DjSpEdt6ioBQpM9im_XfsUtu04hJv97PLMuogWHGfAWaiB6Vg83cI_-LlIsTtuWxN89FrvYH3UzvFT9rluPC1kE0J3dlNN44GvEvftIq_/s1600/anthony1.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj80QPe4u4MSDP5F6I2mxZZtNpYBu-rSx8uHK_DjSpEdt6ioBQpM9im_XfsUtu04hJv97PLMuogWHGfAWaiB6Vg83cI_-LlIsTtuWxN89FrvYH3UzvFT9rluPC1kE0J3dlNN44GvEvftIq_/s1600/anthony1.png" height="212" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">pretty much the same."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Love must be blind.</span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Love is when you walk in tandem - without realizing it.</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It's in the look I fell in love with - and still do.</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">It's in the look he fell in love with - and still does.</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> Love is in the details. Life is in the details.</span></b></span></div>
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy9y5JAje3qVG5lp2taYTDdtl43YKLAblxaFSR1VwWXqk1hSmV_LvhBXGZ2nv3eMDu7_Ed3Oq-AcODSjZUWwD-LM0EzEEL7UgMXH5Nx9p5H6XMzRtZncTDJckWGRjT8xApFdfmFXycbgil/s1600/details.png" height="213" width="320" /><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXvt4Cz618jtShsPlwwJEeiR3gGSUWiS8gNJbU0fFz_7kfmkJhF_VwPM2gGS6qYZSiPCv6Mcdy9sXJPI3YDO4vjDIYXEYOKTk6NXvRuOOwkU4BC7lbOUBz7Fyqa6oOOqcTbqlKfvHLFyb_/s1600/Temple.Pics347.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Love works when you laugh at his jokes.</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Love is an adventure.</span></b></span></div>
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeM20jGbYnkej-Qm-a_GWczTHa9yDgB2z2cKsvH4Bo9tsndKTtRvNU96FSMjhizNzOKoTWmvOLTigkLNSWVY3nUH6Rhw_eGcHGZ4fj8zzviro15DcYVrEB-cNCwvSHdwIenXIxsAT7oC3w/s1600/img007.jpg" height="273" width="400" /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Love is in the look I have for him</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">when no one is watching.</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Love is in the look he has for me</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">when no one is watching.</span></b></span></div>
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkp0WDLpE7Y7FwYN6zSgkTcgbMrAoxbZ6U7TvAQGFCb54je7fHDYGglrp6EdhAhw91K7RmlUDsbfZhQ2u0tnckWTgsn1CwK1QVSQDbEYTCOy8B6tBxMq8D9fw13Jt2_OAgjUUryk0y10_e/s1600/thelook+-+him.png" height="266" width="400" /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Love is when the pieces just seem to fit.</span></b></span></div>
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinOG4vVbjqRAFfZBNDja65ZP_NoC7o1PcQjJOGzQBuK-mD_VyE8YSZ9P-1Bk5Pus5unl8vjS36ANaL1a1ORkzckuuz_SYp1yk7mFH35qRDQRoAlMr_RpBma5fMgGZXL8ya5xppOI_T7IVQ/s1600/piecesfit.png" height="265" width="400" /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> Love is when I don't have to worry </span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">about climbing a grassy hill in ridiculous heels </span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">because I know <i>he's got me</i>.</span></b></span><br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwlh2ea7jpvo5PVX4cLLQkCYB2ovCMBWE8MJyo3USsRMyl62wGhfSSQ9WkAynoFCqG1dHouGHUoj84__8k_iffr6TPPhG_thki4fQ4f9Ie8KflkLBvjkBHOR_i5rCJMNKOWXHE5LjMa56t/s1600/hesgotme.png" height="271" width="400" /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Love is when you look at your groom</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">and your only thought is,</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"When can we get outta here?"</span></b></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJWfrCwaW5NHYKRzeQ2I20F_bHaOHBIC0Tm6t2MapUTsoZgWMMe_8NaVsw-fy2KndN1l5a4LLDjt0_WVhDwfLX23mnJ0dXHsEHJW9Ldik_kC-3NyfheYg3MAIhao06yQuDZOiwiaVt7pY7/s1600/img009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJWfrCwaW5NHYKRzeQ2I20F_bHaOHBIC0Tm6t2MapUTsoZgWMMe_8NaVsw-fy2KndN1l5a4LLDjt0_WVhDwfLX23mnJ0dXHsEHJW9Ldik_kC-3NyfheYg3MAIhao06yQuDZOiwiaVt7pY7/s1600/img009.jpg" height="271" width="400" /></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Then you do the whole reception all over</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">a week later, don't try so hard,</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">realize you've forgotten half your wardrobe,</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">and end up looking 14 years old.</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">(Okay, that's not love. That's just funny.)</span></b><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Sometimes love means letting go.</span></b></span><br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFU8skCGOLlwkFbV6NUJaNPqG7gj9I3tgr_vr8ss-IjGQoCNXCcIYdEkRVcOEe1-5Q9Cs0TAwf1qjGWwtjBsJRu5ChmsWvQkregQ49lBGi4SPRztcsKAPivJeX9PFvmQURtLj3LQTevBwr/s1600/lettinggo.png" height="270" width="400" /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">And sometimes love means holding on.</span></b></span><br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnJ_s6UXqRLO055Yvag1MZwfY9sPcxo70FjDEAbOJXOjRtD076_V2p7ZjWzv7ai8vaPwKY6A16yg_RZG3DiJoGJFRFqoGoLpJH2EOYIdYkCMfvt76AYZsB50BZT0bmgvemlDPkrRH0tyNv/s1600/img011.jpg" height="270" width="400" /></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Love is learning in your first dance as a couple</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">that it's not just about you anymore -</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">it's about a whole new family to love.</span></span></b><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span> </span><br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQQc8r7AhGys5O8ymFO4-mnROjw175pCmx4-CnEG1n7xf-YinGgBnoEFKDEk-JgqjSBNLW-GaYr6hm52GsEHUnE9Sm8LpvoHyDRUFpZMpi0Krqafi1K-ZVRj-aw8tinXCD2z-A1bXGw6Ix/s1600/first+dance1.jpg" height="266" width="400" /><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhBNwJW1yGRd1QGX-4nWaNgp-qvL-vnSFKo6uKRp6ZwmZKtbPEy0jmDYUjxnTRcCY2c51m1wcRNeDNt5OA4V8kRsKOGO57ThZSg4ntDNpDR520WuNA-yIHA45KqiPlVmUqXH6uuNzZrlQE/s1600/first+dance2.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Some memories get a little fuzzy with time,</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">but you learn all that's important to remember</span></b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">is that there was love.</span></b></span><br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_oWGQKGK2cLEZ_Z4u3X7lnYyPPul4L1TAn46h0HCM4KFQvafEJuSkxp97qhAHXEmor-CPLRe2jRwJNpGltCQRQgfDpfqxyooLYkrWor4TrRw3gpjzK4dgAxyTPry1imaz_8q4pR-mM1gg/s1600/cake.jpg" height="400" width="266" /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Love begins...</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">and in its beauty and magic and power...</span></b></span></div>
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtTx-wQ6zrFi6VVKNGLi7Gev7WzJTOOeYT8aaU-PajN3oJeP7DW0VJ38H8B0nHkkB3nHwDjCeReDZ9pkZqrRg72WibPQAbXEXKubG7XzS4YQWPTnbFU2_4jZHu0XVrffkByQ96nGtGXlDl/s1600/Temple.Pics335.JPG" height="400" width="266" /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">it grows...</span></b></span></div>
