tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3702690479871998292024-02-06T23:19:32.953-06:00White Door Diaryby Heather Thompson :: Fort Worth, TexasHeather Thompsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381863277588824167noreply@blogger.comBlogger94125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-370269047987199829.post-49153192993217595422016-05-02T20:17:00.000-05:002016-05-02T20:17:08.888-05:00Hiding in Our Thirties<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Nestled back against the chair, my shoulders raise and curve under the blanket. I exhale and sink deeper against the padding and breath leaves me, then returns, alone but warm. My fingers run along the edges of the fuzzy, worn blanket and its smell reminds me of home and life and hopes and dreams. It's funny how this patchwork of comfort can be everything that was and yet waiting for the things meant to be. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's right here that I've found my home; this place of life that sets its boundaries between 30 and 39, a mere decade of life that oddly captures the treasure and tragedy of humanity. The decade where heart-bursting life comes forth and heartbreaking loss forgets its manners. Older and wiser than our twenties because that chapter had outlined itself in wild fancy and an energy spent on frivolity. But bated-breath keeps our inhales shallow as we look forward to our forties with apprehension because it seems our parents barely survived theirs.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Oh, my odd yet endearing thirties, I hope I figure you out before you leave me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Because what I carry in my arms is piling higher and my muscles are strengthening with the weight. My vision, surprisingly, has gotten better with age and my mind is sharper than it was last year. Gracious days and quiet nights are gifts that are truly seen. Belly laughter is easier and salty tears don't scare me anymore. </span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Why, then, does this decade sting me by defining me by what is carried in my arms and not by the woman behind those things? Is this the battle I'll fight for another four years? </span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It doesn't seem to matter what's in my arms or your arms - we look first to see what's there, what's held, before we give or take. We find her capacity based on what she holds and you assess my character from the items in my grasp. We compare each other's commitments by sorting through what has accumulated over the years and our connection rests on the similarities found in what we cradle. </span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's no wonder that especially in our thirties, we hide behind what we hold.</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Is this how God sculpts us into maturity? Could it be that our humanity is the quiet fight against being defined by the things in our hands (or the lack thereof)? Is it possible to be found wholly without them and, perhaps, to embrace our empty-handedness because it allows us to be seen and therefore known? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What good company we find in this decade, in our thirties, when we look to the One who hid behind nothing in order that we might have everything. The man, Jesus, who quietly walked into his thirties with the most genuine simplicity, who "emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men." (Phil 2:7) How precious to see that the ultimate display of God's passionate and purposeful pursuit of humanity was in the form of a man, in wretched display of nakedness. </span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We've been fighting nakedness since the garden. Aren't you tired of fighting? Aren't you tired of hiding? </span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The things we carry are beautiful; our Maker gives good gifts to His children. Gratitude for those things are necessary and thanksgiving breeds faithfulness. We are not, however, defined by what rests in our arms and hiding here will not lead to our safety or protection. Lay it down and let the wild world see you. Then go take a nap. Your thirty-year-old-self will thank you. </span>Heather Thompsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381863277588824167noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-370269047987199829.post-44843339739685872672015-10-26T12:38:00.000-05:002015-10-26T12:38:04.939-05:00Tornadoes<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He quietly walks into our room, long past the time of saying "good night," whimpering with wet, red eyes. He is scared of tornadoes. Again. Yesterday it was the booming thunderstorm that sent him into hysterics. Tonight he imagines our home being destroyed by a tornado. I invite him onto our bed and sit him straight up and tell him to look me in the eyes.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Pause & think: this is where I'm tempted to tell him that tornadoes aren't real. This is a moment where I can hush his worries by assuring him that a tornado isn't going to "blow our house down." This is when I'm tempted to shape his theology by saying that God wouldn't allow such a thing.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Tucker, there are no tornadoes here tonight. But do you know what? Bad things will happen in our lives but God is always with us. God will always take care of us. So we don't have to be afraid. God is better than anything terrible that could happen to us." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Pause & think: some people actually have their house decimated by a tornado. Their lives are shattered into literal, tiny pieces. Then their theology is shattered into little tiny pieces because someone told them that God doesn't let bad things happen to good people or that easy, sheltered living is a sign of God's blessing.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Honestly, I've never seen him calm so quickly. He doesn't argue or whine to stay longer. He doesn't beg to snuggle under the blankets. His eyes light up, he takes a deep breath, and he confidently leaves our room. I conducted a two-minute seminary with my four-year-old without a degree in theology. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Have you considered what you're teaching your littles? Have you taken just a moment to think about how you're shaping their tender hearts toward God with the words you use? We have hundreds of moments throughout a week where we place life-shaping truths into their minds so they can cling to God throughout their lives. Put the right stuff in there first and two things will happen. First, you won't have to waste time replacing foolish ideas you've given them over the years. Ain't nobody got time for that.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">More than your own integrity or time well spent, your child won't have to work through as many distorted thoughts in their adult years. Of course, their hearts are broken and twisted and will have chosen sin before they choose God. This topic though - the fears and the what-ifs and the real-life suffering they'll face - you at least have the privilege of giving them a little help. Speaking these little truths now is like planting little seeds. Your harvest and <i>their</i> harvest will be great. </span></div>
Heather Thompsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381863277588824167noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-370269047987199829.post-47213213593950285862015-10-19T12:24:00.000-05:002015-10-19T12:24:49.028-05:00October<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When October 1st creeps onto my calendar, my heart sinks to the ground with a thud. It sits there with a million other hearts of those who have lost their babies as we take a month to remember their lives. It is also the month I should be celebrating her birthday, planning her party, and packing away her summer outfits to make room for leggings and sweaters. I pause more often at the olive tree where she is buried, blink back constant tears, and wonder what she would look like as a three year old. October is an ugly month for me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">“But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope…”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">October sits alone in the wilderness of unredeemable and forsaken. Its colors have been black and white and its edges are sharp, the contrast of colors almost offensive. Its utter substance has been lack. Lack of provision. Lack of life. The only way to respond to it has been to curl to the ground and taste death’s dirt.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">“The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases…”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">I thought the month would become softer. I found myself hoping that the next calendar would be more gracious to me; that its days would brighten and warm under the sun of years gone by. Hope that the progress of time would “heal all wounds” but I clung to it as it became more precious to me. When you lose a child and years go by, grief remains as the sole, tangible remnant of their real, heart-beating life.