tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-90117841835635162062024-02-07T21:23:30.747-08:00Mirror MirrorMirror Mirror with Christie Lee Rayburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04852274918455210576noreply@blogger.comBlogger213125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011784183563516206.post-32472418616185009202014-06-02T08:35:00.001-07:002014-06-02T08:38:36.342-07:00I LIVE IN BETWEEN<strong style="background-color: #f3f4ee; color: #666666; font-family: Palatino, Georgia, Baskerville, serif; line-height: inherit;">Most of my life is spent in a place of too much and not enough.</strong><br />
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Too much to do, and not enough time.<br />
Too much stuff, and not enough space.<br />
Too much eaten, and not enough activity.<br />
Too much spent, and not enough saved.<br />
Too much stress, and not enough rest.</div>
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You get the picture. You probably live in this picture too. Most of us internet-trawling, Facebook-posting, smart-phone-clutching, Consumers-and-Users do. We don’t want to. We don’t plan to. We read and write and repost all sorts of things to avoid it. But,<strong style="line-height: inherit;"> it’s the curse of modern life.</strong></div>
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I suspect the subsistence-farming, factory-working, drought-surviving, war-enduring, HaveNots-and-MakingDoers are living their own form of too much and not enough. A far grimmer version. Perhaps, <strong style="line-height: inherit;">it’s the curse of human life.</strong></div>
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This morning I gamely wrestled six bags, three children, a dented flute, a half-eaten muffin and a small plastic snailery (hastily fashioned out of an old pop bottle for Mrs Gander’s class) out the front door. We were running late. Again. With even the smallest chance of sunshine, ghostly white people like us must sunscreen before leaving the house. I always forget to account for this extra 5 minutes in my mad dash to all our various schools.</div>
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Fortunately we have very good friends who give the highschooler a ride everyday. The elementary schoolers were impatiently buckled into the van, the preschooler was crawling between the seats chasing a bug and I was checking one more time to make sure I had a good copy of my paper for my Creative Non-Fiction class. Even Mom goes to school these days.</div>
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As we pulled out, we began our not-so-beloved, but totally neccessary for Mom’s sanity, prayer ritual. Everyone pitches in a couple items, out loud, on the way down the street. And I remember that I actually love these little people and that life, and this day, is bigger than the latest version of yes-you-really-have-to-wear-that (shoe/sock/coat/sunscreen). It’s like a reset, as we face down another day. My favourite was the boy’s prayer:</div>
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<em style="line-height: inherit;">Ah… God,</em><em style="line-height: inherit;">School!!!</em><br />
<em style="line-height: inherit;">Ah-mennnnn.</em></div>
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What more needs to be said, really? We arrived at our first stop, flush with success, just as the first bell rang. Of course the snailery was sitting on the porch by the front door. </div>
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Of course.</div>
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Pack it back in, turn around, scoop it up, try again. Even later than ever. Again.</div>
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I used to think that this is where life is lived – in the doing: in the tasks accomplished and customers served. The bulk of my life - so full of too much, so starved by not enough – is not a bad place, not really. I don’t regret it or hate it. I’m not willing to trade it in for another rendition. I’m not looking for a transformation or some fancy new system guarunteed to cure all my woes. Sure, I’ll seek a better balance, but I don’t imagine I’ll ever arrive.</div>
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Instead I’m changing my focus. I picked the word “Breathe” as my resolution this year. And it’s a strangely powerful one.</div>
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I’m as busy as ever, but that is not how I live. Not anymore. <strong style="line-height: inherit;">I live in the spaces between too much and not enough.</strong></div>
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I live in the slight breeze tickling my face.<br />
I live in the warm press of little bodies beside me at 6 am.<br />
I live in the stretch of my legs on the trampoline during ‘ring-around-the-rosie.’<br />
I live in the laugh shared over a ridiculous inside joke.<br />
I live in the beat of a catchy tune, the blue sky as far as I can see, the smell of rain on the horizon…</div>
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I live in these moments that are just right and more than enough. There’s no trick, no equation, no escape needed. <strong style="line-height: inherit;">Life trickles into the gaps of everyday.</strong>It’s a gift. We just have to live it.</div>
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<em style="line-height: inherit;">Be still and know that I am God.</em></div>
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Breathe.</div>
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<em style="line-height: inherit;">So here’s me, the crazy person who thought an intensive May/June writing course (cram 13 weeks of work into 8) would be a great fit for our life. Maybe not, but I’m actually feeling a lot LESS stressed than expected because those technicolour moments of life are powerful. Who knew, I just needed to learn to breathe all these years.</em></div>
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<span style="line-height: inherit;"><b>CHRISTIE HOOS</b></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: inherit;"><b><a href="http://www.soheresus.com/">So Here's Us</a></b></span></div>
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Mirror Mirror with Christie Lee Rayburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04852274918455210576noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011784183563516206.post-31112579227796735722014-04-28T08:41:00.002-07:002014-04-28T08:41:40.663-07:00HOW TO MAKE A REAL LIVE FRIEND<div style="background-color: #f3f4ee; color: #666666; font-family: Palatino, Georgia, Baskerville, serif; line-height: 18px;">
It starts with my best face, my best chit chat, my best me. A brief warmth and pressure, hands touching, nothing more. Tentative, sanitized, easy.</div>
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Next, we test the waters. Lining up topics from lightest to heaviest. Basic information with hints of personality. I don’t always follow the rules, I overshare, I talk too much and listen too little. Did you really want to know about my day? Did I really want to know about yours?</div>
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If all goes well and life allows, we invest something. Some time. Some memory. Some effort. Venturing onto private property, dishes in the sink, lego on the floor… I’ll show you mine, if you show me yours.</div>
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Time is the final ingredient. The yeast in the dough. Settling in, getting messy, sticking it out for the hard stuff. I’ll show you me, if you let me see you.</div>
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It’s not like it used to be. When “wanna be my friend?” wasn’t quite so complicated. When clicking “confirm” didn’t mean anything.</div>
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<em style="line-height: inherit;">So here’s me, where making friends at 38 is different for a whole lot of reasons, but definitely worth the effort.</em></div>
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<span style="line-height: inherit;"><b>CHRISTIE HOOS</b></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: inherit;"><b><a href="http://www.soheresus.com/">So Here's Us</a></b></span></div>
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Mirror Mirror with Christie Lee Rayburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04852274918455210576noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011784183563516206.post-21171441486062661072014-04-14T08:49:00.000-07:002014-04-14T08:49:01.245-07:00THE STRANGER: A Short Story<br />
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<em style="line-height: inherit;">Somewhere between fact and fiction lies this story.</em></div>
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My trip down memory lane this summer has sixteen lanes of traffic, on both sides. Interstate 5 stretches all the way from Canada to Southern California and it’s a road I know well. At every stop on this familiar road trip, I’ve been reading and re-reading an article written by Martha Gellhorn, about her memories of World War II. She was front and centre at some of the pivotal points in history, yet 50 years later she’s struggling to make sense of it all. With her memory fading, the coherence and purpose she once had now elude her. It’s frustrating as hell. How do we make sense of the world when we can’t make sense of ourselves anymore?</div>
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As I muscle my way across the lanes of traffic onto my exit, I try to focus on the mission at hand. This is difficult under a deluge of my own memories. I spent many blistering summers here in Eagle Rock, a relatively affluent suburb of Los Angeles. My holidays were punctuated by trips to the library, to the beach, to church, and to buy household items and underwear with my Grandma at the Glendale Galleria (which sounded SO much more glamorous to my childish ears than “mall”). Occasionally, a longsuffering relative would bundle some of us kids off to Knott’s Berry Farm or, on a really good day, Disneyland.</div>
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I angle my wheels toward the curb and pull on the parking brake, before clambering out with an armful of bags and papers and empty soda cans. I once tried to roller skate down this very street with my cousin Janis. Lined with palm trees, Hermosa Drive is just as picturesque as I remember, but seems even steeper and more dangerous to my adult eyes. What were we thinking?</div>
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But today isn’t a holiday. Nor is it time to wallow in nostalgia. Today, I’m here to work, reviving an old skill set for an important man. It’s been years since I coddled, cajoled and provided personal care to several elderly clients. It wasn’t a job I loved at the time, but it feels important in hindsight. At least I know what I’m doing.</div>
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The white house halfway up the block is a poor man’s Georgian mansion. What it lacks in size, and adjoining plantation, it makes up for in sheer panache. The four towering pillars at the front would seem pretentious on any other façade, but this house has the supreme self-confidence to pull it off. No longer pristine, it maintains an air of shabby elegance. The extra wide front door has an antique brass knocker on its brow and I’m thrilled to announce my arrival with a brisk rat-a-tat-tat. “Simple pleasures for simple minds,” my husband always teases. When no one comes after several minutes, I’m forced to resort to the doorbell after all.</div>
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Shifting from one foot to the other, I juggle my packages back and forth, sagging under the weight of old insecurities. As extensively as the family has briefed me on the situation there is still so much uncertainty. I’m not sure how I’ll be received.</div>
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When the door finally opens I am surprised by the blast of heat. It’s even hotter inside than out. An industrious Mexican woman greets me before bustling past.</div>
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“I will see you next week SeñorBob,” she calls over her shoulder.</div>
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The Señor is enthroned in a frayed green armchair on the other side of the room. Straight-backed, legs planted wide, with a cane in his hand like a sceptre, he scowls over the coffee table at me.</div>
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“Well… you gonna come in, or what?”</div>
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I’ve never encountered a more intimidating stranger.</div>
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I try to ease the heavy door shut, but the hot Santa Ana wind wrestles it out of my grasp with a resounding bang. I take a deep breath and paste a smile on my face. The key to confidence is: fake it ‘til you make it. I’ll pretend he’s glad to see me.</div>
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I try to make nice; the polite chit-chat strangers use to grease the wheels of introduction. “It sure is windy. I guess they don’t call the Santa Anas “devil winds” for nothing. I thought they were going to knock me right off the road. Is it normally like this? I see they’re filming a movie in the house up the road. Do you get a lot of that around here? Have you had lunch yet?”</div>
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Smooth. Nothing says “trust me, I’m here to help” like a nervous ramble.</div>
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He’s unmoved. Not a word; just a glare.</div>
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I feel less like an intruder when I notice the food stains on his white dress shirt and catch a whiff of his scent. Unwashed Old Man will never make my top ten aromas, but today it smells like a welcome. He does need me, even if he can’t see it right now.</div>
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Putting down my things, I excuse myself to the washroom, a genteel Canadian-ism which makes him snort.</div>
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“The<em style="line-height: inherit;"> bathroom</em>’s in the back. Don’t touch anything.”</div>
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The washroom’s a study in pink. Someone loved dusty rose once upon a time. Behind the toilet a faded sign, written on the cardboard sleeve salvaged from a package of pantyhose, is taped to the wall. The feminine script reads, “If it’s yellow, let it mellow. If it’s brown, flush it down.” Ah yes, the classy prose of drought country. Before I dare to let anything mellow I help myself to a rag and give the whole room a wipe-down. It’s what my Grandma used to call a “lick and a promise,” but at least it’s a start.</div>
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He’s right outside, when I’m done, leaning heavily on his cane, stooped nearly in half.</div>
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“Might as well show you around,” he snarls.</div>
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Waving his hand dismissively toward the stairs, “Bedrooms,” then nodding toward the front room, “Keep the curtains closed; we don’t want the furniture to fade.” As we inch our way through the dining room, “Fer company” is all he says. Apparently the kitchen is self-explanatory.</div>
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He lights up as he hobbles into the backyard. Rendered speechless, I’m impressed by its beauty: the charming nooks, the hidden paths to benches and bird feeders, the dramatic blooms and rustic gazebo. Then he starts talking. He shows me the system he’s rigged to open the back gate with the touch of a button. He explains the construction of each sprinkler. He points out the fruit trees and names each type of flower. Even the grass receives an extensive lecture. “St. Augustine’s the way to go. It’s not like most grass around here, but it’s tougher, better, needs less water. No weeds dare grow when it’s taken root. Ya see how low to the ground it is. It don’t grow much higher than that; it don’t need much fussin’.”</div>
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Sure enough, the grass is unlike any I’m used to. It’s prickly and barely gives way under my feet. It suits him.</div>
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He settles himself on the back patio; waiting, I assume, for his lunch. He barks out an order: “sardines and crackers.” I try not to gag as I put a tray together. Whether that’s the rather pungent main course, or my deep seated aversion to submission, I can’t tell. I don’t generally take orders well.</div>
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We sit in silence. Chewing. Eyeing each other suspiciously.</div>
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“Used to have a dog around here, a stray. Just showed up one day begging for food and wouldn’t leave. Huge slobbering mountain of a beast. Not a lick of sense. No use to no one, that mutt.”</div>
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“What did you do?” I wondered.</div>
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“Spent a fortune on him, got his shots, took him to the vet, fed him here on the patio.”</div>