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRZ7vWeYlmyOavLFXoQmAexc8GKLhdkUW31bpE1if3MDibCd8KTy9PagbfKjfSATzTFcWO_tqz-xijy3UPlGH7OaS1MTGWA_eD0Oq4YACTL87cewFLuVzLeywC_oVOkHbMh58eeHkNK9Ai/s1600/%7B3c1ffa92-e1bf-40c8-8b9c-a2d7652614dd%7D_8.jpg" height="400" width="285" /> </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">and expands...</span></b></span></div>
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDuHGn8FvmAHdq47IBXOXD-eWuuS_NnAw30P4eUtLGqsYl1oyvtTeAgEGqacU0b6xYL0vWoxgl-mtPtvCwmr6cCr3Ltt4DqXxXyLWEGlgjOBfmMaIdIPki-1y2gFvx-mWbshyqQZIkpAHE/s1600/DSC_0549edit.jpg" height="400" width="270" /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">and stretches on...</span></b></span></div>
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI55Cby2sX5T1XArZOBsG6LPTpAa2MIZvXuai_eSjb_yVAtbkj80o8R7myvtpf4dM7dRdN92XmGMTypi92sOkKCUzuKinTu5iYfbJeVmDabxnFA7HSmISJykUn9hYFrgiqvhgUS0Xk-Rn_/s1600/Trujillo2.png" height="266" width="400" /> </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">for eternity.</span></b></span></div>
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBWbxmknAw7OYAdTtWDpbsj4pcwnGTfLuqpXHc3ep97G6pYMuCZflAspAmidB4szqFIMi9tzT09gWZjtgVZ76HWy04k9XKGyPeyFyFQ1I9hcvAvTZDxXGWX9dqGWC3blhIinR74Io9-Q6F/s1600/Temple.Pics126.JPG" height="426" width="640" /> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">It has been a wild, wonderful decade. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">Thanks for sharing these amazing ten years with me, husband. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">I look forward to learning gems about love with you forever and ever. </span></div>
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<u><b> Leave your thoughts and comments please!</b></u></div>
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<br /><br />Leave your thoughts and comments please!Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12108288514453604202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1859647154265236311.post-21936902647420448252015-03-18T01:03:00.000-07:002015-03-19T00:28:01.641-07:00Surrender<br />
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<br />
<br />
The white flag is out and waving. I am calling for a truce. More than that, I am surrendering. I cannot fight the battles any longer.<br />
<br />
This is where I am: <br />
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Not much happening from here. This is a surrender of necessity. I am begging to please, please, just let the battles end, because I can't do it any longer.<br />
<br />
I want to heal. I want my surrender to look like this: <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsLxYnbrSbCn81cREZ4YN037oK7pssh1pdd8Zno5j3hv5cc0c93ato80Dm3hauI3qk_921cI12AGYjqFQcyRx09AM1tR7YpFFRVbBgFpUBRyfBY7QvGInxOAi-3F6Kp4q-H6yOgW8n_oOL/s1600/Surrender.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6YGrbcCB58qzjovspCozpvB7oi2OnZeu3Mgm5W67va9j2SvpHwj7WMk2OMPO70Wr72AigKhCSHs6ytdX5RW86KmLIJ6rt6lI95uQHvWu8GZSfgBHDjxFv6LeT0yrOh23Bzz8x5H9ecOQh/s1600/surrender.jpg" height="318" width="320" /></div>
The kind of surrender that says, "I surrender myself to you because I trust you. Because I know you will keep my head above water, because I know you will guide me gracefully where I need to go."<br />
<br />
Not this:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJT1fw5nVT35GLSnacNEp_7cPVRKWq2HUMBAWjMnNznvAT3nUiaESm0Jnv_Zc4hiJoV53T6G9TCA1hxDXn6j3AAfS1IHwoqwaczx-2a7P8Sw7w2cUn5iHczxn0lak6xoQKKMUNQVM6rYse/s1600/drowning.png" height="320" width="320" /></div>
Not this, which you will recognize as that curled up on the floor position I told you I was in earlier. That position that is begging to please, please, just let the battles end, because I can't do it any longer. Trust and faith to float to the surface are mysterious things to me right now. Right now, I need air. I need safety. I need time to recover.<br />
<br />
So please, I give up. I give up on everything. Take it. Take it all. Take me. I need a time out.<br />
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<br />
<br />
Give me time and healing enough to realize that I want to surrender. I want to put my life in God's hands, to let Him do the work, to be one with the flow of the universe around me, to stop fighting back, to stop battling and start living. Give me the wisdom and the grace to remember every day that surrendering each day should look and feel like this:<br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsLxYnbrSbCn81cREZ4YN037oK7pssh1pdd8Zno5j3hv5cc0c93ato80Dm3hauI3qk_921cI12AGYjqFQcyRx09AM1tR7YpFFRVbBgFpUBRyfBY7QvGInxOAi-3F6Kp4q-H6yOgW8n_oOL/s1600/Surrender.png" height="210" width="320" /></div>
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Leave your thoughts and comments please!Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12108288514453604202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1859647154265236311.post-68818904151759315472015-03-08T23:33:00.001-07:002015-11-05T02:16:41.186-08:00"Where I Stood" - Missy HigginsI can't express current emotions better than this: <br />
<br />
10-2015 Post Script: I viewed this song differently than you'd think. This was how I felt about choosing to give up trying to conceive and <a href="http://wildtofu.blogspot.com/2015/05/the-next-step.html" target="_blank">choosing to adopt</a> instead. This is how I felt, knowing I had another child that needed to come to my family, and knowing I wouldn't be the one to carry her/him - that another woman would take my place in that role.<br />
<br />
Maybe I should be blogging more about this journey, but it's just so
personal and tumultuous, and I usually like to write those stories when
there is some kind of conclusion - and I don't know when that will
happen. Sorry for the general absence of posts in the meantime.<br />
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<br /><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="375" mozallowfullscreen="" src="https://player.vimeo.com/video/8669168" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="500"></iframe>Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12108288514453604202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1859647154265236311.post-40576269956607909372015-02-27T23:39:00.003-08:002015-02-27T23:43:24.393-08:00Whirlwinds<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">So many whirlwinds in our lives. Sometimes I feel they will never end. But these prophetic words remind me that despite the storms that rage, despite how I am blown about, I am strong, and I am God's beautiful creation.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="figure">
<img alt="" height="358" src="https://www.lds.org/bc/content/shared/content/images/magazines/general-conference/2014/04/tree-roots_1242721_inl.jpg" width="640" />
</div>
<div class="" id="p12">
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<span style="font-size: large;">"In
nature, trees that grow up in a windy environment become stronger. As
winds whip around a young sapling, forces inside the tree do two things.
First, they stimulate the roots to grow faster and spread farther.