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">“They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness…”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">He caught me this year. He caught me this month. He caught me yesterday to be exact. He stopped me in the habit of running toward the edge of wilderness to stare again at my Unredeemable. He wrapped his arm around my waist and overcame the momentum of grief and loss and death. He knew long before me that my grief cannot comfort me. My grief will disappoint my identity. Always. Every time. Every year.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">“‘The Lord is my portion,’ says my soul...”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">With the wide stretch of his goodness and sufficiency, he redeemed my October. He took the hardest and darkest part of my life and history and heart and made it new. Like a beautiful, bright, shining burst of new creation. Not just a polished antique in attempt to hide flaws or defects but made it gloriously right because he makes all things new. (Rev. 21:5) He gently showed me how my hope was placed in new things, answered prayers, or circumstances providing joy or peace. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">He has not forsaken me; my grief has forsaken me. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He has cared for me throughout every second; my grief does not care for me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">“‘Therefore I will hope in him.’”</span><br />
(<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; line-height: 1.38; white-space: pre-wrap;">Lam. 3:21-24)</span></div>
Heather Thompsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381863277588824167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-370269047987199829.post-42401903684159925832015-02-13T14:23:00.002-06:002015-10-19T12:17:58.316-05:00Dear New Parents,<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<span style="line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">I'm sure by now you're feeling tired and happy, halfway between a fairytale and "ima-bout-to-lose-my-mind-from-sleep-deprivation." Is this how you pictured the newborn days? I personally thought I would float around in a flowing robe while the baby slept beneath blue birds and baby's breath. </span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">I swear I thought the first few weeks would include classical music and the most precious maternity/paternity leave as we bonded with our new baby. Instead, I got adult</span><span style="line-height: 19.3199996948242px;"> </span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; line-height: 19.3199996948242px;">diapers, a shocking amount of hair loss, and cracked open a can of formula on day six.</span></div>
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Newborns are wonderful but the weeks and months following their arrival is usually the most exposing time where we see the ugly, selfish nature of our hearts. We snap at our spouse out of exhaustion. We question everything we thought we knew about having a baby. We struggle through disappointment and comparison and postpartum hormones.</div>
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<i>Then we quickly slip away from relationships.</i></div>
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I used to think it was the life adjustment of the new baby that makes so many people withdrawal from community and friendships but it's more likely that we withdrawal because parenthood shows us our sin. Whether it's your first or your fifth, having a baby is a raw reminder that we are sinners. So we hide and miss church and avoid our community groups and text rather than call and curl into a corner of lonely comfort. Even the most accommodating invitations and environments are scary when we see our sin. </div>
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God's very first response to the hiding, fearful Adam and Eve was, "Where are you?" The result of sin is always broken relationships. Is parenthood showing you the sin that lurks in your heart? Do you have a long list of reasons why you're justified to not return to community and relationships now that the baby is here? Not even the "perfect" church nursery, church service time, or city group setting will be enough when sin keeps us from relationships. Would you give your friends, the church, and your community the privilege of loving you in this new season?</div>
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So I'll gently leave you with this: "Where are you? You belong with us!"</div>
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xoxo,<br />
Heather</div>
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Heather Thompsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381863277588824167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-370269047987199829.post-24282760066897233522015-02-13T14:09:00.001-06:002015-02-13T14:09:15.751-06:00Vacuum<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.3199996948242px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
Go vacuum your house. Whether you have one bedroom or four, tile or carpet, hardwood or laminate, vacuum. Study the corners and grout, the baseboard and transition pieces. Let your arms tire as the rhythm bores you; let the small of your back sweat for sign of a job well done.</div>
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You don't need a good vacuum, you don't have any excuse for square footage or child underfoot. What you have are arms that move and eyes that see what you have been given, that for which you are given <span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">tender care. Life treads here, life grows there, and wear and tear is a blessing and crumbs are signs of provision. If you're lucky, you'll end with fewer Lego pieces.</span></div>
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Most women I know are longing for a thankful heart and searching for ways to be hospitable. Thankfulness stretches like a muscle, back and forth, to practice the art of knowing what one has. Hospitality is using what we have when others have need, careful to remember that the true Portion satisfies beyond our pantry and makes the trending dishes seem like rusted antiques compared to knowing the riches that come from Christ's bounty.</div>
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The mark of a wise woman is this: she knows what she has and she knows what she needs. From this root of faithfulness and stewardship will grow a garden, even an orchard, of fruit beyond our wildest imagination. Tend to your chores and you will tend to your heart.</div>
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Heather Thompsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381863277588824167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-370269047987199829.post-32398645167796198402014-08-06T10:41:00.001-05:002014-08-06T10:41:55.895-05:00Good Things: Cherry Salsa & Interrupted<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jen Hatmaker just liked my comment on one of her Facebook posts. I nearly cried and keep clicking on the little "thumbs up" because I just wanted to see her name appear. I may or may not have the slightest case of Christian shero mumble-mouth because I have so much love for Jen. Y'all. Like I really think sometimes she's my big sister and forget I don't have her on speed dial. <i>Is speed dial a thing anymore?</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was invited to be a part of her (re) launch team for her book </span><i style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Interrupted</i><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> so Ima jump over here and tell you the highlights and share a recipe because Jen loves food and cooking. Did I mention that I almost tried to find her newly renovated farm house in south Austin when we were there in July? Oh, Jen, please don't get a restraining order. </span></div>