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“So what did you name him?”</div>
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“Didn’t name him. He weren’t my dog. We just called him ‘Dawg.’ This one time he got hisself tangled up in some barbed wire the neighbour left out. Howled bloody murder; most awful racket I ever heard. I was in the shower at the time, but I hoofed it out here fast as I could to save ‘im. There I was, buck nekkid, trying to unravel that dumb Dawg, ‘til Doris comes screeching out, ‘Grab a towel, Pa.’”</div>
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The floodgates have opened. Suddenly, he’s talking about anything, about everything. About his wife Doris and how she was always the smart one. About “The Meeting” and serving the Good Lord and walking the straight and narrow. About his son and grandson, who lived in an RV on the driveway for more than a year. About the doctors who told them to put their daughter in an institution when she was born, and were surprised by their vehement refusal. About the time they got into the car to go on a drive and didn’t stop until Michigan.</div>
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With each mumbled story the picture of a different man emerges. He’s an old school patriarch living “in the world, but not of it;” rough around the edges, with an unexpected marshmallow center. Listening to him feels like coming home.</div>
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Sometimes he finishes a story before moving on to the next one, but not often. Sometimes he simply trails away, then jumps in with a new thought from yet another decade. His memory seems to wax and wane without conscious control.</div>
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Out of the blue, he turns to me, tapping his fingers against his brow, “I’m losing my mind, ya know.”</div>
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There’s an edge of panic to his voice, but the statement is made with complete resignation. This man, who proudly pointed out his workshop and many homemade inventions throughout the house, who spent years building his own equipment, who was the go-to handyman in every sphere, cannot fix himself. And neither can I.</div>
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Without the mask of hostility, his confusion is more pronounced. Even as he reminisced, his memories seemed to slip through his fingers no matter how tightly he grasped for them; not just what he had done, but who he was and why he was here. Gellhorn once asked, “What is the use in having lived so long, travelled so widely, listened and looked so hard, if at the end you don’t know what you know?” It’s frightening, and worst of all, so very pointless.</div>
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I came here hoping he would recognize me. I imagined a few meals and a good cleaning and a friendly face could hold back the tide of dementia a little longer. I thought that was the job. But I was wrong.</div>
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At the end, when memory fails and we can no longer make sense of our lives, it’s up to our loved ones to do it for us. That is how memory, and meaning, lasts forever. This is the job. I am here to catch those memories as they slip away and make them mean something in the world, to make HIM mean something. It’s all I can do.</div>
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I put my hand on his arm and leaned close. “Don’t worry Grandpa, I’ll remember for you.”</div>
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<em style="line-height: inherit;">This piece was published in the literary magazine “Louden Singletree” under creative non-fiction. </em></div>
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<em style="line-height: inherit;">What began as a composite character of all the clients I once worked with who suffered from dementia, evolved into a picture of my own Grandpa, as seen through the lens of my mom and sisters, my aunts and cousins, and those last few visits we had on the back porch of the Hermosa Drive house.</em></div>
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<span style="line-height: inherit;"><b>CHRISTIE HOOS</b></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: inherit;"><b><a href="http://www.soheresus.com/">So Here's Us</a></b></span></div>
Mirror Mirror with Christie Lee Rayburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04852274918455210576noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011784183563516206.post-37704100945543576532014-03-25T13:54:00.001-07:002014-03-25T13:54:12.846-07:00I AM ME: A Poem for World Down Syndrome Day<div class="post-author" style="background-color: #f3f4ee; color: #949494; font-family: Palatino, Georgia, Baskerville, serif; font-size: 14px;">
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Hello.<br style="line-height: inherit;" /><strong style="line-height: inherit;">It’s me.</strong></div>
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You can call me…<br style="line-height: inherit;" />sweetheart<br style="line-height: inherit;" />kiddo<br style="line-height: inherit;" />sunshine</div>
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Call me…<br style="line-height: inherit;" />student<br style="line-height: inherit;" />equestrian<br style="line-height: inherit;" />swimmer</div>
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Call me…<br style="line-height: inherit;" />artist<br style="line-height: inherit;" />dancer<br style="line-height: inherit;" />singer</div>
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Call me friend.</div>
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<strong style="line-height: inherit;">I am me.</strong></div>
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I am…<br style="line-height: inherit;" />charming<br style="line-height: inherit;" />stubborn<br style="line-height: inherit;" />silly</div>
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I am…<br style="line-height: inherit;" />affectionate<br style="line-height: inherit;" />moody<br style="line-height: inherit;" />kind</div>
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I am…<br style="line-height: inherit;" />imaginative<br style="line-height: inherit;" />exuberant<br style="line-height: inherit;" />bossy</div>
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I am sweet.</div>
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<strong style="line-height: inherit;">I am me.</strong></div>
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I have…<br style="line-height: inherit;" />parents who adore me<br style="line-height: inherit;" />sisters who tease me<br style="line-height: inherit;" />a little brother who follows me around</div>
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I have…<br style="line-height: inherit;" />grandparents who dote on me<br style="line-height: inherit;" />teachers who are proud of me<br style="line-height: inherit;" />friends of all shapes, sizes and colours</div>
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I have…<br style="line-height: inherit;" />fears and dreams<br style="line-height: inherit;" />favourite songs and movies<br style="line-height: inherit;" />strong opinions about my own life</div>
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I have Down Syndrome.</div>
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I <strong style="line-height: inherit;">have</strong><br style="line-height: inherit;" />Down Syndrome.<br style="line-height: inherit;" />But I am not Down Syndrome.</div>
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<strong style="line-height: inherit;"><img alt="iamme" class="aligncenter" height="300" src="http://soheresus.files.wordpress.com/2014/03/iamme.jpg?w=200&h=300" style="border: 0px; display: block; height: auto; line-height: inherit; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; max-width: 100%;" width="200" />I am me.</strong></div>
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<em style="line-height: inherit;">So here’s my homage to the lovely “<a href="https://www.facebook.com/Losethelabel" sl-processed="1" style="color: #5f5f5f; line-height: inherit;" target="_blank" title="lose the label">Lose the Label</a>” campaign (<a href="https://twitter.com/Lose_the_label/lists" sl-processed="1" style="color: #5f5f5f; line-height: inherit;" target="_blank" title="twitter Lose the label">@Lose_the_label</a>). Because we are, all of us, more than our diagnoses and disabilities.</em></div>
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March 21 is World Down Syndrome (aka Trisomy 21) Day. You know, 3/21 for Trisomy 21… get it?</div>
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In honour of the unique and wonderful people we know, who happen to have Down Syndrome (especially the one we feed and hug and tuck into bed every night) I am posting a link to this tearjerker. I defy you to watch it and not get choked up:</div>
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Dear Future Mom…</div>
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<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ju-q4OnBtNU" rel="nofollow" sl-processed="1" style="color: #5f5f5f; line-height: inherit;">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ju-q4OnBtNU</a></div>
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<b>CHRISTIE HOOS</b></div>
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<b><a href="http://www.soheresus.com/">So Here's Us</a></b></div>
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Mirror Mirror with Christie Lee Rayburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04852274918455210576noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011784183563516206.post-28477732676142923242014-03-10T15:29:00.001-07:002014-03-10T15:29:20.367-07:00FROM THE HEART<br />
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When I had my own classroom last year, I had a poster hanging on the wall just like the one below. I really wanted my students to think about the power of their words before they came out of their mouth. At the beginning of the year, we squeezed a tube of toothpaste and then tried to put the toothpaste back into the tube as an illustration that you can never take back words once they have been spoken. We weren't successful 100% of the time, but I heard snippets of conversations from time to time where students would ask or tell each other, "Is that inspiring?" "Was that helpful?" It made me proud to know that some of my students really took that to heart.</div>
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<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_ccFaertoHeze2fwVKON4GuFCgZQ_hnyQePK6KiJljcwz_nUvn75qJBnJ44JTamdB6KuB1OqXDcGH_hMPztTMm_MY3ltL34U_PaVm3Pw4C9iEmhyphenhyphent1Wp3nxaW3kSG9gHQyswW6wDDhtQ/s1600/20130809-103757.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="color: #185d61; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_ccFaertoHeze2fwVKON4GuFCgZQ_hnyQePK6KiJljcwz_nUvn75qJBnJ44JTamdB6KuB1OqXDcGH_hMPztTMm_MY3ltL34U_PaVm3Pw4C9iEmhyphenhyphent1Wp3nxaW3kSG9gHQyswW6wDDhtQ/s1600/20130809-103757.jpg" style="border: 1px solid rgb(102, 102, 102); padding: 4px;" width="317" /></a></div>
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This year, since stepping out of the classroom into a leadership position, I've really thought about the words that come out of my own mouth and the power they have. I haven't been perfect, not even close. There have been days where I've said the wrong thing, but I've owned it. There have been days where the words I spoke were taken out of context or misconstrued. Only I know the intent behind those conversations. But, I've really been pondering the way teachers speak. Last year, I had the amazing opportunity to meet Ron Clark and he made a comment that jumped off of the stage and has stuck with me. I know I won't get it exactly right, but he spoke about how teachers are the world's worst at tearing each other apart. He gave several examples that I could really relate to…"Look at her working late. She's doing it for recognition." or "Dressing up for costumes is just a way to get attention. There's not time for that." </div>
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I thought back to the many, many days I ate lunch in teachers' lounges, attended professional developments, etc. and heard those very same comments about teachers who are in the trenches in all out warfare for their students. I thought about the teachers who made the comments and the teachers whom the comments were about. It broke my heart and continues to break my heart. Teachers should be bound together by a code, much like the Navy Seals. They never leave a man behind, and never talk bad about one of the team. They do everything they can to make sure everyone comes out of a mission successful. </div>
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As teachers, we need to band together and lift each other up every where and in everything that we do. We should be knocking on the doors of teachers in our building and asking if there is any help that is needed and asking for help ourselves. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikJgGgUrF5r9kYgt4FCLM8L5qSHo1UUkZsuinc6Wz16ql-laH7ya6ihSxZ42shdzWApJjSUXyb-lRxbMa7ELK6DzQ7U4Gewda3Z7S6AQIu-a2gcHNFRiWLFry4BaJqdzHGim3WPTJ-tps/s1600/104060-Karen+salmansohn+awesome+or+ne.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="color: #185d61; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikJgGgUrF5r9kYgt4FCLM8L5qSHo1UUkZsuinc6Wz16ql-laH7ya6ihSxZ42shdzWApJjSUXyb-lRxbMa7ELK6DzQ7U4Gewda3Z7S6AQIu-a2gcHNFRiWLFry4BaJqdzHGim3WPTJ-tps/s1600/104060-Karen+salmansohn+awesome+or+ne.jpg" style="border: 1px solid rgb(102, 102, 102); padding: 4px;" width="246" /></a></div>
<br style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: 'Josefin Slab'; font-size: 20px; line-height: 31px; text-align: center;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: 'Josefin Slab'; font-size: 20px; line-height: 31px; text-align: center;">We have a greater mission than of ourselves. Those little guys, and big ones too, who sit in the desks in our classrooms deserve a "team" of professionals that value each other, learn from each other, encourage each other. That positive energy feeds into our students, who then take it to each other. If teachers model positivity, just think about what our students would do. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: 'Josefin Slab'; font-size: 20px; line-height: 31px; text-align: center;" /><br />
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Being positive or negative is a choice. One that we must make many times in a single day. But we have the power to choose it ourselves. So, if you choose to be positive, pull up a chair beside me at the lunch table and let's talk about how amazing your students are. If you choose to be the negative nelly - about teachers or students - I'd really prefer that you sit somewhere else.</div>
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<b>SHASTA LOOPER</b></div>
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<a href="http://www.theteachersloopblogspot.com/">The Teacher's Loop</a></div>
Mirror Mirror with Christie Lee Rayburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04852274918455210576noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011784183563516206.post-33165302269558012422014-03-03T18:15:00.000-08:002014-03-03T18:15:55.288-08:00MY FAVORITE THING<div style="background-color: #f3f4ee; color: #666666; font-family: Palatino, Georgia, Baskerville, serif; line-height: 18px;">
It’s a nuisance. A distraction. A menace on the roads. A depressing sign of the times.</div>
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It’s also <strong style="line-height: inherit;">my window to the rest of the world</strong>. A handful of technological wonder in an otherwise menial and isolated day. A life, and sanity, saver.</div>
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Yes. I’m that mom. Smartphone never out of reach. The ubiquitous 5th child in my already busy brood. One more to keep track of, keep safe, keep an eye on at all times.</div>
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I’m not blind to the downsides of this strange love affair. I’ve debated each point ad nauseam, with the critic in my head. I can get downright philosophical about it.</div>
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Since humanity first harnessed the power of fire, split the atom and pioneered the worldwide web, we’ve shown an incredible capacity to use our fancy new tools for both good and evil. It’s in our nature. It’s in my nature.</div>
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This is <strong style="line-height: inherit;">Mommy’s security blanket</strong>. The smooth contours nestled perfectly in the palm of my hand. A solid, sure weight in a tumultuous world. A little piece of control safe in my pocket, in the place of honor at the top of my purse… if all else fails, tucked under a bra strap next to my skin, inches from my heart.</div>
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<br /><a href="http://soheresus.files.wordpress.com/2014/02/iphone-pocket.jpg" sl-processed="1" style="color: #5f5f5f; line-height: inherit;"><img alt="iphone pocket" class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-4977" height="193" src="http://soheresus.files.wordpress.com/2014/02/iphone-pocket.jpg?w=300&h=193" style="border: 0px; display: block; height: auto; line-height: inherit; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; max-width: 100%;" width="300" /></a></div>