Second, the forces in the tree start creating cell structures that
actually make the trunk and branches thicker and more flexible to the
pressure of the wind. These stronger roots and branches protect the tree
from winds that are sure to return.</span>
</div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
"You
are infinitely more precious to God than a tree. You are His son or His
daughter. He made your spirit strong and capable of being resilient to
the whirlwinds of life."</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">-Neil L. Andersen of The Quorum of the Twelve Apostles</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“Remember … it is upon the rock of our Redeemer, who is Christ, the Son
of God, that ye must build your foundation; that when the devil shall
send forth his mighty winds, … his shafts in the whirlwind, … when all
his hail and his mighty storm shall beat upon you, it shall have no
power … to drag you down … because of the rock upon which ye are built.” <a class="scriptureRef" href="https://www.lds.org/scriptures/bofm/hel/5.12?lang=eng#11">Helaman 5:12</a></span><br />
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<b><br />Leave your thoughts and comments please!</b>Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12108288514453604202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1859647154265236311.post-51063845770142910732015-01-27T02:04:00.001-08:002015-01-27T02:04:34.724-08:00"Encounter" "Encounter"<br />by Ellen Bryson Remington<br /><br />A learned friend from time gone by<br />
When my pursuits were intellecutal<br />
Crossed my path today; and glancing<br />
Quickly at my rounded middle,<br />
Noting the smudges there from little hands,<br />
The wrinkles, too, from childish tears,<br />He asked, "What are you into now?"<br />
<br />
I wish I could have made him understand.<br />
"I'm into graphic arts - a type<br />
Advanced beyond the popular conception.<br />
I deal in shapes so intricate, so exsquisite<br />
That in this life I'll never know their limits."<br /><br />I thought how every day I shape so many things:<br />
I shape the edges of a pie,<br />
I shape a diaper to the tiny legs,<br />
I shape some flowers from our small backyard,<br />
The covers on a bed till they are<br />
Soft and welcoming.<br />
I shape small eager hands around a ball<br />
And show them how to throw.<br />
<br />
But also with my mind and with my love<br />
I shape the tense and troubled hours;<br />
I take them formless, dark, and shape them<br />
Into light and warmth for spirits' growing.<br />
I guide a pliant, loving mind<br />
Now fresh and good from God,<br />
I try to show him things our Savior would.<br />
<br />
I shape the design of his temperament,<br />
The pattern of his moods,<br />
I shape desires in his heart<br />
Of this world and another.<br />
<br />
And now in me another life is shaped -<br />
The way he'll look and stand,<br />
The contours of his hands -<br />
And God is partner to that shaping.<br />
<br />
Let those who do not understand<br />
Think I'm lost in Merely Mothering.<br />
I smile - and shape my daily chores<br />
Into eternal joy.<br />
<br />
<br />
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Leave your thoughts and comments please!Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12108288514453604202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1859647154265236311.post-83173160737299129882015-01-22T01:18:00.001-08:002015-01-22T01:18:08.319-08:00He KnowsThis is what my soul would sound like right now if it could sing. And mostly, the line, "He'll carry you," is a prayer, a grasping hope - faith in desperation.<br /> <br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> "He'll Carry You" - Hillary Weeks</span><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/4O1_5HNWiBM" width="560"></iframe> <br />
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Leave your thoughts and comments please!Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12108288514453604202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1859647154265236311.post-65777546338937505302014-12-18T17:44:00.000-08:002014-12-27T17:44:22.596-08:00These Are The Days<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgupWDmg7aIBTan8AA1lvI9QkQfhIv1Jx1YVUoyPUuMt0VOHwCGdHu5LSsX_U09l_zs4_AY8V5B3OU4KNCkPNvIdLXpBBpK0cO3yZ-ze_IcQ6RCssZE-g97vPnTccMSOndAILxGT0SZ91Aq/s1600/toddler+girl+shoes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgupWDmg7aIBTan8AA1lvI9QkQfhIv1Jx1YVUoyPUuMt0VOHwCGdHu5LSsX_U09l_zs4_AY8V5B3OU4KNCkPNvIdLXpBBpK0cO3yZ-ze_IcQ6RCssZE-g97vPnTccMSOndAILxGT0SZ91Aq/s1600/toddler+girl+shoes.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
Another eye-opening experience today, given to me by a wise, older lady:<br />
<br />
Lana and I (meaning just I) decided to take advantage of any clearance
deals at the local Payless and see if any of the
out-of-season-therefore-on-super-clearance shoes in two sizes up were
worth buying. I busied myself looking for good deals while Lana busied
herself pulling tons of shoes in sizes way too small for her off the
shelves, which meant I was hopping between sizes too big for her and
sizes to<span class="text_exposed_show">o small for her trying to keep
things relatively tidy and somewhere in between all that helping her try
on shoes in her actual size for her enjoyment. It was hard work. </span><br />
<br />
<span class="text_exposed_show">Then,
after finding the one deal worth the investment (her next pair of church
shoes), we waited at the counter for the single employee in the store
to notice we were ready to leave, which meant I did a lot of picking up
after Lana who'd taken great interest in all the sparkly jewelry and
stuffed animal purses. </span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show"><br /> That's when wise old lady friend approached
me and said, "I wished I could have gotten a video of you two back
there." (The toddler shoes are at the back of the store for a reason, I
think.) She smiled really big, "Just the way you two were talking to
each other and interacting. I remember that." </span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show"><br /> I smiled back at her,
taking a moment to see the chaos through her eyes. "Yeah," I finally
said, "These are the days." And felt warm and fuzzy inside for a moment. </span><br />
<br />
<span class="text_exposed_show">But, because I was stressed and still grabbing things out of my child's
kleptomaniac hands, I couldn't help adding, "The days that go by too
quickly but also last forever."</span><br />
<br />
<br />
Leave your thoughts and comments please!Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12108288514453604202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1859647154265236311.post-40986663054844626912014-12-17T17:40:00.004-08:002014-12-17T17:40:49.586-08:00Christmas and Christ's Invitation to Become as a Little Child<div id="center_content">
<div style="margin-left: 30px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left; width: 335px min-height: 600px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://speeches.byu.edu/?act=viewitem&id=2158">Christmas and Christ's Invitation to Become as a Little Child</a></span><i><span class="DINWeb-Light" id="article_title"><br /></span><br />Scott
E. Ferrin was a professor in the BYU Department of Educational and
Leadership Foundations when this devotional address was given on 10
December 2013.</i></div>
<div style="margin-left: 30px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left; width: 335px min-height: 600px;">
<i><br /></i></div>
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<i></i></div>
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<i><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/oNlYpFI7qY0" width="560"></iframe></i></div>
<div style="margin-left: 30px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left; width: 335px min-height: 600px;">
<i><br /></i>
In conclusion, brothers and sisters—the Plausible Evasion Research
Institute, an institute I made up, has found that “in conclusion” is the
most welcome phrase for most audiences, after “there will be
refreshments after this meeting.” So, in conclusion, I love Christmas
and I love BYU devotionals. I am grateful to be with you, and my older
siblings, graduates of BYU, are here, having traveled from Arizona and
Idaho. They must have thought I was graduating today. I’m not saying my
older siblings are old, but there were no history classes on campus when
they attended, just current events. The deodorant Old Spice was then
known as New Spice, and the Dead Sea was just mildly sick.
<br />
Since my academic focus is education law, and since much of that
discipline and practice is focused on protecting the rights and persons
of children, I’d like to discuss what it means in the perfect economy of
the Lord’s kingdom to become as a little child. I believe Christmas and
the birth of the Christ child help us explore this concept.
<br />
<b>Becoming as a Little Child</b>
<br />
When our Heavenly Father wanted to save the world, He didn’t take
over a country or develop a militia. He sent a helpless child to a
choice and worthy woman and a humble and believing man living in
insecure circumstances in a conquered land occupied by a hostile force.
The harsh geopolitical and military circumstances of Christ’s birth
should remind us that Heavenly Father can bless us even if the external
circumstances of our lives aren’t necessarily easy or peaceful.
<br />
Herod the Great ruled over that land, under Rome’s ultimate
control. He was mighty and built magnificent monuments—at least one of
which overshadowed the land when Christ was born, being visible in all
directions for miles. We can’t help but contrast Herod’s mighty palace
with the stable. If we knew for sure where the stable was, wouldn’t we
wish to visit the site of that sacred birth? But who cares as much about
anything Herod built, besides perhaps one or two of our learned faculty
members? Most of us with a normal threshold for boredom ignore Herod.
<br />
Christ is infinitely more important. We seek Christ’s words and
probably have many of His words memorized. Well, not everyone does
apparently, because I’m always surprised on <i>Jeopardy</i> when those
brainiacs often seem to know nothing about the scriptures. We Mormons,
in turn, are continually lost on the “Potent Potables” category. We
celebrate and rejoice in the words and the happenings of Christ’s birth.
Does anyone, even the most bookishly versant among us, celebrate the
words or circumstances of Herod and his birth?
<br />
The New Testament shows us something of the Christ child we
celebrate at Christmas in the perfect young adult He has become. He
hasn’t become full of Himself and self-important, careworn, and brusque.
Although Isaiah described Him as “a man of sorrows, and acquainted with
grief” (Isaiah 53:3), Christ doesn’t constantly groan under the weight
of His office. Rather, we read in Luke:
<br />
<i>And they brought unto him also infants, that he would touch them: but when his disciples saw it, they rebuked them.
</i><br />
<i>But Jesus called them unto him, and said, Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: <b>for of such is the kingdom of God.</b></i> [Luke 18:15–16; emphasis added]
<br />
When Christ says that “of such is the kingdom of God,” it is
possible that He is also giving us a great insight into His nature and
the nature of God and godliness. Christ continued and taught, “Verily I
say unto you, Whosoever shall not receive the kingdom of God as a little
child shall in no wise enter therein” (Luke 18:17).
<br />
We must “receive” the supernal Christmas gift of the kingdom of
God as a little child. If you and I in our weakness follow the plan of
happiness our Heavenly Father has established—made possible by the gift
of His Son—we will receive the greatest gift possible: eternal life with
our Heavenly Father. How are we to receive and value such a gift?
Perhaps we receive and value it by living abundantly, by repenting and
becoming converted, and by becoming as little children. Christ warned:
<br />
<i>Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as
little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven. . . .
</i><br />
<i>And whoso shall receive one such little child in my name receiveth me.
</i><br />
<i>But whoso shall offend one of these little ones which
believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about
his neck, and that he were drowned in the depth of the sea. </i> [Matthew 18:3, 5–6]
<br />
For our purposes I wonder if we shouldn’t each consider ourselves
as one who might “offend one of these little ones” when we let the
world destroy the believing and loving child within ourselves by being
weighed down and frightened by the world and our responsibilities and
challenges. Christ seems to call us to put off childish fears and
instead be trustingly and courageously childlike.