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<i style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Interrupted</i><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> tells the beautiful story of how Jesus wrecked the lives of a couple (who happen to be pastor/pastor-wife) as He called them into a new way of living. It's not the kind of living she addresses in "</span><i style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/An-Experimental-Mutiny-Against-Excess/dp/1433672960/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1407338508&sr=8-1&keywords=7+an+experimental+mutiny+against+excess" target="_blank">7: An Experimental Mutiny Against Excess</a></i><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">" where you want to donate all your clothes, stop wearing makeup, and send the massive piles of untouched toys and ever-loving, never-ending piles of loom bands to the curb and paint the walls white to remind you of simplicity and nothing other than...nothing. No, this was not that book.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jen starts by sharing her healthy discontent with Christian living and a good measure of "deconstruction" and finds that God rebuilds His idea of church and mission/al in her heart. She talks about people finding God because they "already live at the bottom, in Jesus' zip code." Brandon, her cool husband, jumps in every few chapters because you can tell she needs his level headedness to balance her </span><strike style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">crazy</strike><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> passion. I'm sorry, Jen, is that too personal? I love you. Side note: his contribution was one of my favorite parts because we need more stories where God is moving in </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">both</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> the husband and the wife, and not just the wife. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I recommend this book and think you should take the time to read it. Maybe wait until the kids start school in a couple weeks, find your still-warm cup of coffee, and read a couple chapters at a time. Digest it. Take a pause at the end of each chapter to wrestle through her experience and how you can learn from it. Let God do a work in you...because He wants to do a work through you. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My favorite quote:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">**Briefly, I would mention that her words excite me because I'm a part of a church that values this way of thinking. I have a feeling, however, that a good portion of her readers aren't in a thriving, missional church so I think it should be said that this isn't an invitation to leave your church. You can do the stuff she mentions with a friend or two, with your family, and don't have to mail your pastor a copy of the book. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>GIVEAWAY!</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have a crispy copy of </span><i style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Interrupted</i><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> that I would love to give to one of you. All you have to do is share this post on your Facebook wall and then leave a comment below. I will pick a random winner in one week (deadline is Wednesday, August 13th at midnight CST) and mail the book to you!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jen has been kind enough to extend a discount to anyone who wants to order a book. Click </span><a href="http://www.navpress.com/Interrupted-Jesus-Wrecks-Comfortable-Christianity/dp/1631463535#sthash.GqEUR6pt.L1SRlmCc.dpbs" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" target="_blank">here</a><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> and you'll automatically get a 20% off (discount already applied) until August 10th.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Finally, CHERRY SALSA. That's all. Link to recipe </span><a href="http://www.seriouseats.com/recipes/2011/06/dinner-tonight-pork-tenderloin-with-fresh-che.html" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;" target="_blank">here</a><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">. I did not add the chile but it would have been the perfect kick for those who like the spice. I love the spice but my children are bipolar when it comes to seasoning so we walked the safe path with this one. All things good were in this bowl and I'm resisting the temptation to call it Cherry Limeade Salsa. So good. </span></div>
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Heather Thompsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381863277588824167noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-370269047987199829.post-23711756588836385052014-07-16T15:20:00.000-05:002014-07-17T11:26:51.155-05:00Party of Five: Groceries at Costco & Trader Joe's<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>I inquired via Facebook a couple weeks ago about friends' monthly budgets for groceries and was somewhat encouraged and somewhat disappointed by the responses. Turns out, we are right on track money-wise ($600-700) for feeding a family of five but I knew there had to be a way to do more real food on a real budget. Here's how we made changes this past month.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Before</b>: shopping weekly at Walmart (price matching & Savings Catcher), 3-4 times/month at Costco, and eating traditional American meals - casseroles, pastas, PBJs, and eating meat at every dinner. I "ran out of money" by the end of the third week and we struggled the last 4-6 days of our month (which runs according to our credit card, resetting on the 15th). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>After</b>: one trip per week at Trader Joe's and about 3-4 trips per month to Costco, eating lots of produce, less meat, and salads twice per week. Kids' lunches are about the same and now the only place we do pasta or bread. (P.S. When the hubs is gluten-free, this helps me work in cheap pasta meals without having to complicate dinner when he's home.) </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">First, I created boards on <a href="http://www.pinterest.com/thompsons129/" target="_blank">Pinterest</a> that helped me place meals for three weeks. It was a good start, worth the extra time up front and now I just reference the meals that were successful.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here is an image of my week of meals so I can write down exactly what I need for the week and buy nothing more. LISTS ARE REQUIRED if you're trying to stay on budget. I sit at my computer for a couple hours each week to write down exactly what I need and where I'm getting it from, then email a copy to myself so it's on my phone. This is an Excel file I change/update each week. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghJ-AVQKhSYmy8ixi9DlXEw_p9Ka4p8aHfCk1H294D7rSfi2y-I_B_WvlouCuF4IxbJrZsa-jgbMEgAqa-1zVxR0fdvxnkW5Dx64BkK3PyoaQsvnyGpLyb6EXi4TWjk0fjHb4Z_RPiIyw/s1600/Weekly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghJ-AVQKhSYmy8ixi9DlXEw_p9Ka4p8aHfCk1H294D7rSfi2y-I_B_WvlouCuF4IxbJrZsa-jgbMEgAqa-1zVxR0fdvxnkW5Dx64BkK3PyoaQsvnyGpLyb6EXi4TWjk0fjHb4Z_RPiIyw/s1600/Weekly.jpg" height="315" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Dinners:</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Strawberry-Candied Pecan-Feta Salad</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.barefeetinthekitchen.com/2011/10/herb-rubbed-sirloin-tip-pork-roast.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Herb Roasted Sirloin Tip Pork Roast</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.simplyscratch.com/2014/06/mexicali-chopped-salad-with-creamy-cilantro-lime-dressing.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Mexicali Chopped Salad with Creamy Cilantro Lime Dressing</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.kalynskitchen.com/2010/09/recipe-for-stuffed-green-peppers-with.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Stuffed Peppers with Italian Sausage, Brown Rice and Parmesan</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.scatteredthoughtsofacraftymom.com/2012/05/crock-pot-chicken-teriyaki.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Crockpot Chicken Teriyaki</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.saveur.com/article/Recipes/Steak-with-Herb-Sauce-Bistecca-Con-Salsa-delle-Erbe" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Steak with Herb Sauce</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Chicken Fried Rice</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Pulled Pork on tortillas (corn & flour)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fish tacos (with fried tilapia from Trader Joe's)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://sallysbakingaddiction.com/2014/06/26/easy-coconut-shrimp/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Coconut Shrimp</a> (our new favorite, plus I use the coconut in granola)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Sides:</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sweet potatoes (baked, with brown sugar & butter available)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Roasted red potatoes (with olive oil, seasonings, and parmesan cheese)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Broccoli, green beans, mixed veggies, and corn</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Breakfast</b> (this is still heavy on the carbs):</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://lmld.org/2013/05/24/simple-granola/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Homemade granola</a> (with milk or yogurt)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Toast or English muffins with peanut butter or cream cheese</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Honey-nut Cheerios (bulk buy at Costco)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>New Lunches</b> (still working on making improvements):</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Tortellini with oil & parmesan cheese (TJ's)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Homemade pizza (fresh dough from TJ's)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Once I had my menu planned, I wrote up the grocery list and figured out what needs to come from Costco and what needs to come from Trader Joe's. Easy peasy and also Excel.