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In the course of a day it is my trusted advisor, personal assistant, teacher, counsellor, biographer, court jester, emergency response system, flashlight, calculator, alarm clock and immediate connection to friends, family, help, encouragement, entertainment, poetry, news and much-needed-perspective.</div>
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Sometimes, it’s a hero. When our son choked on a cookie this weekend, it was my iPhone that I turned to; typing ”foreign object aspiration” into the search engine to find out what to do now. I had weather forecasts, road conditions and a friendly GPS voice on hand to help me around heavy snowfall and road closures on the way to the ER. It kept an anxious Daddy and sisters in the loop, worried friends apprised of the situation and a miserable, scared little boy distracted with games and movie clips. I can’t imagine living through that day without it.</div>
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But, it can be overwhelming, so much information and connection hovering in the background. Reluctantly I pry my fingers off my friend from time to time. Pull the curtain. Focus on the here and now. Find silence and solitude again.</div>
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Until life and family intervene. The punishing momentum of needs and routines and our very own brand of chaos. A world within a world.</div>
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So I reach for Mommy’s best helper. <strong style="line-height: inherit;">4.9 ounces of synthetic comfort for the modern woman.</strong></div>
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This is my favorite thing.</div>
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<b>CHRISTIE HOOS</b></div>
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<b><a href="http://www.soheresus.com/">So Here's Us</a></b></div>
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Mirror Mirror with Christie Lee Rayburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04852274918455210576noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011784183563516206.post-9907702584404098662014-02-24T09:52:00.001-08:002014-02-24T09:52:24.423-08:00ONCE UPON A MARRIAGE<br />
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<em style="line-height: inherit;">This feels deeply personal, and a little strange to post. But I’ve enjoyed reading and learning from the other letters in Amber Haines’ <a href="http://therunamuck.com/category/marriage-2/marriage-letters/" sl-processed="1" style="color: #5f5f5f; line-height: inherit;" target="_blank" title="marriage letters">Marriage Letters </a>link-up. </em><em style="line-height: inherit;">So, I’m jumping in with a letter on this month’s topic: <strong style="line-height: inherit;">Once Upon a Time.</strong></em><br />
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Dear <a href="http://thisisnowhere.com/2013/11/13/airborne-toxic-event-i-must-seem-strange-to-you/" sl-processed="1" style="color: #5f5f5f; line-height: inherit;" target="_blank" title="this is nowhere">Glen</a>,</div>
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Remember once upon a time, when we lived to be together? Starry eyed teenagers… with a smug certainty of our own importance and bright future… with a mix-tape blasting cheesy love songs through the speakers of your Volkswagon Rabbit… with plans growing, morphing and changing in all aspects except one – we’d be together.</div>
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We weren’t wrong about that.</div>
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I got to know a lovely young woman in my last writing class. She’s 19, the same age I was when I chased our happily-ever-after down the church aisle in my white dress. She’s in love with Mr. Wonderful and they’re making plans. She assured me that their happy ending wouldn’t dare start until they had finished school, established careers, built a nest egg, and put a down payment on a reasonably-priced nest in a good neighborhood.</div>
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The Sensible Mom in me was pleased. The Romantic Teenager in me sighed.</div>
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It wasn’t easy, getting married as young as we were. But we were too<br />
<del style="line-height: inherit;">stupid</del> naïve, too thrilled with our new-found freedom and togetherness to care. Remember the hideous second-hand couch we were so excited to receive? It was SO uncomfortable! But we threw a green sheet over it and decided we were really grown ups now. At our age uncomfortable seating didn’t seem like such a big deal. Besides, it was just temporary. Eventually life would get easier, better, more secure.</div>
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Somewhere along the way we stopped scrambling for every penny. We added meat and the good toilet paper to our grocery list each week. Acting like grown ups stopped feeling like a thrill. We faced losses and victories, created homes and packed them into boxes, had children and buried children, changed jobs and sizes and styles and beliefs. We bought ourselves a huge brown sectional, big enough for a family of 6 to stretch out and watch American Idol together.</div>
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It is SO comfortable!</div>
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And crowded.</div>
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All along, we’ve expected things to get easier, better, and more secure. Someday.</div>
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I don’t think it ever has. The things we planned on - careers, moving away, having children… are harder than we ever expected. The things we hadn’t planned on – grief, changing goals and ideals, special needs… are more than we could have anticipated or prepared for. In many ways, those early years were the simplest ones.</div>
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The only thing we got right was that we’d be doing it all together. And even that isn’t as easy as we expected.</div>
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So I told my young classmate that. That I didn’t regret our years of eating ketchup sauce on noodles and going to the library as a “date.” That there’s no way to skip ahead, past the hard stuff. That as much as I’d like my own kids to take an easier road, I’m not sure it’s the best road. Or that it even exists.</div>
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She laughed at my jokes and nodded her head at my advice. But she didn’t really understand. Of course not. No one does. Not until they live it.</div>
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Growing up is hard. It’s been 22 years since you held my hand in the halls of our High School. We’re not the people we were then. In some ways we’ve grown together, in others we’ve grown apart.</div>
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Most days we feel old, and tired, and a little bit overwhelmed. This life stage is tough. I want to believe that it’s going to get easier, better, and more secure. I want to believe that we’ll be finished growing up and have life all figured out eventually. But I doubt it.</div>
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Maybe the only realistic goal is that we’ll face it together.</div>
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After all we’ve been through… that’s good enough for me.</div>
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Loving you more than ever,</div>
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Christie</div>
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<a href="http://therunamuck.com/category/marriage-2/marriage-letters/" sl-processed="1" style="color: #5f5f5f; line-height: inherit;"><img alt="MarriageLetters-598x600" class="aligncenter wp-image-4959" src="http://soheresus.files.wordpress.com/2014/02/marriageletters-598x600.jpg?w=240&h=240" height="240" style="border: 0px; display: block; height: auto; line-height: inherit; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; max-width: 100%;" width="240" /></a></div>
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<em style="line-height: inherit;">So here’s us.</em></div>
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<span style="line-height: inherit;"><b>CHRISTIE HOOS</b></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: inherit;"><b><a href="http://www.soheresus.com/">So Here's Us</a></b></span></div>
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Mirror Mirror with Christie Lee Rayburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04852274918455210576noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011784183563516206.post-62114051998795433192014-02-17T15:08:00.000-08:002014-02-17T15:08:54.394-08:00PUTTING MYSELF IN HIS SHOES<h2 style="text-align: center;">
The Boy</h2>
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<a href="http://soheresus.files.wordpress.com/2014/03/boyshoes.jpg" sl-processed="1"><img alt="boyshoes" class="aligncenter wp-image-4929" height="221" originalh="221" originalw="270" scale="3" src-orig="http://soheresus.files.wordpress.com/2014/03/boyshoes.jpg?w=270&h=221" src="http://soheresus.files.wordpress.com/2014/03/boyshoes.jpg?w=810&h=663" width="270" /></a></div>
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It’s all over me. Pulling me down. Wrapping all around me. A heavy fog of numb.</div>
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<em>bored.</em></div>
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<em></em> </div>
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<em>…so bored.</em></div>
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<em></em> </div>
HAVE to escape. Now! Shake it off. Break free. <br />
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<em>Bang!</em></div>
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<em></em> </div>
I felt that. Train + Window Pane + Bang… vibrating in my fingers, up my arm, echoing in my ears.<br />
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<em>More!</em><br />
<em></em><br />
Trains in both hands now. A tingle of energy moving from deep inside out to the very edges of me. <br />
<em></em><br />
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<em>Bang! Bang!! BANG!!!</em></div>
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<em></em> </div>
Jumping. Laughing. Feeling.<br />
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Hands snatch the trains from mine. Even that feels good. Anything better than the dull nothing.<br />
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Words. Close to my ear.</div>
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“…blah, blah, gentle, blah…”</div>
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I pick up the basket at my feet.<em> </em><br />
<em></em><br />
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<em>Flip.</em></div>
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<em></em> </div>
Feeling the toys rolling off my belly, my legs, my feet… then the glorious clatter onto the floor. I make things happen. Me! I am powerful.<br />
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<em>More! More!</em><br />
<em></em><br />
Mommy bends down, pressing toys into my hand, pointing to the basket. We drop them in. Small bang. Meh.<br />
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“…blah, blah, time to go… van.”</div>
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Van! I love the van! I love to GO! Coiling my body, ready to run to the door… until it catches my eye. Catches me, body and soul.<br />
<br />
On the edge of the table. My favourite thing. The best thing. So many buttons. So many colours and noises and games. So much everything.<br />
<br />
iPhone<br />
<br />
And, she’s looking away. Quick! Feet skittering across the floor, arms and legs climbing frantically, heart pounding… <em>Got it!</em><br />
<em></em><br />
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“Hey!”</div>
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She sees me! Now throwing myself off the table, prize clutched to my chest, down the hallway – the chase is on! Running. Laughing. Feeling.<br />
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<em>More! More! More!</em><br />
<blockquote>
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* * *</div>
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<blockquote>
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Today is exactly 1 year since our adoption was finalized, and the boy became ours for good, forever. It’s been exhausting and overwhelming at times, but never, ever, boring. At least not for long.</div>
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It’s been pointed out that “Gotcha Day” (which many adoptive families use to describe this day) sounds creepy and vaguely kidnap-y.</div>
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“Signed the Paperwork Day” doesn’t really capture the sentiment either. Nor does ”You’re Stuck With Us Now Day.” We’ve finally settled on:</div>
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“For Keeps Day.”</div>
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Definitely worth celebrating! And yes, there will be cake.</div>
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* * *</div>
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<em>So here’s us, where we’re learning to make room for: fun, impulsive, hyperactive, sensory seeking, rough & tumble, and being a boy. </em><br />
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<a href="http://theadoptionsocial.com/category/weekly-adoption-shout-out/" sl-processed="1" title="Weekly Adoption Shout Out"><img alt="The Weekly Adoption Shout Out" scale="0" src="http://i1358.photobucket.com/albums/q775/puffindiaries/BADGE7_zps59df311c.jpg" style="border-image: none; border: currentColor;" /></a></div>
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<strong>CHRISTIE HOOS</strong></div>
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<a href="http://www.soheresus.com/">So Here's Us</a></div>
Mirror Mirror with Christie Lee Rayburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04852274918455210576noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011784183563516206.post-91199325267764371072014-02-10T13:13:00.000-08:002014-02-10T13:15:13.802-08:00THE GRASS ON THE OTHER SIDE<br />
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It’s one of those subject lines that grabs you by the throat. Time slowed as my mouse hovered over “Baby Died.”</div>
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I didn’t breathe at all until I realized it wasn’t my friend’s baby. Except, it sort of was. One of the babies she works with in a Ugandan orphanage. Not family, as are the 7 dependents she claims on tax forms, but close to it, when you know her heart and her view of the world.</div>
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<br /></div>
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As I read about her many kids, her son’s broken arm, the challenges of life in Africa and her husband’s upcoming trip,<strong style="line-height: inherit;"> I couldn’t help but feel small. Small in my scope and my reach and the type of things that seem SO overwhelming to me right now.</strong></div>
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<b><br style="line-height: inherit;" /></b><a href="http://soheresus.files.wordpress.com/2014/01/grass.jpg" sl-processed="1" style="color: #5f5f5f; line-height: inherit;"><img alt="grass" class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-4898" src="http://soheresus.files.wordpress.com/2014/01/grass.jpg?w=300&h=126" height="169" style="border: 0px; display: block; height: auto; line-height: inherit; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; max-width: 100%;" width="400" /></a></div>
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I pulled up my calendar in Outlook, adding “letter to Cher” to my task list when the words “Nicaragua trip” caught my eye. I realized that it’s almost time for 32 local high school students to put the rubber of global education to the road of real life experience, working with families living, literally, in a garbage dump in Central America.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Since trips to the grocery store down the street take monumental effort for our family, it seems inconceivable that my friend Ginny and her husband manage to not only plan and lead this annual trip, but build an international aid organization and spend summers exploring Europe with their children. Before reaching double digits, their girls have seen and experienced more of the world than most adults. Extraordinary. Adventurous. So beyond our reach.</div>
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<br /></div>
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It should be a good thing, to be trusted with someone else’s story, a much needed gift of perspective. Instead, too often, <strong style="line-height: inherit;">I let the comparisons steal from me. Spiriting away my confidence and contentment, making my stories seem less important to my own eyes.</strong></div>