<br />
I have a friend, Mossi White, who as an infant was one of the
unwitting heroes of World War II. Mossi’s parents, and I guess Mossi
herself, were part of the underground in Norway, and she acted as an
unwitting secret courier carrying secret papers hidden in her diapers,
where German soldiers were unlikely to look, for obvious reasons. Think
of the fears her parents had to overcome. Had they developed what Christ
meant when He asked us to develop a childlike nature? Is it possible
that, in their childlike nature, Mossi’s parents couldn’t be frightened
enough to accept that wrong was right or that there was nothing they
could do to stop the evil of the Third Reich? Mossi’s father was later
captured by the Gestapo and sent to a concentration camp in Poland,
which he ultimately survived. Mossi’s parents saw evil, and they did
what a beautiful child would do: they tried to make it all better.
<br />
Perhaps because she was raised by such parents Mossi has become a
woman of great strength and courage today. She is a cancer survivor who
served for years as president of the Provo School Board and as
president of the American Association of School Boards, traveling and
speaking extensively nationally and internationally, seeking only to
bless the lives of children. Does Mossi’s parents’ situation and
response remind us of the birth of the Christ child in a land and among a
people oppressed by both military might and false tradition, just as
Norway and the world were oppressed by the Third Reich?
<br />
<b>Developing Childlike Wonder and Belief</b>
<br />
Christmas gives us time to make memories in our quest for
conversion to the childlike. I always tell my children, and I remind
you, that we only get a finite number of Christmases on this earth, so
we should enjoy each one and never get too mature to enjoy all the
classic Christmas traditions, Christmas movies, and Christmas-themed
jokes. (What did the snowman order at the restaurant? A hot chocolate
and a mop. What did Santa call the reindeer that couldn’t fly? Venison.)
I often invite my children to stop and consciously imprint a memory or a
mental snapshot during Christmas, perhaps of a snow-covered mountain on
the continental divide in New Mexico while cross-country skiing or of
hiking to the top of a 12,000-foot peak in the Sangre de Cristo
Mountains. Or, in the case of my sister Paula’s family, taking mental
snapshots of scaring other family members by sending agents (and I have
been that secret agent before) to leave a creepy snowman outside the
front door of some lucky selected member of their family around the
country. They open their front door to find this creepy snowman staring
balefully, broodingly, and ominously at them.
<br />
I regularly enjoin my children to treasure and keep these mental
snapshots from Christmas—and to not fear snowmen, a disorder labeled
hominochionophobia. By the way, fear of Santa is the disorder labeled
Claustrophobia.
<br />
I know Christmas is a mixed blessing for BYU students and
professors. Beautiful Christmas lights appear, thanks to the efforts of
our grounds crew on campus, but also worries over finals and final
papers stalk the campus. Students are making plans to travel home, where
they will dramatically collapse into their loved ones’ arms, withered
husks of their former selves, blighted and trembling from stress and
lack of sleep and appropriate nutrition during finals.
<br />
Christmas is really most wondrous for little children and for
withered BYU students. I hope it is not shocking to reveal to my own
daughters (the youngest is fifteen and the oldest is a BYU senior on a
mission in Nicaragua) that on Christmas Eve, after we put out the horse
feed in buckets for Santa’s reindeer, I was the one who emptied the
buckets after they went to bed. What about childlike wonder and hope do
we all try to preserve in ourselves and in our children through
Christmas and its gentle deceptions? Is it a sense of wonder, a sense of
the possible, as an antidote to fear? I suggest we all need to develop a
sense of wonder as we ponder the Atonement and the childlike nature
Christ wants each of us to develop.
<br />
I remember Christmases from my childhood, and they remind me of
the love and preparation that my parents went through to provide great
experiences for us at Christmas. To show my age, I remember a Christmas
when I dearly wanted what some of my friends already had: J. C. Penney
walkie-talkies. We used them to play army. Imagine the dim recesses of
time before the cell phones and twittering you now experience. Contact
was not constant then. I know there are some here managing text and
twitter contacts even as I speak, arranging dates or Christmas travel or
taunting a Yankees fan that the Red Sox won the World Series.
<br />
On that Christmas long ago in the sixties, I thought
walkie-talkies cost so much that I had no hope of getting a set. When I
got one, it was a miracle that I still remember with a little frisson of
happiness. Almost immediately I went out with my friends on that
Christmas day in Arizona to use our walkie-talkies to play army, as was
our custom in those days, complete with gun sounds and medics who would
attend to you after you had been wounded. Those medics would come up to
the wounded and shamanistically wave their hands, muttering the magic
words “Fix, fix, fix,” and you were back in the game.
<br />
I realize that acting out such a bloody scenario today could be
seen as troubling and would violate most schools’ safe-school policies
if it occurred during recess. Times have changed. Television in my
childhood consisted of a grand total of three to five channels—one from
Mexico showing bullfights and one an educational channel. Then prime
time included weekly doses of the popular TV show <i>Combat! </i> with Vic Morrow, et al., or <i>Twelve O’Clock High</i> and other such shows based on World War II.
<br />
It’s a little different today. Today most of you don’t know that Jimmy Stewart, star of the Christmas classics <i>Mr. Krueger’s Christmas</i> and <i>It’s a Wonderful Life, </i>
served through the horrors of World War II as a wing commander flying
B-17s with great courage and skill. Most of you were not raised by a
decorated World War II combat veteran who saw and inflicted horrific
death as a B-17 pilot, flying daylight bombing raids over Germany when
he was younger than most of you. And yet after the hell that such
parents and society had experienced, such men and women as my parents,
and perhaps your grandparents or great-grandparents, through Christmas
and throughout our lives, protected us and let us be children untouched
by the horrors they had waded through. They even let us play war without
scaring us too much about what it actually meant. They knew that Christ
hasn’t promised we can avoid the horrors this world is capable of
inflicting upon us. They also knew that we are to become as little
children by choice, despite the world’s horrors.
<br />
<b>Living Life with Childlike Courage</b>
<br />
When you were a child, you probably also knew what you wanted for
Christmas. Similarly, when you were asked what you wanted to be, you
had wonderful plans. How has your career path changed since then? I
don’t notice a plethora of cowboys, firemen, or Disney princesses on
campus. When you were a child, did you say, “Well, I don’t know if I’m
quite up to the preparation and entrance exams necessary to be a doctor
or the physical preparation required to be a fireman”? Did you decide
you couldn’t live on the low wages paid to cowboys?
<br />
To a child, at least to a healthy child who hasn’t been harmed by
abuse, the world and Christmas itself are all still fresh and possible.
So what happened to you and to me as we grew older, and, most
important, what happened to us that Christ wants us to combat in our
maturity in order to become as little children? Why do we tend to become
stuffy scaredy-cats?
<br />
There’s nothing sadder than youth being wasted on the young. As
an old guy, I admonish you young BYU students to not waste your youth
and to not be big scaredy-cats. We’re supposed to become as little
children, and that shouldn’t include a lot of fear about our future.
<br />
In heaven’s economy, true maturity is the conversion of becoming
childlike. With all the duties and responsibilities that weigh him down,
I’d submit that our prophet President Thomas S. Monson is a
prototypical example of maturing into this childlike ideal:
<br />
<i>I reiterate that, as holders of the priesthood of God, it is
our duty to live our lives in such a way that we may be examples of
righteousness for others to follow. As I have pondered how we might best
provide such examples, I have thought of an experience I had some years
ago while attending a stake conference. During the general session, I
observed a young boy sitting with his family on the front row of the
stake center. I was seated on the stand. As the meeting progressed, I
began to notice that if I crossed one leg over the other, the young boy
would do the same thing. If I reversed the motion and crossed the other
leg, he would follow suit. I would put my hands in my lap, and he would
do the same. I rested my chin in my hand, and he also did so. Whatever I
did, he would imitate my actions. This continued until the time
approached for me to address the congregation. I decided to put him to
the test. I looked squarely at him, certain I had his attention, and
then I wiggled my ears. He made a vain attempt to do the same, but I had
him! He just couldn’t quite get his ears to wiggle. He turned to his
father, who was sitting next to him, and whispered something to him. He
pointed to his ears and then to me. As his father looked in my
direction, obviously to see my ears wiggle, I sat solemnly with my arms
folded, not moving a muscle. The father glanced back skeptically at his
son, who looked slightly defeated. He finally gave me a sheepish grin
and shrugged his shoulders. </i> [“Examples of Righteousness,” <i>Ensign, </i> May 2008, 66]
<br />
I know only a little about the many challenges our prophet is
faced with regularly, but I do know they are weighty, and yet he does
not appear careworn and beaten by maturity into losing the child within.