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Note:</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">- I don't buy convenience foods or snacks.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">- I do buy lots of small apples, bananas, pretzels, and a bulk box of popcorn from Costco for snacks. My kids also like mini bell peppers, cucumbers, baby carrots & hummus, and we go through about two watermelons per week. Summertime is the best.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">- We rarely have desserts or sweets in the house.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">- My kids only drink water and occasionally milk. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">- My kids love salad because I let them use whatever dressing they want. It's worth it to me for the gallon of ranch to be smothering their plate of real food. Pick your battles. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">- If I buy food, I have to use it that month. For example, I don't buy a 10 pound bag of chicken a week before my month runs out just because the price is less per pound. I get just exactly what I need for the meals that week and ultimately save money.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">- We have our church small group about once/week so that eliminates at least three meals per month. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>Lessons I learned:</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">- Beware fresh bulk produce. For example, I bought a huge bag of fresh broccoli from Costco but it looked funny before I used the second half. Learned to buy frozen instead.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">- My fridge is more organized and my pantry is no longer holding hostage random canned food or boxes from a month ago. That's the thing I learned: when you buy boxes or cans of food, there is no urgency to use them. Fresh food requires a plan and use.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">- We spoiled some of our budget on 4th of July weekend and wine. Plan ahead and plan carefully for events like this. A random trip to Kroger/Tom Thumb to grab food for a couple days of fun meals and snacks can cost you more than 10-15% of your monthly budget!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">- The samples at Trader Joe's are wonderful. And terrible. I often add to my cart what they're sampling which adds an additional several dollars per trip. Careful!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Share your tips with me! What are your favorite items from Trader Joe's? What have you learned about buying in bulk from Costco? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Updated 07/17/14: Here's my favorite find at Trader Joe's. I eat them plain, as a great accompaniment to a lite salad, or I've heard they're amazing with honey goat cheese or a smear of brie. </span><br />
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Heather Thompsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381863277588824167noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-370269047987199829.post-63526585305846105382014-07-13T20:57:00.000-05:002014-07-13T20:57:37.751-05:00{crumbs}<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My six-year-old, Colby, has been in a particular phase lately. By lately, I mean six months and it has been wearisome. He is typically and in his most honest state, a very silly and happy, sensitive and thoughtful little man who has come up against some challenges with his self-control. We have tried everything - we moved his bed upstairs to see if he needed space from his little brother. We planned our meals differently to see if he wasn't getting the nutrition he needed. We took him on more dates, engaged him a variety of ways when he burst out of control, and we seriously considered counseling or therapy. I shed many tears as I felt completely and utterly irrelevant to him and helpless in solving the problem.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Then, in the most casual of conversations, we discovered that he has been getting up as early as 4 o'clock in the morning to sneak upstairs and watch television. {insert face palm} For hours before the rest of us were up and certainly before the sun started peaking through curtains, my boy was watching Wishbone or PBSKids and sending his psyche into a spiraling hot mess. We unplugged that television immediately and told him to stay in his bed until the sun came up. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Needless to say: problem solved. It's like we traded him in for a new model and we are now the happy owners of a very happy boy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm obviously so grateful that we discovered the source of his angst but the reality is that this felt like just one of a handful of places that were crumbling at my feet. Our marriage is pulling out of a hard season, my heart has felt an unusual sadness about Olivia, and I'm just plain insecure about my roles as wife, mom, home schooler, and follower of Christ. I'm not used to be caught off-guard because I usually plan so thoroughly but these areas make me see that Jesus is again (and always) pursuing me. He's searching for deeper levels of commitment to Him and ravishing love on me in my brokenness and reminding me that He makes all things new.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've been struck by a story in John 6 that I've heard and read many times. It's coming alive in me as I pause a little longer in the story. Jesus and His disciples have just gone up a mountain and He notices that a "large crowd" was following Him. There were 5000 men alone - can you imagine counting all the women and children, too? His first instinct, because He really saw them, was to feed them. Which makes me love Him - my Jesus loves to feed us. We probably all know the story from here - He feeds them to their fullest by making a handful of loaves of bread and two fish into food for thousands. He does the most sincere and relevant of miracles and leaves them satisfied by meeting their tangible, physical need. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Here's the most amazing part of the story: they don't know it's a miracle until he tells them:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Gather up the leftover fragments, that nothing may be lost."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So sitting there, in twelve baskets, are these crumbs and broken pieces of bread with torn edges and tattered flakes. Jesus points to the crumbs and says, "See the miracle?" Jesus points to the fragments and calls it surplus and calls it His way. His way of nourishing and satisfying and filling the hearts and stomachs of men and women is displayed by broken leftovers. It's like He knows that our way, our nature is to find our stomachs and hearts full from His provision but it's not until He gently and strategically gathers the crumbs that He points to the miracle. The substance of the story is found in the crumbs and broken pieces of what God Himself gives to men. It seems to me that He likes bringing attention to the fragments and it's there that He shows His miracle. He places value on those bits and pieces, no matter how they've been handled, torn, and broken. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I hope I'm always a person who can see the crumbs and leftovers in your life. I hope you're reminded today that while the character and goodness of Jesus always satisfies our longings and hopes, it's really the fragments of life that show off His glory.</span></div>
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Heather Thompsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381863277588824167noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-370269047987199829.post-71289275625588079662014-07-09T15:12:00.001-05:002014-07-09T15:12:25.752-05:00#WhereverYouAre Campaign<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We are in the thick of summer: sno-cones, a hearty dose humid evenings, and awesome, prize-motivated reading programs. Kids are home for the cruelest months of the year and I'm watching as many moms are slowing melting under the pressure. Summer is not for the faint of heart.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hidden somewhere in the hustle and bustle of VBS, swim lessons, camps, and deep grief that mommy's day out has hit the pause until late August, we complain on social media and to friends that we can't handle the extended time with our kids. It's more than unhealthy; it's created a culture where selfishness is our motivation. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5VU-c6kmNujP9YoGLqY_A0OW6VMZgWbSZqQRUEddj3ceduj5BMHLxkqQYMSTPU-2Dd1kHGm4yyDT0PMDSb14OvZ5IaGQXGhsEfTJKKv4YH8XVcNiyfsneZ-d-v4jGCN02jmKcsHyHJtc/s1600/WhereverYouAre.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5VU-c6kmNujP9YoGLqY_A0OW6VMZgWbSZqQRUEddj3ceduj5BMHLxkqQYMSTPU-2Dd1kHGm4yyDT0PMDSb14OvZ5IaGQXGhsEfTJKKv4YH8XVcNiyfsneZ-d-v4jGCN02jmKcsHyHJtc/s1600/WhereverYouAre.jpg" height="319" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So enters the "#WhereverYouAre Campaign" and the challenge for moms to better engage with JOY during our time with kids. Over the next few weeks I'm going to have some of my mom friends (a.k.a. shero-moms) share with us their practical tips on how they find joy, sanity, and purpose in time with their kids.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jim Elliott, a missionary to Ecuador in the 1950s, says it beautifully & thus provides our campaign title: </span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Wherever you are, be all there.</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So for the next several weeks, I'd love to see you post on Instagram or Facebook or Twitter some practical ways that you find joy while being with your kids. Follow me and you'll hear from my favorite women, see their precious kiddos, and get a renewed sense of your purpose in being a mom.</span></div>