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<strong style="line-height: inherit;"><br /></strong></div>
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Sighing, I scrolled through the rest of my emails, perking up to see an email from a new friend – one of my English professors. I had been thrilled to connect beyond the classroom and honoured to act as a sounding board for her upcoming blog. Not only does she have a depth of experience as a mentor and academic, she’s already a published author. That she also happens to be stylish, beautiful and eloquent only reinforced my belief that her life must be glamorous.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I braced myself for another dose of envy and insecurity. Somewhere along the way, I cast myself as the frumpy housewife inching towards an undergrad degree at an absurdly glacial pace. But that’s not who she sees.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Our paths have been very different. As she put it, we are ”opposite ends of the contemporary women’s spectrum,” yet somehow, kindred spirits.</div>
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<br /></div>
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She sent me a draft she’d written for the new blog about our unexpected, providential friendship. I am the other side of that mirror for her, just as she is for me… a glimpse down the road not taken. Reading it, <strong style="line-height: inherit;">I was reminded that her life, so glamorous to my eyes, has actually been a hard-fought, often scary journey. But she wouldn’t trade it for anything.</strong></div>
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<strong style="line-height: inherit;"><br /></strong></div>
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That much we have in common.</div>
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<strong style="line-height: inherit;">I don’t regret my journey.</strong> I don’t regret my destination. Even though I caught vomit in my bare hands twice yesterday. Even though I haven’t had 4 consecutive hours of sleep since Thursday. Even though I throw embarrassing, self indulgent pity parties for the whole internet to see. Even though I’m not a saint, or a world traveller, or a ‘real’ writer.</div>
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<br /></div>
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(Yet)</div>
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<br /></div>
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I won’t let comparison steal anymore from me today. <strong style="line-height: inherit;">I am surrounded by exceptional women with challenging, complex, beautiful stories.</strong> Not molds I must pour myself into. Not scales to weigh myself against. Not competition.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<strong style="line-height: inherit;">Friends.</strong></div>
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<strong style="line-height: inherit;"><br /></strong></div>
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The grass on our side of the fence is a unique strain. It might not spread as far and wide as some… it might not grow as tall or as quickly or as easily… but it’s home. <strong style="line-height: inherit;">When I stop filtering my life through everyone else’s story, this messy, noisy, beautiful life comes back into focus.</strong> And it’s good – hard, but good. And I can appreciate the view into other lives all the more.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<em style="line-height: inherit;">So here’s me, in the ongoing battle to just be. Thank God for my story. And yours.</em></div>
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<em style="line-height: inherit;"><br /></em></div>
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<em style="line-height: inherit;">Breathe.</em><br />
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<span style="line-height: inherit;"><b>CHRISTIE HOOS</b></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: inherit;"><b><a href="http://www.soheresus.com/">So Here's Us</a></b></span></div>
</div>
</div>
Mirror Mirror with Christie Lee Rayburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04852274918455210576noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011784183563516206.post-29183159829652836222014-02-03T10:31:00.000-08:002014-02-03T10:31:00.044-08:00GIFT-WRAPPED COURAGE<br />
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I love getting compliments.</div>
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I hate getting compliments.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I have a complicated love-hate relationship with compliments.</div>
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<a href="http://soheresus.files.wordpress.com/2014/01/encouragement.jpg" sl-processed="1" style="color: #5f5f5f; line-height: inherit;"><img alt="encouragement" class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-4869" height="219" src="http://soheresus.files.wordpress.com/2014/01/encouragement.jpg?w=300&h=219" style="border: 0px; display: block; height: auto; line-height: inherit; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; max-width: 100%;" width="300" /></a></div>
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Ditto for accepting help. Even help I really need from people who really love me. Especially help I really need.</div>
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I’m not sure if it’s tied to insecurity, pride, or the constant suspicion that I’m just pretending to be a well-adjusted adult. So when you say something nice to me, or when you do something nice for me, I feel guilty for being such a fraud.</div>
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Because sometimes I yell at my kids. And buy myself a bag of candy I don’t need, which I then hide and don’t share with anyone. Because sometimes I roll my eyes when I should nod my head. And I really can’t stand Christian radio, at all, but I like listening to Eminem. Because sometimes I ignore my husband and the housework and homework and exercise when I know it’ll just make everything worse. And the other day I threw something across the room when the vacuum broke, right after giving my daughter a lecture about watching her temper, and I didn’t even feel bad about it.</div>
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But sometimes, I don’t do the lazy, selfish, short-sighted thing. And I actually get it right.</div>
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While all those nice things that you’ve done and said (and I’ve had a lot lately) might be hard to swallow at first, after I’ve had time to digest awhile, they nourish my best self. They make me stronger. Strong enough to do better. Strong enough to believe that I really am the better person you see. That maybe the real me, the me God designed me to be and is helping me become, is patient and loving and wise, and okay… imperfect, but totally cool enough to pull it off anyway.</div>
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<em style="line-height: inherit;">So here’s my thanks to all the encouragers in my life; sometimes I’m uncomfortable in the face of your generosity and kindness, both the words and deeds, but you make me strong and I couldn’t do without you.</em></div>
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<em style="line-height: inherit;"><br /></em></div>
<div style="background-color: #f3f4ee; color: #666666; font-family: Palatino, Georgia, Baskerville, serif; line-height: 18px;">
<span style="line-height: inherit;"><b>CHRISTIE HOOS</b></span></div>
<div style="background-color: #f3f4ee; color: #666666; font-family: Palatino, Georgia, Baskerville, serif; line-height: 18px;">
<span style="line-height: inherit;"><b><a href="http://www.soheresus.com/">So Here's Us</a></b></span></div>
Mirror Mirror with Christie Lee Rayburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04852274918455210576noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011784183563516206.post-75162117472714154072014-01-31T15:38:00.001-08:002014-01-31T15:38:50.132-08:00BEFORE THE PUCK DROPS<section class="post-meta fix post-nothumb " style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Droid Sans', 'Lucida Grande', Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 1.71em;"><section class="bd post-header fix"><section class="bd post-title-section fix" style="padding-bottom: 6px;"><div class="metabar" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 11px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 1.6em; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
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<a href="http://www.lifeteams.ca/wp-content/uploads/2014/01/rob-stop1.jpg" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px; color: #ef6926; font-family: 'Droid Sans', 'Lucida Grande', Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline;"><img alt="rob stop" class="alignleft wp-image-4958" height="400" src="http://www.lifeteams.ca/wp-content/uploads/2014/01/rob-stop1-208x300.jpg" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px; float: left; height: auto; margin: 0px 1.5em 1.5em 0px; max-width: 100%; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: middle;" width="277" /></a><span style="font-family: Droid Sans, Lucida Grande, Tahoma, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">Growing up I was a stereotypical Canadian kid. Playing hockey on frozen sheets of water in fields, backyards, lakes and community rinks. My dad was the typical hockey dad. Maybe a super hockey dad even. Kind of like Walter Gretsky without the famous and talented hockey player son. </span><span id="more-4951" style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">He would flood the outdoor rink after it got too dark for us kids to play. The spray of water freezing to his Ski-Doo suit until he looked like a huge ice cube. He was there for the early morning practices and late night games. He drove us thousands of miles </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent;"><span style="font-family: Droid Sans, Lucida Grande, Tahoma, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;">(metric wasn't in yet--still isn't for dad) to small communities all over Ontario. I have no idea how many hours he would have spent standing in the cold rinks watching me play the game that I loved.</span></span></span></div>
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For most of my life I thought my dad was like all the other dads. Coming to the rink to watch their kids play. It hadnt really occured to me that my dad came to every game. Every pratice. Every time I was on the ice he showed up to watch. No other Dad had an attendence record like his. I haden't noticed that other Dad’s missed. Some often. Some rarely. But all missed.</div>
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As traditions have it teams gather around the goalie before a game to wish each other well and yell their war cry. Maybe in hope to intemidate the other team. Perhaps to summon their own courage. One such game as the team came toghter one of the guys asked where my Dad was. It was noticable to the other players that he wasnt in the rink. He was always in the rink, wheather it was a game or practice. 6am or 11pm. He was there. But now it was 30 seconds before the puck dropped and he was not. I gave no thought to my answer to the question. I had no ideas were he was but I gave a confident “Don’t worry guys he will be here before the puck drops.” We skated to center ice. I look up into the stands and there was the familiar Ski-Doo suit taking his place in the rink. Of course he showed up. He always does. And the puck drops.</div>
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Years later a friend is asking me about God the Father and why I have what some might say is a blind faith in Gods faithfulness. I didn't really know the answer until I was reminded of this story of my father showing up at the rink. Always. Faithfully. Before the puck drops. He was teaching me about who God is. That He is interested in me and the things I do and He will be there…always.</div>
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Dads are mirrors of God. We teach our kids about the character of God the Father through our relationships with our sons. All Dads miss this because we aren’t perfect. Some rarely, some often and some always.</div>
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I am so grateful for glimpses of God the father – through a man in a Ski-Doo suit standing in a cold rink.</div>
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<b>ROB SNAIR, Director of Life Teams</b></div>
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<b><a href="http://www.lifeteams.ca/">Life Teams</a></b></div>
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Mirror Mirror with Christie Lee Rayburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04852274918455210576noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011784183563516206.post-1412947013186354362014-01-27T08:25:00.000-08:002014-01-27T08:26:02.343-08:00YOU HAVE ACCESS TO THE HEAVENLY REALMS<blockquote style="background-color: #f7f7f7; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; border: 1px solid rgb(230, 230, 230); margin: 0px 15px 15px; padding: 10px 20px 0px 15px;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us<br />in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places, even as he<br />chose us in him before the foundation of the world, that we should be holy<br />and blameless before him. In love he predestined us for adoption as sons<br />through Jesus Christ, according to the purpose of his will, to the praise<br />of his glorious grace, with which he has blessed us in the Beloved.</span><span style="background-color: transparent;"> </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ephesians 1:3-6</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My file cabinet is stocked with lessons I have prepared from Ephesians 1 about being chosen before the foundation of the world to be holy and blameless before Christ. Some of the files contain notes on our identity with Christ; chosen, predestined, adopted in love. But, somehow I have missed the fact that Christ has blessed us with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places. It is quite an amazing concept to recognize and live victoriously with the fact that we have access to the heavenly realms today!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Both blessings and battles take place in the heavenly realms. We know Satan is the prince and power of the air (Ephesians 2:2) and he operates in the heavenly realms where the ultimate spiritual battles take place. At the same time, Christ has already won the battle and He sits as Victor in the heavenly realms, “…far above all rule and authority and power and dominion, and above every name that is named, not only in this age but also in the one to come.” (Ephesians 1:20-21)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Is there a burden on your heart, a temptation gripping you, a discouragement that is dragging you down? It is time to place your thoughts and battles in line with the truths in Ephesians, “Christ has blessed you with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places.” You have been raised up with Christ and are seated with Him in the heavenly realms (Ephesians 2:6-7).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ponder this:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Eternity is already in session. If you want to go into heaven-go now. You have access. - John Ortberg</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">J. Vernon McGee says it this way:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You are in the heavenlies in Christ even when you are down in the dumps. Everyone who is in Christ is seated in the heavenlies in Him. That is the position He has given us.</span></div>
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<strong>Consider This</strong> as you memorize Ephesians 1:3-6</div>
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Would I react to daily trials, temptations and turmoil differently if I recognized my position with Christ in the heavenlies?</div>
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What would it take for me to remember and access every spiritual blessing in the heavenly realms today?</div>
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<strong>Give God the Praise</strong></div>
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God has chosen you to share in His blessings. He has given you the means to not only survive, but thrive through this life. Take some time to thank Him for who He is.</div>
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<strong>Meditate on the Verses</strong></div>
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Spiritual lessons and themes are popping out of these three verses. Circle key words, jot notes on the margins of your Bible,</div>
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<strong>What do you learn about the character of God?</strong></div>
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As you memorize and chew upon the book of Ephesians this year, take notes about the character and actions of God the Father, God the Son and God the Holy Spirit from these verses.</div>