What can we learn about becoming as a little child from our beloved
prophet?
<br />
I hope it isn’t inappropriate to say that my wife is not that
mature. For one thing, she’s about the only person, outside of
kindergarteners, who laughs reliably at my jokes. She has been a
professor in Boston University’s School of Management and a highly paid
consultant in the petroleum industry and in other management settings,
including Boeing. Now she teaches kindergarten. One beautiful day she
had the courage to say, “Although I like being a management consultant,
what I really want to do is to teach kindergarten” (and be poor), so she
made a major career change. You should see her in kindergarten. She
reminds me of those Disney princesses when she is surrounded by her
kindergarten kids. I expect to see singing birds and butterflies around
her. Life is great in kindergarten, and you get to wear costumes at
Halloween.
<br />
I invite us to become like her and like her kindergarteners, with their fresh and courageous approach to careers and the future.
<br />
I’d suggest, my young brothers and sisters, that you and I may
have lost some hope as we’ve matured. Moroni said in Ether 12:32:
“Wherefore man must hope, or he cannot receive an inheritance in the
place which thou hast prepared.”
<br />
God hasn’t sent us here to fearfully creep through our lives and
education. I suggest that even in our hardest classes we could act this
out a bit more by worrying less about what the professor thinks is
important or what will be on the test and by worrying more about
exploring what we find fascinating in the subject matter of our
classes—and by taking time to prepare to serve our fellows and our
world. One day soon you’ll leave BYU—an extraordinary place. Will you
have crept through this experience, preserving a businesslike GPA but
not fostering childlike wonder and not making a powerful impact on
hearts and individuals’ circumstances? Do you fear and tremble before
graduate school entrance requirements? Without hope, you cannot be
pleasing to God, and, as a little secret, without hope, curiosity, and
wonder, you can’t really be too pleasing to your professors either.
<br />
Availing ourselves of hope, curiosity, and wonder, and adding
faith to the mix, we should not choose too safe of a plan in our lives.
We all know that if at first you don’t succeed, then skydiving is not
your sport. I’m not suggesting risking anything that is likely to
foreshorten your time in mortality. I am suggesting getting a little
more childlike joy out of trying more things, even if they seem beyond
us. I’m suggesting not being slavishly concerned about convention,
future earnings, or society’s expectations if they run counter to the
core of our best and most unique childlike nature individually. We need
to be fearless and not fainthearted.
<br />
As a BYU student long ago, my brother-in-law was an example of
fearlessness and not faintheartedness. Since the statute of limitations
has run out, the story can now be told. In the dim recesses of time,
when phones were rotary and thumbs were for hitchhiking, not texting,
computers were huge and programs and data were entered into them on
computer cards.
<br />
This gentleman, whom we’ll call Frank, because that’s his name,
was an electrical engineering major here at BYU. The by-product of
entering data onto computer cards then was that in punching them there
were resulting leftover tiny bits of paper or cardstock.
<br />
Frank, and some undisclosed accomplices, collected and introduced
this computer confetti, or chad, into the ventilating ducts of my
sister’s BYU apartment so that later, when they turned on their cooler
or heater fan, they would be greeted by a Christmas-like shower of paper
snow. Unfortunately, such chad or confetti didn’t all come out at once.
In fact, due to static electricity cling and the interactions of metal
ducts and energized small bits of paper, there was a shower of confetti
from then on every time the fans went on. I daresay that someone in this
audience has just learned why the vents in their apartment still
occasionally waft stray bits of computer-card chad gently onto their
carpet.
<br />
Unsurprisingly, this greatly annoyed my sister’s roommates—who
were not sufficiently childlike, I guess—but Frank’s pluck and daring
warmed the cockles of my sister’s heart. The point is that although
Frank may have exercised questionable judgment, it was kind of cool. He
dared and he won the fair maid because his own heart was not faint. Now,
President Samuelson and members of the campus law-enforcement and
student-discipline community, I’m not advocating any types of pranks;
it’s more a mind-set and a childlike courage I advocate.
<br />
A safer example may be my current colleague here at BYU, Chris
Sorenson. When he was the principal of an elementary school here in
Utah, a young man with a disability that confined him to a wheelchair
appeared at his school with his parents to enroll. Chris wondered what
class to assign him to. While the school secretary gave the boy and his
parents a tour of the school, Chris privately knelt in his office and
prayed about this student. He felt directed to assign him to the largest
class, one already much larger than the other two sixth-grade classes.
He didn’t know why; nevertheless, he took courage and trusted in the
prompting he’d learned to recognize. He ignored the possible displeasure
of a teacher with an already large class size. He ignored any other
concerns, because he had learned not to fear when had received an answer
in prayer.
<br />
To his surprise, when Chris walked this student to his new class,
as soon as this new student wheeled into the class, he lit up and
addressed the teacher by name, with evident relief and joy. Unknown to
anyone at the school, the two knew each other well. That particular
teacher had been a loved and trusted Scout leader in a previous ward,
and the families had lost touch with each other. Taking the courage to
seek and obey the Spirit’s prompting resulted in a successful start in a
new school for a child who probably needed such a start.
<br />
<b>Rising to Life’s Challenges as a Christlike Child</b>
<br />
In our lives, perhaps we could in a like way overcome fear more,
seek wonder more, follow the promptings of the Spirit more, and develop a
bit more childlike tenacity in action and belief. Often we slink away
from a challenge before we even rise to that challenge. We should
consider aiming a bit higher than we are in our imagination, our love,
our lives, and our academic pursuits.
<br />
As I think of rising to the challenges life provides us, I’m reminded of one of the authors of the book <i>We Were Not Alone: How an LDS Family Survived World War II Berlin</i>
by Patricia Reece Roper and Karola Hilbert Reece. Karola Reece spoke to
our youth in our ward some years ago. Her family suffered because they,
as pioneer members of the Church in Berlin, didn’t fully join and
support the Nazi Party. Her father had difficulty getting work since he
was not a member of the Nazi Party. Later her brother was drafted into
the military and was put on the Russian front. He made his own private
covenant with God that he would not take a life for “Hitler’s war,” as
he put it.
<br />
When Russian soldiers approached his foxhole from time to time in
advances on the Russian front, he would shoot to the right or to the
left or into the ground, but he would not shoot at his fellow humans for
Hitler. This was his own decision, and I’m not criticizing any others
who made different decisions in that war or in other wars. He and his
fellow soldiers often would laugh and say, “Hey, what’s wrong with us?”
because repeatedly his portion of the lines would be ignored and not
attacked. He survived the war without taking a single life in a cause he
did not support. This also exemplifies to me the childlike nature we
are asked to develop—of courage and of deciding not to collaborate with
something the child within us feels is wrong.
<br />
As a further example of rising to life’s challenges as a
Christlike child, I’m reminded of one of my father’s experiences in
World War II. He was the pilot of a B-17, flying daylight bombing raids
over Germany and experiencing and inflicting horrific deaths when he was
younger than almost everyone here. Thanks, Dad, to you and to other men
and women like you. At one point, after completing a bombing run over
Germany, his formation was attacked by German fighters and flack, and
his plane lost an engine. This meant that the rest of the formation had
to leave them behind since they could not keep up. They knew full well
that they would probably be killed because they had lost the protection
of the interlocking fields of fire and the protection that a formation
with its many guns provided. Then they lost a second engine. B-17s
weren’t necessarily able to fly with only two engines, but my dad broke
the throttle quadrant and could over-rev the engines, buying time for
some airspeed and altitude.
<br />
The fighters swarmed to this lone plane, ready to finish it off
with relative ease away from the protection of the other gunners and
planes. Dad began to pray, and he also thought, “Dad, pray for me.”
<br />
In the Gila Valley in Arizona, his father—my grandfather—Ether
Samuel Ferrin, got his wife and said, “Leven’s in trouble. We need to
pray for him.” They knelt in humble prayer for his safety far across the
world. These discrete actors’ stories were obviously pieced together
later. My Dad recounts that when they were sure they were going to be
destroyed, it seemed as if they suddenly became invisible to the
fighters, which would just fly past.
<br />
They were able to return home to England with that plane, which
Dad safely landed. After that the plane was useless in the war effort.