Heather Thompsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381863277588824167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-370269047987199829.post-28004596478240573962014-06-24T10:39:00.000-05:002014-06-24T10:39:07.580-05:00Faded: When Life Isn't What You Expected<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Do you remember the last time you looked yourself square in the eye? I find myself only looking to check eyeliner or engaging in the infrequent use of dental floss. Any pause that allows my eyes to engage with my eyes in the mirror and I can sense the comfort being chased from the corners of my soul. I strategically avoid my own glance because somewhere inside the woman who stands there, when distraction and rush are placed to the side, I come face-to-face with often sad eyes. Eyes that carry disappointment.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For a long time I have been negligent to uncover the places of disappointment and loss because I genuinely didn't know they existed. </span><i style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Your life is your life...so deal with it </i><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">is the cruel whisper that makes me think that I'm brave and infused with confidence and perspective but denial is not strength, it is weakness. It lingers as a dark and dying place in the heart of people who cannot confront what is most real and most heavy at the bottom of our hearts.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So at the bottom of this deep ocean of my being is the sunken idea of who I thought I would be and how I thought I would be a wholly-LOVEr, vibrant-LIVEr, gracious-mother and good-wife. People said we would make great parents but I feel like it only brings out the worst in me. I thought I would have better maintained my waistline and committed to home-cooked meals every night. I just knew, as a 24-year-old, that I would find a rhythm in being a wife that would make our story look like a fairytale on the 4th of July. I thought I would have figured it out by now, ten years into marriage and entering my mid-thirties, but my life is not what I expected. And it might not even be what I wanted.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This conversation is often condemned and its mouth covered with a kind of webbing that not only discourages the plea for help but it shoves it back into our souls. I cannot help but think that even this darkness is always looking for the light, desperate for its own death. Open the doors, open the windows and let in the light. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I guess because, honestly, I think it's hard - even impossible - to love the life we have until we grieve the one we've lost.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's the paradox of growing and aging and maturity: we can carry deep gratitude for what we have, for what our hands and wombs create, for the time that has come and gone and for the time that is yet to envelop us. All this can live and thrive right alongside the gut-wrenching and take-your-breath-away sorrow that life is not what it should have been or what we had hoped it would become. It is the perfect union of our humanity and our other-worldliness.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There is a theology floating around today that makes us believe that running alongside the trajectory of our life and its brokenness and realities, is a path of the should-have-beens or what perfection would have brought us, had humanity never plummeted in the garden of Eden. As if God's script for humanity was originally written without "flaws" as defined by our hearts and minds. As if the fall was out of His divine and sovereign plan but when I look at the scriptures and fall back into what God says about what comes and goes and how He moves and breathes, I see that the life we have and the life we are living is His plan. It is His plan for us to live in brokenness, it is His plan for us to face trials and suffering, it is His plan that "bad things happen to good people," because He knows that our hearts cannot find rest and peace until we find Him. He will set aside or take away from us the gifts, circumstances, and even stability when He sees it replacing His role in our hearts and how that shapes our affections. So rather than fix our eyes on the imaginary path we call "Should Have Been" and wish we lived there, we "</span><i style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">run with endurance the race <u>that is set before us, looking to Jesus,</u> the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God.</i><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">" (Hebrews 12:1-2)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The disappointment that comes with being unhappy with how our life unfolds is placed there to create a deep desire for God himself, not the life we wish He had given us. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's really easy at this point for fear to creep into this way of thinking and cause us to fold into ourselves and away from Jesus. Unless we know Him, unless we've studied Him, and unless we have seen His beauty and goodness shining for us.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"<i>For the Lord your God is living among you.</i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He is a mighty savior.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He will take delight in you with gladness.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">With his love, he will calm all your fears.</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>He will rejoice over you with joyful songs.</i>" </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"<i>Those who look to Him are radiant </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>and their faces shall never be covered with shame."</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am more convinced than ever that all things unfold for His glory and our good. </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've given myself freedom to grieve the life I thought I would have and instead of finding a great void or emptiness, I've found myself falling deeper in love with Jesus. He can graciously fill the places of our hearts that writhe with disappointment and give us greater measures of Himself: the better and most satisfying. <b>Treasure Him, friends, and you will find your life.</b></span><b> </b></div>
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Heather Thompsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381863277588824167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-370269047987199829.post-78903824500396266672014-06-15T12:47:00.000-05:002014-06-15T12:47:26.851-05:00Happy Father's Day :: How to Help the Grieving<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">June 22nd, 2012 @ 6:47pm. I birthed our beautiful, stillborn Olivia into the world and said goodbye to a piece of my heart that still flares with phantom pain. We drove home that night and I knew that everything had changed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Standing beside me through it all, was the most tender and amazing man. I love you, BT, more than a thousand blogs can convey.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Brad held Olivia for nearly all the time we had with her in the hospital but said to me days later, "You had so much more time with her." I was puzzled because she was cradled in my arms for just minutes, but then he explained. <i>"You had her for the five months you carried her." </i>In those months she learned and knew my movements and voice and heartbeat and I learned her frisky movements and felt her popping limbs. He was right, I had so much more time with her. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For whatever reason, we are just not good at comforting the men who walk through the same trials. For every baby that dies, there is a father who had hoped for fishing trips and first dances. For every miscarriage, there is a silent suffering that happens beside the woman who cramps and delivers. We make Hallmark bereavement cards with flowers and pastels and put "pretty" covers on grief books. Blogs are written by women, for women, and come with gooey writing that solicits tears. </span></div>