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Stop and talk to God about His character. Do you think accurately about the God you love and follow? Praise Him, thank Him and ask Him to help you know Him more deeply.</div>
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<strong>Study Further</strong></div>
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Did you notice the words “blessing” and “blessed” are used 4 times in these verses? “Blessing” is a word we hear commonly used throughout the day. Do you have a clear understanding of its meaning? Spend a few minutes doing a word study on the original language and meaning of these words.</div>
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<strong>It’s not about Me!</strong></div>
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Although Christ has chosen to richly bless us with every spiritual blessing, and give us the means to live a victorious life, it is actually not about <em>Me</em>!</div>
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As you meditate on these verses, look for the <em>why</em>. How many reasons do you observe <em>why</em>God has chosen to bless you? For whose purpose?</div>
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<b>BONNIE CHRISTENSEN</b><br />
<a href="http://www.womangonewise.com/">Woman Gone Wise</a>Mirror Mirror with Christie Lee Rayburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04852274918455210576noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011784183563516206.post-7373657583122844092014-01-20T14:43:00.000-08:002014-01-20T14:43:26.117-08:00Eryn-Faye Frans - The Essential Elements of Sex, Part 3<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/NP3tm2TeYus" width="459"></iframe><br />
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Sex is one of the most difficult topics to broach for most people in their relationships – but also one of the most important. In this segment with My New Day TV, Eryn-Faye Frans discusses different ways to get the conversation going.<br />
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ERYN-FAYE FRANS, Canada's Passion Coach ®<br />
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<a href="http://www.erynfaye.com/">ErynFaye.Com</a>Mirror Mirror with Christie Lee Rayburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04852274918455210576noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011784183563516206.post-66300491665298882152014-01-13T08:51:00.001-08:002014-01-13T08:51:12.515-08:00ENJOY GREAT SPIRITUAL DIVIDENDS WHEN YOU MEMORIZE SCRIPTURE THIS YEAR<h2 class="entry-title" style="background-color: white; background-image: url(http://www.womangonewise.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/10/posticon.jpg); background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; border-bottom-color: rgb(239, 91, 5); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 0px; color: #179da5; font-family: Arial, 'Century Gothic', Verdana, Arial; font-size: 24px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 20px; margin: 0px; padding-bottom: 6px; padding-left: 32px; padding-top: 0px;">
<a href="http://www.womangonewise.com/2014/01/02/enjoy-great-spiritual-dividends-memorize-scripture-year/" rel="bookmark" style="color: #179da5; text-decoration: none;" title="Enjoy Great Spiritual Dividends when you Memorize Scripture this Year!">Enjoy Great Spiritual Dividends when you Memorize Scripture this Year!</a></h2>
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<a href="http://www.womangonewise.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/01/photo-10.jpg" style="color: #87ba40; text-decoration: none;"><img alt="photo (10)" class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-2679" height="300" src="http://www.womangonewise.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/01/photo-10-225x300.jpg" style="border: 0px solid rgb(239, 91, 5); display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; max-width: 100%;" width="225" /></a></div>
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The last few years God has been nudging me to make a practice of memorizing New Testament books. I talk about it-and I put it off. This is the year to make it happen! A few friends are joining me for accountability and help keep the momentum of memorization. <strong>Will you join us in this challenge?</strong><br />Hiding God’s Word in your heart will always bear great comfort, fruit, confidence and growth. I also believe we need to be prepared to speak God’s Word at any moment of need, keeping in mind we may not always have access to the written Word!</div>
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<strong>So, here is the plan.</strong> We are beginning with the book of Ephesians and breaking it into a weekly schedule of memory verses. I will post each week’s assignment and as you memorize Scripture, I will encourage you with creative ways to memorize, as well as insights and questions to consider pertaining to God’s Word.</div>
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Please let me know if you are joining us in the challenge to hide God’s Word in your heart! Share your memorizing tricks, your struggles and the fruit you are sure to bear as we grow together.</div>
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<strong>January 2014 Ephesians Memory Schedule:</strong></div>
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*January 2-7 Read entire book of Ephesians in one sitting<br />*January 7-14 Memorize Ephesians 1:1-2<br />*January 21-28 Memorize Ephesians 1:3-6<br />*January 28-February 4 Memorize Ephesians 1:11-14</div>
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John Piper of Desiring God Foundation compiled some thoughts about why Scripture memory is important. To solidify your commitment this year of memorizing God’s Word, consider this,</div>
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“First, a few testimonies: I have it third hand, that <strong>Dr. Howard Hendricks</strong> of Dallas Seminary once made the statement (and I paraphrase) that if it were his decision, every student graduating from Dallas Theological Seminary would be required to learn one thousand verses word perfect before they graduated.</div>
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<strong>Dallas Willard</strong>, professor of Philosophy at the University of Southern California, wrote, “Bible memorization is absolutely fundamental to spiritual formation. If I had to choose between all the disciplines of the spiritual life, I would choose Bible memorization, because it is a fundamental way of filling our minds with what it needs. This book of the law shall not depart out of your mouth. That’s where you need it! How does it get in your mouth? Memorization” (“Spiritual Formation in Christ for the Whole Life and Whole Person” in Vocatio, Vol. 12, no. 2, Spring, 2001, p. 7).</div>
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<strong>Chuck Swindoll</strong> wrote, “I know of no other single practice in the Christian life more rewarding, practically speaking, than memorizing Scripture. . . . No other single exercise pays greater spiritual dividends! Your prayer life will be strengthened. Your witnessing will be sharper and much more effective. Your attitudes and outlook will begin to change. Your mind will become alert and observant. Your confidence and assurance will be enhanced. Your faith will be solidified” (Growing Strong in the Seasons of Life [Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1994], p. 61). ” www.desiringgod.org/articles/whymemorizescripture<a href="http://http//www.desiringgod.org/articles/why-memorize-scripture" style="color: #87ba40; text-decoration: none;"></a></div>
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Are you taking the challenge with us? <strong>Be sure to sign up for email notifications so you can receive a weekly Scripture Memory schedule and words of encouragement to <em>press on</em> in Ephesians! Post a comment or send me a private message to let us know you are in!</strong></div>
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<strong>BONNIE CHRISTENSEN</strong></div>
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<strong><a href="http://www.womangonewise.com/">Woman Gone Wise</a></strong></div>
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Mirror Mirror with Christie Lee Rayburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04852274918455210576noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011784183563516206.post-6048319581495397762013-12-16T08:43:00.001-08:002013-12-16T08:43:50.287-08:00Eryn-Faye Frans - The Essential Elements of Sex, Part 2<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/iJMXb4pVnNo" width="459"></iframe><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">Do you realize that a lot of what we believe about sex just isn’t true? Culturally, we are inundated with myths about sex. In this segment with My New Day TV, Eryn-Faye debunks three common myths. </span><br />
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</span>Mirror Mirror with Christie Lee Rayburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04852274918455210576noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011784183563516206.post-90038212883008097972013-12-09T10:13:00.001-08:002013-12-09T10:13:00.253-08:00Eryn-Faye Frans - The Essential Elements of Sex, Part 1<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/ivG0srv0dCo" width="459"></iframe><br />
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I am thrilled to highlight my dear friend's TV interview with New Day on the topic of "Shame and Sex". Such insight - Worth the watch.<br />
Feel free to share.<br />
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Mirror Mirror with Christie Lee Rayburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04852274918455210576noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011784183563516206.post-80575196267651906402013-12-03T09:50:00.001-08:002013-12-15T22:54:08.254-08:00STANDING UP TO DECEMBER<div style="background-color: #f3f4ee; color: #666666; font-family: Palatino, Georgia, Baskerville, serif; line-height: 18px;">
<strong style="line-height: inherit;">December is the giant of the calendar year.</strong> It bullies all the other months with it’s frantic, festive persona. Both the fun-loving life of the party and the obnoxious character who sucks all the attention in the room. She’s busier and happier and larger than life.</div>
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But she’s also lonelier and sadder and phonier.</div>
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December bullies people too. She’s a hard task master. <strong style="line-height: inherit;">More than any other time of the year we want to do it all, and be it all, and get it all right.</strong> Or at least look the part in the family photo.</div>
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Not to worry. This isn’t a nihilistic, anti-Christmas post. It’s not another ‘embrace the true reason for the season’ sermon. This is just me, trying to make peace with December, the month I anticipate and dread in equal measure.</div>
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I love the trimmings and trappings of the holidays. I relish the music and the decorations and the warm, spicy smells. I’m deeply touched by Nativity, and the connotations of Immanuel: ‘God With Us’. I even enjoy rushing around to create those special seasonal moments.</div>
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Except when I don’t.</div>
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In December, there’s a fine line between ‘have-to’ and ‘want-to.’ Traditions can either comfort or consume, enhance or ensnare, delight or dilute. <strong style="line-height: inherit;">The question we have to ask ourselves is this: <em style="line-height: inherit;">do our rituals serve us, or do we serve them?</em></strong></div>
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Advent is meant to be a time of reflection, of mindfulness, of living with intention. This is both a spiritual discipline and a practical skill, and it doesn’t just happen, no matter how many garlands we hang.</div>
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<em style="line-height: inherit;">So here’s me, making it clear from the get-go: December is not the boss of me!</em></div>
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<span style="line-height: inherit;"><b>CHRISTIE HOOS</b></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: inherit;"><b><a href="HTTP://WWW. SOHERESUS.COM">SO HERE'S US</a></b></span></div>
Mirror Mirror with Christie Lee Rayburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04852274918455210576noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011784183563516206.post-8562225001165552512013-11-25T18:08:00.001-08:002013-11-25T18:08:24.203-08:00IT STARTED WITH A TREE<br /><div class="post-author" style="background-color: #f3f4ee; color: #949494; font-family: Palatino, Georgia, Baskerville, serif; font-size: 14px;">
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<a href="http://soheresus.files.wordpress.com/2013/11/tree.jpg" sl-processed="1" style="color: #5f5f5f; font-size: 0.875em; line-height: inherit;"><img alt="tree" class="alignright size-medium wp-image-4743" height="300" src="http://soheresus.files.wordpress.com/2013/11/tree.jpg?w=187&h=300" style="border: 0px; float: right; height: auto; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0px 10px; max-width: 100%;" width="187" /></a>It started with a tree.</div>
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One of the first stories I heard in my “Just For Kids” bible, at my parent’s knees, sitting criss-cross-apple-sauce in a circle on Sunday morning. The Tree of Life, of the knowledge of good and evil, the one tree in the Garden of Eden humanity was instructed to preserve. Of course, we didn’t. We’re not good with boundaries.</div>
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God could have chosen any symbol. A sacred cave to steer clear of. A word to remain unspoken. Instead, it was the fruit of a tree. And we ate what wasn’t ours, beyond our scope; not for sustenance (which was well provided for throughout the garden), but for greed. We became takers.</div>
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Over the years, we began to preach rights, not responsibility when it comes to nature. Instead of giving and receiving care from this world we are a part of, we strove for dominion. Environmentalism earned a bad rap in most churches - a lesser virtue, if even one at all. As if we deserved to rape, pillage and plunder the entire earth to feed our own appetites. As if this was without consequence. As if this wasn’t sin too.</div>
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We should remember, it started with a tree.</div>
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CHRISTIE HOOS</div>
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<a href="http://www.soheresus.com/">So Here's Us</a></div>
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Mirror Mirror with Christie Lee Rayburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04852274918455210576noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011784183563516206.post-84963067555887229362013-11-18T08:32:00.000-08:002013-11-18T08:32:00.269-08:00" I WILL EVEN MAKE A ROADWAY IN THE WILDERNESS"<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, 'Century Gothic', Verdana, Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 20px; padding: 0px 0px 10px;">
<a href="http://womangonewise.files.wordpress.com/2011/09/9-23-2011_001-copy.jpg" style="color: #87ba40; text-decoration: none;"><img alt="" class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-1695" height="300" src="http://womangonewise.files.wordpress.com/2011/09/9-23-2011_001-copy.jpg?w=208" style="border: 0px solid rgb(239, 91, 5); display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; max-width: 100%;" title="9-23-2011_001 - Copy" width="208" /></a></div>
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I used to consider raising our child with special needs emotionally and physically manageable. But the “easier” early years slowly turned into years that felt like we were living in the wilderness. In spite of the love and frequent happiness we had with our boy, there came very difficult moments which turned into weeks, months, years. Behaviors and sickness developed in him; exhausting our every resource and emotional reservoir.</div>
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Attending school IEP meetings are a necessity for a parent who has a child with any kind of special need. Anker and I approach the meetings with much prayer cover, and walk away from them feeling a little successful and a little beaten down. A good portion in the history of our annual meetings include experiences of anxiety, school politics, frustration, and the inner pressure to keep our cool. I have often thought we should create, “I survived our child’s IEP meeting” t-shirts.</div>
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Today’s meeting was different. Within the opening minutes I had already burst into tears. I held A.J.’s 11th grade school picture up to the IEP team; his eyes crinkled from his huge smile. His teachers and therapists around the table swooned at his handsome happy image. This is how they perceive him every day at school.</div>