The ground crew presented Dad with the placard from that now useless
B-17. He has that placard in his home in the Gila Valley today. The key
point for me in recounting this story is that as a courageous child, my
father not only prayed but cried out for his father to be alerted and
pray as well, because he knew and believed in his father’s faith.
<br />
<b>Fostering the Child of God Within Us</b>
<br />
So what manner of child ought we to become this Christmas season?
As King Benjamin counseled, “Submissive, meek, humble, patient, full of
love, willing to submit to all things which the Lord seeth fit to
inflict upon [us], even as a child doth submit to his father” (Mosiah
3:19). He didn’t counsel us to be fearful or to settle for a safe but
boring job or career instead of a challenging and exciting mission in
life. I submit that we should be ready to be cowboys if that is what our
hearts and the Spirit dictate—or kindergarten teachers or doctors or
molecular biologists—and we should live our lives with courage and
submission to the Lord.
<br />
This Christmas season I invite each of us to foster and care more
for the child of God within us and bend to the exigencies of life and
finances less—to take joy in the wonderful and simple journey to be the
child that is like those who make up the kingdom of God. Paul reminded
us in Romans 8:15, “For ye have not received the spirit of bondage again
to fear; but ye have received the Spirit of adoption, whereby we cry,
Abba, Father.”
<br />
May we trust our Father and develop the childlike attributes
Christ and our prophet exemplify. May we cry out “Abba, Father,”
lovingly in words and action during this Christmas season, during our
academic careers at BYU, and throughout our lives as joint heirs with
Christ, I pray, in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, amen.<br />
<i>© Brigham Young University. All rights reserved.</i><br />
</div>
</div>
<br /><br />Leave your thoughts and comments please!Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12108288514453604202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1859647154265236311.post-49098967112589365992014-11-17T00:43:00.000-08:002014-12-13T00:44:22.003-08:00Bee StillHere's a radical idea: What if what I'm doing now, as little or simple
as it seems, is truly all I'm supposed to be doing right now? <br />
<br /> I'm
trying to wrap my brain around this. I've been frustrated with God
lately because no matter how long or how hard or how often I pray, He's
staying tight-lipped, silent. I know I'm not out of touch with His
Spirit, because I feel that, confirming truths and moving my soul (just
never moving it to action), so I know I'm in a good place. And I<span class="text_exposed_show"> know God hears me, but He just isn't answering. </span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIInh1x17aUTDteppIcmV7msRN-QTv9LfYD01RxoiwoaEtTmhSbKOMm57ViXYdf3XARHyGRM8v0uOvoYyu6vwyA3lBuWeFCRm9sP5_iDOO5pE5OOZEuw4WFLKN4Gz4rGmlU9Pb5itfK7gM/s1600/desperate+prayer.jpeg" height="133" width="200" /></div>
<span class="text_exposed_show"><br />
I finally got myself to the temple last week and had a few moments to
myself and told God to just say something. Tell me anything. I felt
peace and calm, but received no directions. Later that week, I explained
to Anthony, again, how frustrated I am with the situation. And I asked
if he thought it would be inappropriate to ask for a blessing with this.
I told him, I know God speaks through Priesthood blessings, and if I
can't get Him to talk directly to me, maybe I can get Him to talk to
someone else for me.</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show"><br /> So we did that. And I am so enormously thankful
for my husband who knows how to give a blessing of comfort as I need it
- he WAITS until he knows what he needs to say, and I love the long
pauses because I know he's listening so hard with his own spirit and
heart for the right words. </span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsa9D-6TvUgVAmbqVJ74vIE3ItKQ-oAQMcibw50XK-QKZSSOd_qPtNCy2xMsw35RK7sOAeVvEc3qyq1jZchgodpF_sfILiSNBQ7u-0agpwv2oPmCKi10HEq1pKDOluMfxm1IPnRCSlLnMW/s1600/Busy_Bee.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsa9D-6TvUgVAmbqVJ74vIE3ItKQ-oAQMcibw50XK-QKZSSOd_qPtNCy2xMsw35RK7sOAeVvEc3qyq1jZchgodpF_sfILiSNBQ7u-0agpwv2oPmCKi10HEq1pKDOluMfxm1IPnRCSlLnMW/s1600/Busy_Bee.jpg" height="200" width="185" /></a><span class="text_exposed_show"><br /> The overall message God sent to me was,
"It's alright. You are doing enough. I'm not going to ask you for any
more than what you are doing right now, so just stop fretting and trust
me. I'll tell you when you need to get moving again." (It may have come across with a feeling that added a bit more of a "knock it off" flavor to it all.)</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show"><br /> In this
gospel, where we're so frequently called to be anxiously engaged in good
causes, to find service opportunities and missionary opportunities, to
be busy, busy, busy like the Deseret bee, being told not to do any more
feels a little radical and frankly, too good to be true. But I felt it
as truth. And now I'm trying to accept that as my truth right now. </span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show"><br />
It's hard to accept what I'm doing as enough. It feels so meager.
Physical, mental, and emotional taxation runs high for me, and a lot of
my hardest work is resting. Rest and sleep don't look much like hard
work, but I am fighting to recover my body and that is part of what it
takes.I have a lot of projects, big and small, being pushed aside for
later because I don't have the stamina. I'm dragging myself through most
days. And yet, somehow, knowing what kind of condition I'm in, I STILL
feel like I need to be that Deseret bee.<br /> But the answer is no. Don't be a bee. Still the bees. Be still.</span> <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHEt1lcONW7ucspfuVTM2iIQ744j60vKY_nqM-lWDXJRJt584a0xnDk2WSSPf2V18UBMKlz2JIfF4FWJHvq4iWygcQEhmrSkooTMOULuGFMdlKbr_mf3wI2FwS2OalmJ4xvTcEckjYflNt/s1600/be+still+1.jpg" height="228" width="320" /></div>
<br />
<br />
Leave your thoughts and comments please!
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiirYgqumUhN-4z3uMSXpF0sW-_TclQQNUQ2bWuzkWHHOszC1vmrR61wrkA4JsChgYRN7NGyPBACrdGJ4eYuJzV3yWA_gTnhQA2oUUBzXo3QSDxIJMAWK2LqFhDMwBE3klwpyIwDB45ecs/s1600/wood+chair.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiirYgqumUhN-4z3uMSXpF0sW-_TclQQNUQ2bWuzkWHHOszC1vmrR61wrkA4JsChgYRN7NGyPBACrdGJ4eYuJzV3yWA_gTnhQA2oUUBzXo3QSDxIJMAWK2LqFhDMwBE3klwpyIwDB45ecs/s1600/wood+chair.jpg" height="320" width="226" /></a></div>
I did that thing they kept telling me not to do, called "standing up," and it was totally easy. So I thought I could take it to the next level - literally, by standing up on a chair - because nothing says "I am so over being sick" like Halloween decorations and cobwebs with spiders hanging from the ceiling around your front door, and since I am only 5 feet tall the ceiling is at <i>least </i>an-arm-and-a chair's-length away from me. Inevitably, the thing they kept warning me about standing up happened. I fell.<br />
<br />
It wasn't a slip-and-land-on-your-feet fall. While stretched out on my toes, on the edge of the chair, I lost all vision and muscle control, but not awareness and not sensation. One second I was working my hardest to get that pin to stick, and the next I was toppling sideways and knocking the back of my head on the edge of the kitchen counter and landing soundly on the floor on my hip without any brace for impact. I screamed as sight flooded in just behind the pain and saw my dazed husband dash across the room. And then, Pain. There was no blood, but a lot of pain, which is probably how I convinced my husband I didn't need to get medical attention, and now it's some four days later. I'm not sure of all I did in those four days, but I know I talked to several people on the phone, drove my car, and even kept appointments; I have a lot of piece-meal memories that I can't string together linearly. I remember the moments of trauma and ones preceding and following it, but there isn't the usual coherency between them. My souvenirs are a sensitive place on my head that I keep forgetting about and an enormous bruise on my hip.<br />
<br />
I think this sort of sums up the life experiences I'm supposed to have learned "the hard way." I think the hard way is about as hard as the floor, maybe harder, and regardless of how hard I knocked myself upside the head those experiences don't stay. I remember them about as well as I remember hitting my head: yeah, it hurt, a lot, but if it weren't for my bruises the memories would be as fleeting anything else. So when I share a story and point to my bruises, you can bet I only retain the lesson for as long as my body is still actually bruised; after that, it's just a story. And this is a really good analogy, but I can't quite clear the cobwebs out of my head enough for it to make sense.<br />
<br />
<br />
I'm bruised enough to remember not to stand on chairs, and dazed enough to still believe it. In a week, I will <i>tell</i> you I know not to stand on chairs, but I'll do it anyway.