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<i><b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And we silently communicate that grief is not for men. </span></b></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So my Father's Day gift to you is a compilation of things that blessed us and helped us along the grieving process. Up first are ways to bless the men:</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ask Questions</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Men should be asking men how they're doing. Take the dude out for beer and wings and just hang out. He might want to talk about work or he might want to talk about burying his child. Brad sat alone in the funeral director's office and picked up the box that held our cremated daughter. He had to do the hardest things and he needed to be pastored, loved, and pursued in that season. Ask if he's escaping or coping in something that isn't healthy (alcohol, pornography, distance) and help him find ways to grieve well. Exercise, golf, batting cages, or a long drive alone in a car where tears and screaming is hidden.</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Help Him...By Loving Her</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There's just a way that friends and family can meet needs that the husband sometimes just doesn't know how or what to do. So it might look like mowing their yard so he can take her to a movie. Or gifting them with a housecleaner so they can sleep in and watch movies all day. Buy him a stack of paper plates and plastic forks so dishes don't have to be done. Gift him, too, if you're gifting her (see ideas below) and ask him if he needs help picking out something for her.</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Send Flowers</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The bouquets and arrangements that we received literally took my breath away and validated a death in our lives. I took multiple pictures of each one and can still smell the roses and carnations. Those flowers brought colors and dimension to a very bleak and broken backdrop. Pink and white petals might wither and sink deep into next week's trash but the thought remains - literally forever.</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Text/Call/Email...and Expect Nothing</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Old friends surfaced, friends of friends messaged me on Facebook, and emails poured into my inbox. The love and prayers expressed in those paragraphs stuck with me and helped knock some of the "funny" out of my mind. The words that didn't help? People telling me their story and feeling the need to compare it to what we had just experienced. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Also, refrain from phrases like "God needed another flower in His garden," "God wanted another angel," and "She's in a better place." Words like that...they just don't make sense and were most certainly invented by people who have brain damage from shock therapy. In fact, walk past the bereavement section of the greeting cards and go to the "Thinking of You" and err on the side of fewer words.</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Show Up in Pajamas...and Stay</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am amazed at how people become afraid of grief and loss and death. Unfortunately, that fear turns into distance and that distance from friends and family feels like invalidation and judgment. Don't be selfish; press into the uncomfortable and just be there. Show up in your pajamas with a bottle of wine and good movie and be flexible - be ready to stay, be ready to leave, be ready to laugh, be ready to cry. We need you when we have no idea what else we need.</span></div>
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<b style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Feed Them...or Send Restaurant Gift Cards</b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We had so many weeks of meals that followed and there is no doubt that my children would have otherwise starved. We reached a point where I couldn't handle visitors (especially people in the "acquaintances" category) so we asked for gift cards. We had one family give us $300 in gift cards to Jason's Deli, Chick-Fil-A, and Pei Wei. Their generosity was stunning. </span></div>
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<b style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Practical Tips & Gifts</b></div>
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<li style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Care packages: journal, a great novel or movie, wine, cookie dough or candy. Drop it off on the front door and text to let them know it's there as you drive away.</span></li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Personalized gifts: jewelry with initials, name, birthdate, etc. Picture frames and even non-grief related items are so meaningful.</span></li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Redbox or iTunes or Amazon or Barnes & Noble credit/gift cards.</span></li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Gift cards to Starbucks or Sonic, fast food if they have kids. </span></li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If the couple has kids: gift bags with movies, independent crafts, and snacks</span></li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you bring a meal, bring items for breakfast and lunch the next day. Cinnamon rolls, a package of coffee, their favorite muffins, artisan bread and cheese.</span></li>
<li style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Bring them groceries: a couple bags full of food they'll eat, a yummy candle, and Clorox wipes. </span></li>
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<b><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Time Heals...and People Disappear</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We still grieve what happened to us exactly two years ago. We still cry and send each other sad text messages and catch our breath when we stumble across her photos. People think that the sadness goes away after six weeks or once the bleeding has stopped but it just doesn't. The pain lasts forever, even when protected by grace and gratitude. Love them months later, on the birthday, and at random moments or holidays and parties.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>**For BFFs Only</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There were only a handful (like 2 people) who I felt truly safe to grieve and process and share what I really needed. For those people (if you consider each other best friends), text and tell them you're coming over and what do they want from Sonic or Starbucks. Tell her you're coming to do dishes or watch a movie - her choice. Or text her the night before and tell her you've schedule pre-paid pedicures and you're coming to pick her up in the morning. There's something about a best friend being slightly aggressive that just catches us when we're free-falling.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>**Pregnant Bellies & Newborns</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The truth is it's hard to see your growing belly or healthy baby. Wear a loose t-shirt if you're going to see her or leave the newborn with Grandma until the first month has passed. If she wants to see and hold the baby, she will let you know. If she wants to acknowledge and rub your belly, she'll do it when she's ready. And her heart will break regardless. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>There is always opportunity in the midst of grief and death and loss to display something that is other worldly. Kindness, compassion, generosity, and service are some of the things that we get to witness this side of heaven in our darkest days. Thank you for truly considering how to bless and love the brokenhearted.</i></span></div>