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“He is so happy, polite, and a leader. None of the previous behavior concerns have been an issue for months. We want to develop him as a teacher assistant: making copies, picking up and delivering mail, greeting office staff,” Miss June told the IEP team.</div>
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More encouraging words were announced as we were told his long-term substitute teacher has officially been offered the teaching position. June is a dynamic teacher. She is a rare gem in a pool of special education teachers. She instinctively understands our kids, expects great things from the students every day, and gets tremendous growth from them in return.</div>
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Through a series of bumps, politics, and teacher turn-over, our kids have suffered from the lack of consistent quality teaching. When our kids suffer at school, boy do we suffer at home! So, we have been praying specifically for June. Last year when she was released from the substitute position, we continued to pray the Lord would make a way for her in the classroom. Our special kids deserve such a gem in their lives.</div>
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We wrote letters to school officials, put her on our prayer lists, and we waited…waited…waited. At the moment I heard the words, “The position is June’s if she will accept it”, my tears flowed without warning. My lips quivered as I attempted to express our joy. One of the educational officials, always professional in her demeanor, fought back her own tears as she listened to our gratitude. “What a testimony,” the speech therapist added.</div>
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I was surprised a bit by the instant flow of tears on display. Deep within my spirit, I was praising and bowing to the Lord. The tears continue to drop as I reflect upon today’s meeting. In my absolute trust of the Lord, I knew I could ask Him specifically for a request, and trust that He could provide. At the same time, He gave me faith that all would be well. All would be well, even if A.J. had to experience another change of teachers. But I would keep on knocking on God’s door; asking specifically for June.</div>
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Now God, in His perfect way, has provided a beautiful gift for us. We have one less obstacle to maneuver and one less change to endure. He knows what is best for us and He knows when we need a break! Thank you, Jesus, for providing our family relief!</div>
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I mentioned earlier that raising our boy with special needs used to be somewhat easy, and then it became difficult… very difficult. As I reflect on the growth of our boy over the last two years, I can now say we are living with a new “easy.” God has made a roadway in our wilderness. He does provide rivers in our dessert.</div>
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This new place of living is where we have gained new coping tools, and effective behavior management. We have found contentment in our unexpected lifestyle. This is a refreshing place.</div>
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“Do not call to mind the former things, or ponder things of the past. Behold, I will do something new, now it will spring forth;<br />Will you not be aware of it? I will even make a roadway in the wilderness, rivers in the dessert” Isaiah 43:18-19</div>
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<b>BONNIE CHRISTENSEN</b><br />
<a href="http://womangonewise.com/">Woman Gone Wise</a>Mirror Mirror with Christie Lee Rayburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04852274918455210576noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011784183563516206.post-32892532234744533472013-11-11T09:00:00.001-08:002013-11-11T09:01:11.023-08:00AMERICA THE BEAUTIFULTake a moment to read the lyrics of our patriotic hymn ...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm-3AFmHLG4X8m_m1hudJ19RFCkeH1DTtxCqTfO9DyadWzw4SftLNaUiCSx4LaJOW45wXenIqc1u3sYB0jzP7mwD_LY7ZnVvMe35J2dVZkdzH7LXYVinIoLmgn6ggG6VF0xU2RjF60sL8/s1600/America-DineshDSouza.com_-586x284.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="155" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm-3AFmHLG4X8m_m1hudJ19RFCkeH1DTtxCqTfO9DyadWzw4SftLNaUiCSx4LaJOW45wXenIqc1u3sYB0jzP7mwD_LY7ZnVvMe35J2dVZkdzH7LXYVinIoLmgn6ggG6VF0xU2RjF60sL8/s320/America-DineshDSouza.com_-586x284.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">O beautiful for spacious skies, </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">For amber waves of grain, </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">For purple mountain majesties </span></div>
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Above the fruited plain! </div>
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America! America! </div>
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God shed his grace on thee </div>
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And crown thy good with brotherhood </div>
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From sea to shining sea! </div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">O beautiful for pilgrim feet </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Whose stern impassioned stress</span></div>
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A thoroughfare of freedom beat </div>
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Across the wilderness! </div>
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America! America! </div>
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God mend thine every flaw, </div>
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Confirm thy soul in self-control, </div>
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Thy liberty in law! </div>
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<u><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">O beautiful for heroes proved </span></u></div>
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<u><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">In liberating strife. </span></u></div>
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Who more than self their country loved</div>
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And mercy more than life! </div>
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America! America! </div>
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May God thy gold refine </div>
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Till all success be nobleness </div>
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And every gain divine! </div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">O beautiful for patriot dream </span></div>
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</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"></span>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">That sees beyond the years </span></div>
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</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
Thine alabaster cities gleam </div>
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Undimmed by human tears! </div>
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America! America! </div>
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
God shed his grace on thee </div>
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
And crown thy good with brotherhood </div>
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
From sea to shining sea! </div>
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<span style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">O beautiful for halcyon skies, </span></div>
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</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"></span>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">For amber waves of grain, </span></div>
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</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
For purple mountain majesties </div>
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Above the enameled plain! </div>
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
America! America! </div>
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
God shed his grace on thee </div>
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
Till souls wax fair as earth and air </div>
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And music-hearted sea! </div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">O beautiful for pilgrims feet, </span></div>
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</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"></span>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Whose stem impassioned stress </span></div>
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</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
A thoroughfare for freedom beat </div>
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
Across the wilderness! </div>
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
America! America! </div>
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
God shed his grace on thee </div>
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
Till paths be wrought through </div>
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wilds of thought </div>
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By pilgrim foot and knee! </div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">O beautiful for glory-tale </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Of liberating strife </span></div>
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When once and twice, </div>
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for man's avail </div>
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Men lavished precious life! </div>
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America! America! </div>
</span><u><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
God shed his grace on thee </div>
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
Till selfish gain no longer stain </div>
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The banner of the free! </div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">O beautiful for patriot dream </span></div>
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</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"></span>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">That sees beyond the years </span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
Thine alabaster cities gleam </div>
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Undimmed by human tears! </div>
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
America! America! </div>
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
God shed his grace on thee </div>
</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
Till nobler men keep once again </div>
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Thy whiter jubilee! </div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; font-weight: bold;">Words by Katharine Lee Bates,</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; font-weight: bold;">Melody by Samuel Ward</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: bold;">Which lines jump out at you? I underlined my top three. Beautiful words ... challenging words ... words to begin to pray for our country again.</span></div>
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CHRISTIE L. RAYBURN</div>
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<a href="http://www.christieleerayburn.com/">ChristieLeeRayburn.com</a></div>
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</span>Mirror Mirror with Christie Lee Rayburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04852274918455210576noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011784183563516206.post-64195919681851806342013-11-05T11:03:00.000-08:002013-11-05T11:03:17.246-08:00THE BEST WAY TO SEE NYC<div style="background-color: #f3f4ee; color: #666666; font-family: Palatino, Georgia, Baskerville, serif; line-height: 18px;">
<strong style="line-height: inherit;">She’s a lot of fun – my travel companion, my new friend.</strong> She laughs when I do and sees humour in our misadventures (which is fortunate, because we’ve had quite a few). She’s patient with my map-fumbling and missteps. We’ve seen the same streets of NYC several times over, ridden the subway in circles and taken the <del style="line-height: inherit;">could-have-built-the-Empire-State-Building-by-now </del>ahem, long way, several times.</div>
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Sadly, her sense of direction isn’t much better than mine. But her sense of adventure is bar none.</div>
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Don’t get me wrong, we’ve had our spats. She thinks she’s always right. Since I KNOW that I’M always right, it’s a problem when our respective rightnesses clash. What’s worse, I’ve learned that older isn’t always wiser and have had to concede to being slightly less right than her a few times. Ouch. She’s even less gracious in her concessions than I am. Like mother, like daughter, I suppose.</div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Getting the Party Started</span></h3>
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<strong style="line-height: inherit;">The red-eye flight out here was no picnic.</strong> After only 30 minutes of sleep I startled awake knee-to-knee and nose-to-nose with the unfriendly man in the next seat. Like most Canadians I find this level of unintended intimacy deeply disconcerting. I spent the rest of the night watching Downton Abbey reruns through bleary eyes. I’m afraid that no amount of Earl Grey can produce chipper after a night like that.</div>
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We yawned our way through the Museum of Modern Art (which was amazing nevertheless), Times Square (overwhelming), and the world’s worst tour guide. Finally, I understand how very annoying it is to my children when I start a sentence, trail off and leave it hanging in mid-air.</div>
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Tired, but still ecstatic to be here, we found refreshment in Little Italy. Is there anything a truly great piece of pizza can’t fix?</div>
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We stumbled into bed with visions of Broadway shows dancing in our heads.</div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">NYC is full of New Yorkers</span></h3>
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<strong style="line-height: inherit;">We nibbled at the Big Apple for the next 2 days.</strong> And it was delicious! There is something invigorating about this boisterous city and it’s Babel of languages and ethnicities and colours. We saw the Statue of Liberty, the Harbour at nighttime, the Natural History Museum, Central Park, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the 9/11 Memorial and the inside of WAY too many stores.</div>
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The tour book said not to greet people on the street, because they’ll think you’re crazy. After a few polite smiles and head nods I can report that this is, in fact, true.</div>
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Not only that, but they won’t get out of your way. At one point a man came to a dead stop directly in front of me. He wouldn’t shift left or right. Just glared at me, until I scuttled sideways, then continued barreling down the sidewalk. I’m not clear what game we were playing, but I’m pretty sure I lost.</div>
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This doesn’t mean they’re not nice. Though no self-respecting New Yorker would cop to a descriptor as wimpy as “nice.” Loud and pushy translates into exuberant and interesting if I remember my place. After all, this isn’t my world, it’s theirs.</div>
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When my “thank yous” were overly effusive, eyes rolled. When we stopped and waited for the light to change, people tripped over us. <strong style="line-height: inherit;">Rude is a cultural construct after all.</strong></div>
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On the other hand, advice and opinions are freely offered in New York. Most people we talked to were eager to show off their city and give us their best efforts (the rest were simply hustling us for tips). There was the policeman who gave us directions, then outlined the itinerary he felt we should follow for the rest of the day. And the matriarch of a Greek diner we discovered (read: stumbled into while looking for something else) who knew exactly what we should eat… and was right. <strong style="line-height: inherit;">New Yorkers have a brusque charm that is strangely appealing.</strong></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Our Favorite Things</span></h3>
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If you ask my daughter what the highlight of our New York trip was, she’ll tell you all about “Wicked,” the Broadway show that stole her heart. It was brilliant!</div>