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<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/PsLrVpeodog" width="560"></iframe><br />
<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Note: the one thing they didn't include that I wish they had is that
when we are in the Temple, we wear the Temple Robes OVER other white
clothes - women white skirts or dresses and men white shirts, tie, and
pants. We don't wear just the robe.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;">THEN I was asked this great question from an extended family member, born, raised, and proud of being Catholic. The question was: <span data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789515476726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:0"></span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789515476726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789515476726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789515476726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$0:0">Hearing that the Mormons think they r the only ones to go to heaven is that true??</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789515476726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789515476726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789515476726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$0:0">I tried to give a simple but full answer. It was later requested that I post my answer to my blog for future reference. So, here is my answer to her question - do Mormons believe only they go to heaven?</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789515476726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789515476726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789515476726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$0:0"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789576921726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789576921726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789576921726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$0:0">Not even close to true. But it is a good question, so here's my best attempt at a simple answer.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789515476726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789515476726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789515476726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$0:0"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789576921726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789576921726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789576921726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$0:0"> </span><br data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789576921726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$1:0" /><span data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789576921726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$2:0">Our
faith actually doesn't believe in hell in the traditional sense. We
believe there are three "degrees" of heaven, like the difference between
the stars, moon, and sun. Depending on our faithfulness and acceptance
of Christ's gospel and atonement (which can also happen after death -
everyone gets an equal opportunity to hear and accept or reject Christ's
gospel), we will go to one of the three heavens. The highest degree of
heaven is where Heavenly Father and Christ live - so that is our
ultimate goal. But no matter what we do in this life or the next, we all
get to go to a heaven that is better and more beautiful than the world
we live in now.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789515476726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789515476726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789515476726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$0:0"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789576921726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789576921726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789576921726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$2:0"> </span><br data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789576921726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$3:0" /><span data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789576921726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$4:0">It
is true that we believe the "keys" we need to enter the highest degree
of heaven are given in our temples, and we keep them sacred (not secret -
we want everyone to have a chance to receive them, which is why we send
out so many missionaries to share our faith). </span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789515476726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789515476726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789515476726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$0:0"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789576921726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789576921726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789576921726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$4:0"> </span><br data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789576921726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$5:0" /><span data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789576921726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$6:0">Because
our temples are literally houses of God, we believe we can only enter
when we are our best selves (not perfect), doing our best to keep God's
commandments, and, yes, active and believing in the LDS faith. There
would be no point in entering an LDS temple unless you believed in its
purpose</span></span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789515476726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789515476726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789515476726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$0:0"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789576921726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789576921726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789576921726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$6:0"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".4i.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789576921726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".4i.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789576921726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".4i.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789576921726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$6:0">,
which is to give us those keys to heaven, and seal the bonds of family -
husband, wife, parent, child - together eternally. No 'til death do us
part - the promise is forever</span></span></span>. </span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789515476726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789515476726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789515476726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$0:0"><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789576921726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789576921726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789576921726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$6:0"> </span><br data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789576921726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$7:0" /><span data-reactid=".2n.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789576921726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$8:0">Finally,
because God is perfectly just and perfectly merciful, he allows every
single person the opportunity to gain these keys and eternal family. That is why we perform
the ordinances like baptism by proxy (in physical place for someone who's passed on)
in the temples for ancestors and others who have lived and died before
us. They do not have to accept these ordinances, God will never force
anyone to do it, but we do our best to ensure everyone gets the chance
to make their own choice.</span></span></span> </span></span></span></span> <br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".ab.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789740486726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".ab.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789740486726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".ab.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789740486726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$0:0"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Don't
ever be afraid to ask me about my faith. I am so happy to answer
questions, and I always try to do it respectfully and simply. And I will
never put any pressure on you to change your own religious beliefs and
practices. I just think it's always best when we know the truths about
each other.</span> </span></span></span><br />
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".ab.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789740486726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".ab.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789740486726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".ab.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789740486726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$0:0"></span></span></span><br />
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".ab.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789740486726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"><span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".ab.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789740486726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".ab.1:3:1:$comment10152789454906726_10152789740486726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$0:0"><span class="emoticon emoticon_smile" title=":)"></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<u><b>Leave your thoughts and comments please!</b></u>Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12108288514453604202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1859647154265236311.post-17578917373414284862014-10-17T01:28:00.001-07:002014-10-17T01:30:06.365-07:00Messy IS BeauifulI still love Glennon's word "brutiful." It describes life and relationships so entirely. Love this little video where she explains brutiful: <br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/AYOR5OiQ1Cg" width="560"></iframe><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> "The messiest parts of our lives are also the best parts of our lives, always. The beauty is in the mess."</span></b><br />
<br />
(I just love Glennon - she is my truth-speaker.) <br />
<br />
Leave your thoughts and comments please!Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12108288514453604202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1859647154265236311.post-6240879288631190192014-10-02T18:09:00.001-07:002014-10-02T20:02:12.508-07:00Eyes to See Broke my heart open at Costco today. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHDJmPqNZA06alkNi9_anVRdSpkNq2NVyjDu1Uq8DrnklnkohhVPccA8-fC57RtmWHwjaOk8Kit-uwnJ84KQZdFhsZGMPbKaZ8B5rcfnNc5W-H1Jj3Da1WgWMxcbYNRPvOSCeP7ri2RwRc/s1600/HUGGIES-WIPES.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHDJmPqNZA06alkNi9_anVRdSpkNq2NVyjDu1Uq8DrnklnkohhVPccA8-fC57RtmWHwjaOk8Kit-uwnJ84KQZdFhsZGMPbKaZ8B5rcfnNc5W-H1Jj3Da1WgWMxcbYNRPvOSCeP7ri2RwRc/s1600/HUGGIES-WIPES.jpg" height="161" width="200" /></a><br />