Heather Thompsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381863277588824167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-370269047987199829.post-53485282631607331812014-06-06T19:56:00.002-05:002014-06-06T19:56:50.349-05:00Unloading<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Congratulations on making it through the set of double doors and getting a cart. By the time you're placing your lightweight purse into its spot and getting out your iPhone notes with a grocery list, I'll be noticing the smear of ketchup that made its way onto my white t-shirt at breakfast and still wondering why we needed it with oatmeal. I'm in the middle of unbuckling myself when I notice the cup holder with the coffee that is no longer "extra hot, hold the whip" but <i>I'm gonna freaking need this today </i>so I gulp it down while my toddler launches a Hot Wheels at my head. He barely misses. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">While you're making your first stop in cosmetics to get a bottle of nail polish, I'm only just now getting the sliding door of the minivan open, catch falling toys and say goodbye to a receipt blowing away in the wind, only to find all three children without shoes. I know they had shoes when we left the house and I'm (still almost) positive that the locks on the windows work so they have to be here. The boots are found, shoe laces are tied, and I don't care that half the shoes are on the wrong feet. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Now we make our way through the parking lot and I yell so no one gets hit by the passing cars or trucks backing out of the handicap spot and I wonder WHY THE HELL there is no family parking. (Damn you, Ikea, with your childcare and family parking spaces and tiny meatballs.) We're finally inside and I have to explain, yet again, to the six year old why he cannot ride on the side of the cart: <i>Remember, honey, when it tipped over sideways last month and you almost cracked your skull open? That's why!</i> in my velvety voice because people are walking in behind us.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I have my mostly-list because it's never succinct and I hope today is not the day my iPhone drops and shatters on the floor. The kids are begging for the toy aisle but are content when I say no but I know the countdown has begun. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Side note: I am thoroughly convinced that grocery stores, ahem Target, sends beams of rays that target a mother's intelligence and common sense because I start thinking that surely THIS IS THE TIME that I can get a shirt for 70% off in peace. My better sense of judgement kicks in and we beeline towards the groceries.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You'll be doing wine pairings for this weekend's hipster entertaining, grabbing an IPA six-pack, and answering a casual call from the BFF. Meanwhile in aisle six, I'm measuring distance from my youngest's fingers and the glass jars of spaghetti sauce. <i>Wait, how did you get that toy from ten minutes ago?</i> <i>Please put it on a shelf, I don't care where</i>. <i>Stop wrestling, we are indoors and this has never been acceptable behavior at a store.</i> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">One last glance at the list and we're down to the last three items and produce will be easy because the bigs (my oldest two) will stand at the bakery looking through pictures of cakes while I make sure our potatoes aren't moldy and ensure the cheapest apples get in the cart. The youngest is screaming because he can't join the big brother and sister and you are happily walking past me, pause to pick out fresh flowers for your DIY table you finished over the weekend, and I'll glance at your skinny hiney, blink back jealousy, and debate between red or orange bell peppers. I have altogether forgotten what life is like without my kids but the sound of avocados rolling across the floor snaps me back to reality.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Considering the deep love I have for Target, I should be best friends with every cashier but I'm too exhausted for chit chat and <i>I will cut you if you slow down so stuff those paper bags like your Christmas bonus is on the line</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">You've driven off to meet girlfriends for a casual patio brunch by the time I'm opening the automatic hatch and my kids are asking "Did we do good today?" like pitiful little pups who know this routine all-too-well. I remind myself how amazing my little people are despite the look of death they all received when I was handed the receipt because they were trying to shoplift ChapStick.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We're almost done loading our bags into the back of the minivan, or Pearl, as we affectionately call her, and I am still scanning the parking lot for kidnappers and purse thieves because I am their perfect target and I have the most beautiful children in the world and they can sense my distraction. We're like the wildebeest on water's edge. The cart goes to the corral and we are all buckled and no purses were stolen and I can exhale because no one peed on the floor or dumped the bag of popcorn behind the clothing rack.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And for the briefest moment, I wonder if I could get away with drinking a Raz-ber-Rita on the way home.</span></div>
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Heather Thompsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381863277588824167noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-370269047987199829.post-35007167704734067272014-04-24T15:45:00.003-05:002014-04-24T16:09:14.030-05:00For The Bad Days...<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Word is, at least on Facebook, that most of you moms are having a hard day. You are in good company and I have been on the verge of tears all day - after my own personal, full-on sob fest last night. It's been a long day of our a/c not working and my "finally potty trained!" THREE-year-old has regressed and my darling 8-yo just got hired as Parker County's whiner/back talker of the month. She's on track to earn a hefty bonus. Other tragedies include dogs eating Easter candy and smashing spiders that burst open, full of baby spiders. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">These are all trivial things and most of my heartache will pass by the weekend and I don't think for a single minute that my struggles are the WORST ON THE PLANET. But for me and for today, my capacity feels stretched to the outermost limits and I want to crawl under my (should-have-been-changed-two-weeks-ago) sheets and sleep until Monday. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: justify;">After a sweet e-chat with a girlfriend and finally laughing at ourselves 'til happy tears came from my tired eyes, I just wanted to get on here and tell you something simple:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><b>The measure of your day will come </b></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><b>from </b></i></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i><b><u>faithfulness</u> not successfulness</b></i></span><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>.</b></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The problem is that most of us don't take the time to find out how to be faithful with our day. We need to start at the beginning, the dawn of schedules and appointments and the hours we've been given and find out what it will take to be faithful. Faithful for today. Faithful in today. Faithful to God first as we walk in character and integrity and choose a worshipful heart. Faithful to our husbands in stewarding our home in a way that honors him and creates space for peace. Faithful to our children with love and kisses and time spent on the floor while leaning against the whirring dishwasher. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I think it's easy to miss the mark if we have a successful trip to the zoo but aren't faithful with our house today. We may have successfully hit the budget for grocery shopping but miss the faithfulness that needed to provide time in the haven of home for the baby to sleep in her crib. Let's take our eyes off success - which is nearly impossible to define - and set our sights on faithfulness. That way we can ask each other, no matter how it's being defined from day-to-day: "Are you being faithful with what God is calling you to?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My week has lacked focus on both - it's easy to say that I've not been faithful and I've definitely not been successful. It's grace that only holds us accountable to faithfulness and dismisses successes. We will find that faithfulness provides some very lovely fruit in our lives that can't wither away with our shortcomings. So I'm going to exhale the success, wish it an exhausted farewell, and take a big, burning-lungs breath of faith...full...ness. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Will you join me in faithfulness today? Freedom, my friend, FREEDOM. </i></span></div>