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<a href="http://soheresus.files.wordpress.com/2013/10/nyc2.jpg" sl-processed="1" style="color: #5f5f5f; line-height: inherit;"><img alt="nyc2" class="alignleft size-medium wp-image-4694" height="300" src="http://soheresus.files.wordpress.com/2013/10/nyc2.jpg?w=225&h=300" style="border: 0px; float: left; height: auto; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 10px 0px 0px; max-width: 100%;" width="225" /></a>But <strong style="line-height: inherit;">my highlight didn’t come with a playbill or a souvenir postcard. </strong>The best part of this trip was being just us. With a big(ger) family, with the extra demands of special needs children, with her serious dance commitments and homework and paper route and growing social life, I don’t get much time to enjoy her – something I know will only get worse as the next few years fly by.</div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">My Favorite Teenager</span></h3>
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Turning 13 is a huge milestone. We wanted our own “rite of passage” to celebrate with our kids, so years ago we came up with a plan. We discussed the bat mitzvah-style parties and coming of age rituals which are becoming more and more popular, but they just weren’t “us.” A trip, however, with its concentrated one-on-one time and attention, a shared experience, an adventure, a memory… that has “us” written all over it.</div>
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Of course, NYC is more ambitious (read: expensive) than we envisioned, but it has been priceless.</div>
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<strong style="line-height: inherit;">I thought I would take this opportunity to parent intentionally.</strong> I thought we would have an important episode of the sex/boys/self-worth conversation, with forays into girl politics, healthy choices and 14 reasons drugs are for losers. But those are part of our ongoing discussion. She hardly needs an official sermon at this point, because we’ve been talking about it all along.</div>
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Instead, we had fun together. Turns out, that’s not a less important parental function after all. Especially when we are navigating a new level of independence on her part and more of a supporting role on mine. Turns out, that’s what we really needed.</div>
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Dear Teenager,</div>
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You already know that I love you. That I will fiercely protect you, and relentlessly hound you to do chores, and expect the best from and for you, and pray for you, and catch you when you fall.</div>
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But do you know how much I like you? Do you know that I WANT to spend time with you? That I think you are interesting, and bright, and kind?</div>
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We might not always get along like we do now, but that’ll always be there. When I look at you and when your Dad looks at you, we see more than what is. <strong style="line-height: inherit;">We see the best version of you.</strong></div>
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Hopefully, because of this, you can see her too.</div>
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I saw her a lot this week, grinning at the camera in cheesy poses all throughout New York. She’s a lot of fun! I’m so glad I got to know her a bit better this week!</div>
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Love<br style="line-height: inherit;" />Mom</div>
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The best way to see NYC has nothing to do with maps, or itineraries, or even tour guides… the best way is to see it with someone you have fun with.</div>
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<em style="line-height: inherit;">So here’s us, travel buddies, explorers, friends… a great way to start the teen years. I’d highly recommend it.</em></div>
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<b>CHRISTIE HOOS</b></div>
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<b><a href="http://www.soheresus.com/">So Here's Us</a></b></div>
Mirror Mirror with Christie Lee Rayburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04852274918455210576noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011784183563516206.post-14667195387573204582013-10-28T10:56:00.000-07:002013-10-28T10:56:51.421-07:00REFLECTIONS ON TURNING 40<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">Save for the year after being orphaned, this year has been the toughest of my life. I finished four years researching and writing my book, and I didn’t pay any attention to how completely burned out I had become. It certainly didn’t help that 40 was looming and, while I have no hang-ups with getting older in and of itself, it kicked off another cycle of grief.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">At its core, grief is loneliness. Obviously you are lonely for the person who no longer shares life with you, but it is also lonely knowing there is no one else who misses her the way you do or remembers him the way you do. Even my brother and sister – the closest people to understand the early loss of our parents – have different experiences, memories and reactions as members of the Orphan Club. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">In this place of exhaustion and loneliness, things that I thought were foundationally solid have been called into question. When you are forced to take a pit stop in life, you actually have time to survey your surroundings. Sometimes you like where you have ended up and sometimes you don’t. This is terrifying for someone who has built a life and career as the how-to girl. Slowly and painfully, I began to see the world differently. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">During my soul searching, I realized how judgmental I have been. In my own defense, I honestly didn’t realize I was being judgmental – I thought very open to other experiences and perspectives. But I secretly thought I had it all together and when you think this way, it is seductively easy to slide into a condescending attitude. Over the last year as I have been shaken to the core, I realized that I don’t want to live like that anymore. I don’t want to be that person. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">I think we choose to be judgmental because it makes us feel safe – we can hide behind the walls of our belief systems, our ideals, our routines, our absolutes, our decisions. Coming out from behind those walls to question those things is deeply frightening because we have to venture into no man’s land. The Franciscan friar Richard Rohr calls this place liminal space – when we have left all that we know but we have not yet arrived at the next place. In liminal space we cannot be sure where we will end up when we emerge. In fact, we fear we will get fully lost and never emerge at all. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">I was chatting with a friend the other day about all of this “40 Stuff,” and he looked me dead in the eyes and said very calmly, “It is human.” Going through these times in life is part of our personal evolution. Learning to accept and embrace the process doesn’t always look pretty, but it is so very important. Somewhere along the lines, amidst all the how-to’s and rules and checklists, I forgot the beauty of being human and all the messiness and uncertainty that it entails. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">So I am surrendering to this season and have stopped trying to control or rush it. I suppose it’s kind of like giving up the expectation that my life will look like a Renoir depicting clear images to the world, and coming to grips with the fact that it might end up looking like a Jackson Pollock with random paint splattered on a canvas. Or it could just end up looking like a three-year-old’s drawing. I suppose there is beauty in that as well, but it is difficult to see when the work is not yet finished. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;"><b>So as I turn 40 today, I realize that I don’t know much. I don’t have a lot of answers. In the months of musing and reflecting, however, I have some thoughts. </b></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">I t<i>hink</i> authenticity matters because it is the only way we can hear the hearts of people who believe differently than us as well as the voices of our own tribe. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">I <i>think</i> staying bunkered in “us vs. them” mentality – always defining ourselves by what we are not – leaves no room for our own growth as well as extending that same opportunity to others around us. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">I <i>think</i> real change, revelation and connection takes place when we ask more questions and give fewer directives. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">I <i>think</i> wisdom is mined in the dark places, and if we refuse to allow seasons of darkness dwelling, we miss out on some of the best stuff in life. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">I <i>think</i> we only grow more tired, tattered, impatient and unkind when we do not create quiet places for our souls to rest and reflect. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">I <i>think</i> vulnerability is worth the risk of getting rejected because when we spend our lives covering up what we truly feel and think, we only guarantee chasms of loneliness between others and us. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">I <i>think</i> it is brave to ask for what we truly want and need from those closest to us rather than expecting them to just intuitively know. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">I <i>think</i> it is only when we accept ourselves as good enough – not pinning that acceptance to elusive achievements but right in the here and now – that we can love ourselves and others well. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">I <i>think</i> we all need intimacy – the connection between two human beings with the ability to say I see you, I accept you despite all your imperfections, and I love you. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">I <i>think</i> cultivating patterns of forgiveness with others and ourselves is better than striving and failing under the weight of perfectionism. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">I <i>think</i> having the courage to linger in the questions is more powerful and transformative than rushing to find the answers. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">And I know it is scary as hell to take the leap to put all this into practice. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;">That’s all I’ve got.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;"><b>ERYN-FAYE FRANS, Canada's Passion Coach®</b></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 22px;"><b><a href="http://www.erynfaye.com/">ErynFaye.Com</a></b></span>Mirror Mirror with Christie Lee Rayburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04852274918455210576noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011784183563516206.post-65153186633242393992013-10-21T07:33:00.000-07:002013-10-21T07:33:18.470-07:00WHAT MAKES YOU LOVABLE?<br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">Believe it or not, I don’t actually talk about sex all the time with my clients. (I know that confessing this destroys the image of a sex coach to varying degrees with people.) Very often, we will delve into the depths of their relationships – why they make the choices they make, why they feel the way they do, and what they believe about themselves. And it always makes me sad when the person on the other side of the Skype screen confesses that she doesn’t really know why she is worthy of being in a relationship – what makes her lovable. </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">I asked a client recently, “What amazing attributes do you have to offer your partner, just because you are you? How do you make this relationship great?” He didn’t have an answer. Another client said, “What do you mean by loveable? I don’t even know what that means.”</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">What do you think makes you worthy of love? Why would, why should, how could people love you? </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">Answering these questions taps into the core of our being, of whether – in the quiet moments when we are alone with our private thoughts – we actually believe that we are loveable. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">When we fail to see our own value, it becomes far to easy to put up walls around ourselves to protect our hearts from being hurt…after all, once your partner finally sees you for what you truly are – unloveable – they will push you away or begrudgingly tolerate your existence. But this very act of refusing to be vulnerable undermines the intimacy we could have had if we had grasped a hold of our value. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 22px;">If you don’t know why you are worthy of love and belonging – why you are loveable – then I would encourage you to take some time to think about it. If you are struggling to come up with answers, then summon up the courage to ask the people closest to you – your spouse, best friend, siblings or parents – and see what they have to say. They probably know exactly why you are loveable. Maybe it’s time for you to believe it too. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;">ERYN-FAYE FRANS, ® Canada's Passion Coach</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 22px;"><a href="http://www.erynfaye.com/">ErynFaye.com</a></span></span>Mirror Mirror with Christie Lee Rayburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04852274918455210576noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011784183563516206.post-11661669539737050042013-10-14T10:44:00.000-07:002013-10-14T10:44:42.576-07:00DISNEY AND THE MAGICAL WORLD OF DISABILITIES<br />
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It’s been called a “Modern-day Mecca.” Most North American families attempt a pilgrimage at least once in their life time. It’s billed as the Happiest Place on Earth. It’s Disneyland.</div>
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My parents hated it. The slick consumer culture, the crowds, the noise, the underlying thrum of excitement, but most of all, the price. They didn’t feel the magic.</div>
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My husband and I do. We love Disneyland! We’ve always loved it! The price is a stretch to say the least, but well worth it to us for the excellence in every detail, the nostalgia, the rides and the underlying thrum of excitement. Since we have family who live in the area, we’ve been able to go a lot more than the average family. It is a perk we don’t take for granted. Bringing our children, especially when they were young, remain some of the best family memories in our arsenal.</div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The First Visit</span></h2>
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<a href="http://soheresus.files.wordpress.com/2013/09/img_0024.jpg" style="color: #5f5f5f;"><img alt="IMG_0024" class="alignright size-medium wp-image-4627" height="300" src="http://soheresus.files.wordpress.com/2013/09/img_0024.jpg?w=225&h=300" style="border: 0px; float: right; height: auto; margin: 0px 0px 0px 10px; max-width: 100%;" title="The First Visit" width="225" /></a>We took our youngest daughter as a baby, along for the ride while her older sisters gaped in amazement at the “real” Winnie the Pooh and screamed with delight on the Peter Pan ride. She slept through most of the day, but looked cute in pictures. We were just like everyone else.</div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The Second Visit</span></h2>
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Two years later we were back. I had some misgivings about B’s ability to handle the day, so my parents (who love us enough to endure the park they dislike) tagged along. I had heard that there was some sort of accommodation for guests with disabilities, but resolved to avoid it. I was embarrassed to ask. I didn’t want to be unfair. <strong>I was sure we could handle it, just like everybody else.</strong></div>
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Unlike a typical 3-year-old, my daughter wasn’t able to walk or even stand on her own. Desperate to be mobile, she would scoot on her bum at an extraordinary speed. As you can imagine, this was a filthy way to travel and terribly hard on clothes, and terribly inconvenient to adults who don’t expect a headstrong little speed bump to pop up unexpectedly.</div>
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She was okay as long as we kept her in the stroller, but her sisters were eager to go on rides and show her all the wonders she had slept through last time. The waits weren’t particularly long, but holding a squirming, screaming toddler can make time pass extraordinarily slowly. Not only was she dying to move, but she could see something exciting, just out of reach, and was enraged that we wouldn’t let her go to it immediately. As the lines wind closer and closer, then back around, farther away again, she must have thought we were playing a cruel trick on her. By the time we made it onto the ride she was <strong>almost inconsolable.</strong></div>