I went to pick up an rx and
wet wipes and <i>nothing else</i> (the "nothing else" was very important and
very hard because the wet wipes are at the verrry back, past all the
delicious, easy, pre-made meals). Pushing a cart carrying Lana and a box
of wipes that weighs as much or more than her is tough for me right now
- but I can do it because I can NOT do no wet wipes - and I was panting
by the time we got out the door.<br />
<br />
Then, I notice a littl<span class="text_exposed_show">e
old lady get out of her car, pulled up next to the doors, hobbling like
one leg was in enormous pain, and she opens her trunk and walks over to
her cart piled so high I have no idea how she pushed that around. And
my heart ached, and I said out loud to no one, "Oh, Honey!" Because I
know what that's like, literally. </span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show"><br /></span>
<span class="text_exposed_show"> I peek into the car to see if a
husband or someone is with her. Nope. And then I watch, panting and
slowly pushing my cart away, as person after person, able-bodied man
after man, passed RIGHT BY HER. And no one stopped. Some looked and
turned their heads, but kept on walking. And my heart just BROKE. <i>Why
was no one helping her???</i></span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidzq9gM5USp2CvaABH_Kynhw4v2dFzzwwlj2NaswbbEDvHs2_87hDUvfTY7FT-W9M8MCQbSfzUpl1Bb2dVyUchLM1OPRPujV2sEkcTLxcoZ1M_wDPkq4LQNiLRw3KQND-cP3qwDig-L3V7/s1600/Costco-cart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidzq9gM5USp2CvaABH_Kynhw4v2dFzzwwlj2NaswbbEDvHs2_87hDUvfTY7FT-W9M8MCQbSfzUpl1Bb2dVyUchLM1OPRPujV2sEkcTLxcoZ1M_wDPkq4LQNiLRw3KQND-cP3qwDig-L3V7/s1600/Costco-cart.jpg" height="142" width="200" /></a><span class="text_exposed_show"> So I turn my cart around and walk up to
her and ask if she needs help, and can I help her load her groceries
into her car. (My body was insisting that it was impossible for me to
do that much work, but my heart was demanding that it was impossible to
leave her like that.) She said, "Bless your heart." but wouldn't let me
help. "There was supposed to be someone here to help me." I looked
around again - no one coming to her, none of the employees paying any
attention to her.</span><br />
<br />
<span class="text_exposed_show"><span class="text_exposed_show"> So I turn my cart around again, really panting
now, and go to the employee at the door and tell her someone needs to
help that lady. She radioed for someone. I asked her how long it would
take. She shrugged and said it would be several minutes because none of
the cart-helpers had radios on them. (What was the point of radioing?) I
frowned a little at her, Lana held up our smiley-face-marked receipt
showing we'd paid for wet wipes, and finally she called out to another
employee close by to ask him to help the tiny old lady load her car. And
I waited there until I was sure he was doing it.</span></span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show"><span class="text_exposed_show"><br /> And then I
panted and pushed my cart towards my car again, nearly in tears
wondering how on earth this lady was going to UNload her groceries. But
there's only so much I could do, so I said a prayer for her, and prayed
some of those people who passed by would learn how to look around and
SEE. Maybe that's part of what Jesus meant when he said, "Those who have
eyes to see, let them see." I wonder.</span> </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjUuBNQEyUMenZEHetrtbZ0dmcnXf6wXccZ62owe4KJsAHFC0OHGZdnaT_hUxAmitKhdlenLrID2QzoDRCOhSexAaP0em-zpdOCfnP6_1wAAnekKk9m3zj2LPeqItMtoV54p3GpOcL6QSN/s1600/miracles+of+jesus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjUuBNQEyUMenZEHetrtbZ0dmcnXf6wXccZ62owe4KJsAHFC0OHGZdnaT_hUxAmitKhdlenLrID2QzoDRCOhSexAaP0em-zpdOCfnP6_1wAAnekKk9m3zj2LPeqItMtoV54p3GpOcL6QSN/s1600/miracles+of+jesus.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" data-reactid=".2d.1:3:1:$comment10152740603196726_10152740607506726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body"> <span class="UFICommentBody" data-reactid=".2d.1:3:1:$comment10152740603196726_10152740607506726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0"><span data-reactid=".2d.1:3:1:$comment10152740603196726_10152740607506726:0.0.$right.0.$left.0.0.1:$comment-body.0.$end:0:$0:0">And
now I'm at home, breathing better, and letting Lana watch "Go Diego,
go!" because he's less annoying than Dora. And I just heard, in the
theme song, "Helping out each other is good for everyone." I think maybe
they should play that on the radio now and drive us all insane because
we can't get the lyrics out of our heads, but at least we'd know that
"helping out each other is good for everyone."</span></span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje4tWZ29MgXh-vRao6XF3HoAWHE-65j3Rldzrr2dg97UQ7QuSQ5g_umZpoJR3KtzvIcME0V-JsehhyphenhyphenG83qbFp_juNurq8s-7p2HuBHRdigMamBU-WZwiEQ2pYSp8IdfLdNsq55Soi0siJB/s1600/cannont+love.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje4tWZ29MgXh-vRao6XF3HoAWHE-65j3Rldzrr2dg97UQ7QuSQ5g_umZpoJR3KtzvIcME0V-JsehhyphenhyphenG83qbFp_juNurq8s-7p2HuBHRdigMamBU-WZwiEQ2pYSp8IdfLdNsq55Soi0siJB/s1600/cannont+love.jpg" height="400" width="400" /></a></div>
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Leave your thoughts and comments please!Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12108288514453604202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1859647154265236311.post-70833422110530273422014-09-28T03:15:00.000-07:002015-01-10T03:16:36.612-08:00He Lets It Rain"Sometimes He Lets it Rain"<br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/tlNnzOUFF4k" width="420"></iframe><br />
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Leave your thoughts and comments please!Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12108288514453604202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1859647154265236311.post-55058761820674898452014-09-13T02:13:00.003-07:002014-09-13T02:13:49.490-07:00Defining Light<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL2FxoUltK1sQnXGrpljXZPTUrt2g2CNsyNh6sCO7Y667xTDM9HuR4eaE2sFdptbiqd0Ji6WFMxZNN_Bv4bPtFkEBmDHBEAeuUOQOnYwLO7p0siyzu0yquFFjFoQvqFRxV5tjyMN0jJ-c5/s1600/1540452_10152683435281726_1630350846287348423_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL2FxoUltK1sQnXGrpljXZPTUrt2g2CNsyNh6sCO7Y667xTDM9HuR4eaE2sFdptbiqd0Ji6WFMxZNN_Bv4bPtFkEBmDHBEAeuUOQOnYwLO7p0siyzu0yquFFjFoQvqFRxV5tjyMN0jJ-c5/s1600/1540452_10152683435281726_1630350846287348423_o.jpg" height="380" width="640" /></a></div>
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Leave your thoughts and comments please!Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12108288514453604202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1859647154265236311.post-28823192932902951712014-07-23T02:21:00.002-07:002014-07-29T18:07:17.786-07:00Only HumanDo you ever hear a song and feel that the artist reached into the deepest part of your soul and put it into words and music? <br />
"Human" by Christina Perri<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/r5yaoMjaAmE" width="560"></iframe><br />Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12108288514453604202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1859647154265236311.post-62074775041790444712014-07-17T10:59:00.002-07:002014-07-17T11:01:37.657-07:00A great Secret<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjymDtdS63h-slnSb1pHdV889-FnJ-HggU7G7EyscHixWlChsA55ENuHYuP7r32rQPGEI_EqH-kccjkrGeEJkxvkcmfKNqUK-2Weug5CAMTuL75fSjErfGSHCM_X-2qdwvRhHuQaAfNihxN/s1600/graciously+accepting+help.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjymDtdS63h-slnSb1pHdV889-FnJ-HggU7G7EyscHixWlChsA55ENuHYuP7r32rQPGEI_EqH-kccjkrGeEJkxvkcmfKNqUK-2Weug5CAMTuL75fSjErfGSHCM_X-2qdwvRhHuQaAfNihxN/s1600/graciously+accepting+help.jpg" height="458" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12108288514453604202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1859647154265236311.post-46407790643516916062014-07-13T13:45:00.000-07:002014-10-17T04:25:38.350-07:00Give More Than You Can Afford<div id="fb-root">
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<a href="https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=534721796657544">Post</a> by <a href="https://www.facebook.com/logical.indian">The Logical Indian</a>.</div>
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<span class="userContent">This is beautiful. And so true, those with less often give more.<br />
You know those guys with cardboard signs by the road? We keep all our
extra change in the change drawer in the car so we can give something
every time possible. (Sometimes we're two lanes over so it's not
possible.)<br /> I don't know what, if any, blessings I get for this; I
don't know what that person does with the $1 or so I can give; all I
know is it feels RIGHT and GOOD. It feels like I am being a follower of
Chr<span class="text_exposed_show">ist who gave everything to everyone.<br />
My meager offerings of change are tiny, but they are my widow's mite,
so to speak. We struggle with finances ourselves so badly, but I can't
help thinking how much more that person with the cardboard sign is
struggling. I have been given MUCH - not everything, and a lot of days
it feels like not enough, but it is much all the same. And I try to live
my life by the sweet hymn, "Because I have been given much I too must
give." It takes courage and a soft heart - and those are values I want
to develop more in myself. <br /> It's not just street corner people,
either. It's the lady at Target, looking frantic, who needs help finding
something or to take my spot in line. It's making room on the freeway
to let in all the cars; I can wait. It's a smile and an actual
conversation with the person at the checkout counter. It is love - and
it crosses all barriers. It is what I want to be.<br /> P.S. I am so far from perfecting this attribute, but I have to start somewhere.</span></span>Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12108288514453604202noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1859647154265236311.post-89672471990601748662014-07-07T11:07:00.001-07:002014-07-07T11:07:55.476-07:00The best definition of Infertility<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcmALLYxfTwJ3egkErcZkska3iZkbr7gLTEp7pPnxCI8M309kbAjFZjCJ5xySNW-YU3tTorcEAzCSKNNHLfjcM6N4c2uj3B3U6EHAuEbcJcnQz3zZoloLrqLIovJg5W2I7EodRR9S4DJdQ/s1600/signs-of-infertility.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcmALLYxfTwJ3egkErcZkska3iZkbr7gLTEp7pPnxCI8M309kbAjFZjCJ5xySNW-YU3tTorcEAzCSKNNHLfjcM6N4c2uj3B3U6EHAuEbcJcnQz3zZoloLrqLIovJg5W2I7EodRR9S4DJdQ/s1600/signs-of-infertility.png" height="362" width="640" /></a></div>
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Leave your thoughts and comments please!Hannahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12108288514453604202noreply@blogger.com0