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She LOVED being on the ride. She would squeal and clap and laugh with pure excitement. For 30 seconds. Then it would be time to get off; we would pry her fingers off of the bar and drag her away and head to the next lineup. By now, she really was inconsolable.</div>
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After a few hours, she had to go home. It was all too much. It was just too hard. The crowds. The noise. The heat. The waiting in line. <strong>She wasn’t the only one being punished for it; we all were, the whole family and everyone in her vicinity.</strong></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Third Time’s a Charm</span></h2>
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<a href="http://soheresus.files.wordpress.com/2013/09/disney-003.jpg" style="color: #5f5f5f;"><img alt="Disney 003" class="alignright size-medium wp-image-4626" height="224" src="http://soheresus.files.wordpress.com/2013/09/disney-003.jpg?w=300&h=224" style="border: 0px; float: right; height: auto; margin: 0px 0px 0px 10px; max-width: 100%;" width="300" /></a>Our next visit, I was prepared. We had been planning and talking about this day for months. B had been looking at her sister’s pictures and had become enamoured with the Disney Princesses (though she didn’t have the attention span to sit through an entire movie). I had documentation of her Down syndrome (in case looking in her eyes wouldn’t be enough) and after our last disastrous visit, absolutely NO compunction about taking whatever extra help Disney could offer us. After all, <strong>I’ve finally made my peace with the fact that we’re not just like everybody else.</strong></div>
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There seemed to be a lot of confusion about where and what we were needing, but we finally found ourselves at the City Hall talking our way into a “Special Assistance Pass.” They didn’t give it willingly at first, but I stood firm: we just can’t handle a repeat of our last visit, not when she’s so excited to be here.</div>
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<em>The Pass was intended not just for guests who have visible disabilities, but also those with cognitive, emotional or behavioural problems and need extra support to be able to enjoy the Disney experience. Usually, this meant using an alternative entrance (fast pass or going in through the exit) and waiting there. We didn’t cut to the front of the line right away, but waiting in a calm, cool, less crowded spot makes all the difference.</em></div>
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I’ll admit, it makes our ride experience much faster. That’s the only way it works for us. B can’t tolerate many different rides, so mostly we went on the tamest rides over and over again. But she was wild with excitement!</div>
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<strong>There’s an age, when adults are giants and characters in books/movies are real and that cool veneer of realism hasn’t yet begun to form.</strong> I love taking my kids to Disneyland at that age. They call it “magic” and it really is. My 5-year-old was there and <strong>we all basked in her wonder.</strong></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Now</span></h2>
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She’s still there. At 9-years-old she still believes. She is still amazed. She watches “Brave” at least once a week and if you can understand the words, she’ll tell you the entire story. She often stops and looks at the Disneyland pictures hanging on the wall. She asks to go back all the time.</div>
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<strong>There’s not much that our entire family, big kids included, can do and enjoy together.</strong> Outings are hard. Interests range wide and far. Attention spans are short. These days, B is quickly overwhelmed by new situations, especially ones involving crowds and noises. Even more so than 4 years ago,<strong>she needs support.</strong></div>
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Now we have a little brother in the mix. He’s never been to Disneyland, and that just seems wrong when you consider how much our family loves it. He has his own blend of special needs: extreme hyperactivity, sensory processing disorder and general impulsivity to name a few. I’ve learned a lot over the years about our limits and our needs, and I’m no longer embarrassed to ask for help. <strong>He needs support.</strong></div>
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We’ve begun planning (and saving) for a family trip to Disneyland. It’ll take a while, so we’ve booked a timeshare for December 2014. But that anticipation is half the fun for our crew. We’ll have our days mapped out, eateries scoped and show times noted.</div>
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That is, if Disney has a workable special needs Guest Assistance program available…</div>
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<em><strong>Right now, Disney is getting rid of their Guest Assistance program.</strong> It has been badly abused over the years, which has ruined it for those of us who truly need it. They are rolling out a new program on October 9th. </em></div>
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<em>It sounds terrible.</em></div>
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<em>I had hoped that this was one of those online stories that was wildly exaggerated, but my research has been discouraging. The <strong>Disability Assistance System</strong> is like a modified Fast Pass, which involves at least two extra lineups/waits, only applies when the wait time is more than 45 minutes (waiting that long is so far beyond our son’s capacity that it’s laughable), AFTER extra lineups, we’ll end up in the regular line anyway (which I’m sure will be fun for everyone)… oh, and it only works on a select few rides.</em></div>
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<em><br /></em></div>
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<strong>Without extra help, Disney isn’t do-able for our family.</strong></div>
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<strong><br /></strong></div>
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<strong>Just one more thing that’s out of our reach.</strong></div>
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There are other families with even more complex problems in the same boat.</div>
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As a company, Disney has a reputation of going the extra mile, making every effort to create an amazing experience for ALL their guests. They have certainly won us over in the past. I can only hope that they will hear what special needs families, and those who support them, are saying. I hope they will build a system which actually helps my children and others like them. I hope they’ll make it a priority.</div>
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If you want to help, please:</div>
<h1 style="background-color: #f3f4ee; color: #666666; font-family: Palatino, Georgia, Baskerville, serif; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.3em; margin: 0px 0px 10px; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://petitions.moveon.org/sign/disneyland-discontinues?mailing_id=15444&source=s.icn.em.cr&r_by=8796368" style="color: #5f5f5f;" target="_blank" title="petition"><span style="font-size: small;">Sign the petition</span></a></h1>
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<a href="http://soheresus.files.wordpress.com/2013/09/justice.jpg" style="color: #5f5f5f;"><img alt="Borrowed from http://imgur.com/WJxPj " class="size-full wp-image-4623" height="412" src="http://soheresus.files.wordpress.com/2013/09/justice.jpg?w=490&h=412" style="border: 0px none; height: auto; margin: 0px; max-width: 100%; padding: 0px;" width="490" /></a><div class="wp-caption-text" style="line-height: 17px; padding: 0px 4px 5px;">
Borrowed from <a href="http://imgur.com/WJxPj" rel="nofollow" style="color: #5f5f5f;">http://imgur.com/WJxPj</a></div>
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<em>So here’s me, sad that so many people abused this system which worked so well for us. Sad that the new system seems so unworkable. Mostly, sad that we might never get to share a Disney adventure with our boy.</em></div>
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<em><br /></em></div>
<div style="background-color: #f3f4ee; color: #666666; font-family: Palatino, Georgia, Baskerville, serif; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">
<b>CHRISTIE HOOS</b></div>
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<b><a href="http://www.soheresus.com/">So Here's Us</a></b></div>
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<em><br /></em></div>
Mirror Mirror with Christie Lee Rayburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04852274918455210576noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9011784183563516206.post-17011331889893790662013-10-07T17:12:00.002-07:002013-10-07T17:14:57.505-07:00DAMSEL IN DISTRESS - Part 759<br />
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It’s that time again. Time for me to dust off my recurring role as the damsel in distress. I’m beginning to fear I’ve been typecast by fate. So far this blog has entertained… well, not millions, but many definitely ... my hero husband as I <a href="http://soheresus.com/2012/04/19/relying-on-the-kindness-of-strangers/" sl-processed="1" style="color: #5f5f5f; line-height: inherit;" target="_blank" title="kindness">lock my keys in the car</a>, <a href="http://soheresus.com/2013/02/05/the-road-less-travelled/" sl-processed="1" style="color: #5f5f5f; line-height: inherit;" target="_blank" title="road">get stuck in the snow </a>and <a href="http://soheresus.com/2013/05/22/how-i-got-my-black-eye/" sl-processed="1" style="color: #5f5f5f; line-height: inherit;" target="_blank" title="black eye">give myself a black eye</a>, just to name a few.</div>
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I have no one to blame but myself. Or my children, and the significant sleep deficit which is definitely their fault. But what kind of Mom blames her own children for her frazzled, overwhelmed and far-too-often absent minded performance?</div>
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This one. I blame them. I love them, but I blame this crazy, relentless, exhausting life and my subsequent doziness on those adorable mini people. I don’t know who I’m going to blame when they grow up and leave me.</div>
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<strong style="line-height: inherit;"><a href="http://soheresus.files.wordpress.com/2013/10/cart.jpg" sl-processed="1" style="color: #5f5f5f; line-height: inherit;"><img alt="cart" class="alignright size-medium wp-image-4667" height="245" src="http://soheresus.files.wordpress.com/2013/10/cart.jpg?w=300&h=245" style="border: 0px; float: right; height: auto; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px 0px 0px 10px; max-width: 100%;" width="300" /></a>My latest drama begins in our local supermarket.</strong> I sped through my list as fast as humanly possible while the boy alternated between screaming at the top of his lungs (and he has some impressive pipes on him) and cheerfully pulling everything off the shelf as we rolled by. By the time I got to the checkout line I was frazzled and nearing defeat.</div>
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$188.33</div>
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More than I’d like, but par for the course these days for the feeding, cleaning and diapering a family of 6, at least in our part of the world. Four of us don’t even need diapers, so that’s a huge savings right there.</div>
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<strong style="line-height: inherit;">Feeling a little smug</strong> about my foresight, I pulled out my newly activated credit card. My wallet was stolen last week and I’ve been slowly re-making my plastic identity. It’s one of those extra tasks which seems insurmountable in the face of our usual daily grind. But I did it. I called the number. I even signed the back.</div>
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I did not, however, take note of the new pin number which would be arriving in the mail also.</div>
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*sigh*</div>
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<strong style="line-height: inherit;">So here we are</strong>, with a fully loaded cart of groceries, a half eaten bag of fishy crackers (see above re: screaming), a grumpy three-year-old, and the Perry the Platypus sticker he just stuck on my chin. Embarrassed, but not unused to this position, I tell my story and ask them to hold my groceries until I can return with yet another new credit card waiting patiently at home to be activated.</div>
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<strong style="line-height: inherit;">I felt so bad for the man waiting behind me.</strong> He had a bag of oranges and a couple bananas. He was about my age, but polished, put together. The kind of guy who drives a nice car and goes to the gym a lot.</div>
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<strong style="line-height: inherit;">I wonder what he saw</strong> as I stood there in my second-hand boots, bags under my eyes and hair falling out of its clip. My son whining and grabbing me while sporting a wicked black eye and a runny nose. I was cringing inside. Feeling judged. Feeling humiliated.</div>
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As the checkout lady begins to wheel our cart away, he says, “Wait!”</div>
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He leans over and peers at my receipt. He pulls out his credit card. He waves his hand, like it’s no big deal.</div>
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“I’ll pay for it. Then you won’t have to come back. It’s my gift to you.”</div>
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“Uhhh… oh no, no.” I stammer. ”It’s, like, $200. Really, it’s okay.”</div>
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He insists. He pays. He acts <strong style="line-height: inherit;">like it’s no big deal</strong>.</div>
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This was an extremely rare moment for me.<strong style="line-height: inherit;"> I didn’t know what to say.</strong> I didn’t even know how to start. I was struck dumb. I hope I remembered to say Thank You. I hope I said it a lot.</div>
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As I packed my free groceries into the van, he began to drive away. I flagged him down, standing outside his window in the rain, so I could at least shake his hand and find out his name.</div>
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He told me that it seemed like I was having “a day,” plus having my wallet stolen and all… He said something about putting good out in the universe and it’d come back eventually. </div>
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His name was Nick.</div>
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<strong style="line-height: inherit;">I had a lot of feelings about this.</strong> My first was pride. I didn’t want to seem pathetic (though, let’s face it, I probably was), and I could take care of it myself. My second was practical, and just a little bit mercenary. I’m going on a trip this month that falls outside our budget and we are feeling it. $188.33 is a lot of money to us. My biggest feeling, however, the one that has followed me around ever since, was <strong style="line-height: inherit;">bone-deep, soul shaken, faith-in-humanity-restored, just got a-hug-from-God, giddy and amazed GRATITUDE.</strong></div>
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<strong style="line-height: inherit;"><br /></strong></div>
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It’s not the $188.33. It’s not the time, hassle and embarrassment saved. <strong style="line-height: inherit;">It’s the unexpected, unsolicited, unassuming grace of the moment.</strong></div>
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<strong style="line-height: inherit;">I’ve been tasting it ever since.</strong></div>
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And that’s worth a whole lot more than $188.33.</div>
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<a href="http://soheresus.files.wordpress.com/2013/10/188-33.jpg" sl-processed="1" style="color: #5f5f5f; line-height: inherit;"><img alt="$188.33" class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-4668" height="224" src="http://soheresus.files.wordpress.com/2013/10/188-33.jpg?w=300&h=224" style="border: 0px; display: block; height: auto; line-height: inherit; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; max-width: 100%;" width="300" /></a></div>
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<em style="line-height: inherit;">So here’s me, thanking Nick. Because I needed that. </em></div>
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<span style="line-height: inherit;"><b>CHRISTIE HOOS</b></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: inherit;"><b><a href="http://www.soheresus.com/">So Here's Us</a></b></span></div>
Mirror Mirror with Christie Lee Rayburnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04852274918455210576noreply@blogger.com0