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Heather Thompsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381863277588824167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-370269047987199829.post-46870781464986676942014-04-09T11:04:00.000-05:002014-04-09T11:04:51.142-05:00The Love Story<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This is a follow-up to a recent post, <a href="http://www.whitedoordiary.com/2014/01/ruins.html" target="_blank">Ruins</a>.</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I'm watching from behind the altar as you sit in the ruins of your nearly-enoughs and barely-successfuls, and I am reminded that in this place, you are most vulnerable. Your face cannot hide the struggle, the wrestling, the forming of hope that is quickly dashed by an anxiety that words cannot describe. The reminders of anger, impatience, a hand too quick to swat, and words that cannot be retracted from the hearts of your children. It could be that only a few weeks have gone by with such failure or perhaps it has been years. Right now, however, you must lift your eyes and look to Recovery.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Hush the lies, my dear, and start renewing your mind. Yes, those places are the most ugly of your gentle, feminine heart and brilliant mind but we begin to see that the most damaged places are absolutely destined to be the most fruitful. It is His rich kindness that leads us to repentance (Romans 2:4) so we do not fear the clutch of conviction. Let's not be afraid to look at what has become ashes and then let the rhythm of Healing take over our lives.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The mind of a woman is one of the most beautifully-fashioned places where God gently sets His vision and value for humanity. <i><b>Her ability to care for dozens of people while she remembers the menial and mundane always gives birth to the significant. </b></i>Thriving in a place of humility and utter dependence on the life of Christ, she carries generations, cultures, and even nations over the threshold of her home. At the tips of her fingers are life and destiny and the power to shape a Kingdom through love, sacrifice, grace, and a hearty prayer life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It's because of this well-intended placement & potential that your mind is so susceptible to the overwhelming waves of fear, doubt, and comparison. If we do not guard against less-than-living, we will begin to think that:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">our children are unworthy & inconvenient,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">our husbands are incompetent & ignorant,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">our schedules are already too stretched, or</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">our God is not worthy of our everything.</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I can see that many of you already have these anthems playing non-stop throughout the day. They are like wicked vines growing all over your heart and the roots are frighteningly deep and they produce a dark and deadly fruit. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Oh, but it is never too late. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">With pleading whispers, I am praying that you will hear the melodies playing above the dust storm, as a sweet Savior beckons your brokenness (yes, this is all of you) to come out of the ashes and into the glorious light. Do you know that He rejoices over you? Every piece of your broken heart will align if you truly believe in the delight of God. It will motivate you, compel you, fix you, empower you, and most of all - create in you a heart of worship that will not be swayed by trials, disappointment, or the overwhelming task of raising children. You will find Him irresistible throughout all the moments of your day and a new chapter will begin as you see that <b><i>mothers are created for The Love Story</i></b>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The overflow of this worship will make its way through every crevice of your heart and overtake your thoughts and mind and then your words will begin to exude a grace and kindness and a style of parenting that is supernatural. Your home will fill with peace, your children will find anchor in the rocking waves, and your marriage will find sustenance and renewal. What a privilege to let this process start with us, without condition or clause. May He have all of you and all of your mothering heart in this very moment and for always. </span></div>
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Heather Thompsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381863277588824167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-370269047987199829.post-25728732445830750912014-03-28T17:43:00.002-05:002014-03-28T17:43:32.400-05:00Bedtime<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The moment comes when I slip off the bed, trying my hardest to not squeak the mattress, and make my way to the dimly lit hallway. I don't exhale. I don't blink or rustle my hair. I only pray that the child doesn't notice my exit or hear my contacts realigning or my eyelashes growing. You know, the kind of noises that wake sleeping children, right? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Don't be fooled when I settle down on the couch. I know I still have a full ten minutes before I can be completely assured the cherub is actually asleep. I swear, toddlers' beds must come with a super sonic alarm that senses when my feet finally make their way off the carpet and onto the wood, signaling to me relief but to them: DEFCON 1 has been set in motion. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I wonder, yet again, why bedtime is so.freaking.hard.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Bedtime routines are not some occasional, just-when-we-feel-like-it tradition that take place when mom and dad have had one too many glasses of wine and decide that all mini-beings must vacate the premises. This is not some grand idea I've spent three months preparing for, like a baby shower or root canal, where all angles are considered and every detail sorted through like we're going on HGTV. This is bed time. This happens every, single night. Without fail they are in bed within the same two-hour time frame, in the same bed, with the same lights and the same routines. The distance from their bed to mine has not grown a hundred yards or been separated by a mine field containing ninjas in big foot costumes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>I'm specifically not mentioning nap time right now because some sort of guttural sound might come from across the internet and beg you to never mention the habit to me or ask my advice. Our house doesn't do no nap time and I ain't going back to that desolate land. I will not speak of it.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I will never understand why bedtime causes such a collective hyperventilating from every parent I know. It's like food: it's important, the habits stay with them for life, and we're responsible for training them in health and happiness. Only because I'm in my right mind and a decent three hours from the madness, can I say that bedtime must be downright important. The bigger the battle, the bigger the opportunity, right? Someone with teenagers, someone who doesn't have to go get another cup of water or tuck the sheet tighter or scratch the back the other way or sing another song, please tell me that we can build opportunities to genuinely connect with each child at night, right?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Half of you are already pulling out your essential oil sample to mail me, suggesting I rub their feet and start diffusing some Valorific or Solveallyourproblems an hour before bedtime. The other half have just renewed their Wine Club subscription and are wondering why Costco doesn't sell chewable children's Benadryl in bulk. Don't worry...I've already checked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I'm not going to tell you that you'll need practically an entire day's grace for your kids all over again at 7 o'clock because that is depressing and unfair. I will tell you, though, that when I lay in bed with my eight year old, she begs for snuggles, the same song every night, and to always "pray for no bugs." There used to be a day when I didn't see the end of those requests. I can now sense that there will be a time when some book will distract her into another world or there won't be room for both of us on the bed, and she won't grab my wrist and plead for another two minutes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Our boys share a room, each with their own twin bed, and most nights they try to catch up on their word count for the day in the few minutes I spend winding down with them. A few nights ago, Colby would not stop his chatter while Tucker was nearly settled and I firmly said to him, "Colby. Stop. Talking." The room hushed and I cringed to think that was the last phrase he heard from me that day. Even now, my heart aches to think those words ushered him into his dreams. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This is the moment where shame or hope will take grip of your heart and lead you down tonight's path at bedtime. You can feel guilt and fear about how you've handled bedtime and routines and goodnights and the effect it has had on your babies. You can willfully put on a cloak of determination that resolves to do better tonight and tomorrow and then it will be a new week and your resolve will putter out of energy. You can adhere to some method or philosophy and become slave to its precepts, without the heart of compassion and guidance and your child's spirit will get lost in the mix of your pride and a stranger's advice.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Instead, let's load the last dish into the dishwasher and take a quick second to pray: <i>God, help me with bedtime tonight. Help me love. Help me finish well. Help me not scream like Xena: Warrior Princess. Amen. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I am thoroughly convinced that if you can put a child to bed without handcuffs, duct tape, or restraints, you could lead the G8 Summit (is it G7 now that Russia has been excluded?), hike at least half of Mount Everest, and breastfeed quadruplets. Maybe even all three in the same week. For tonight, here is my Irish blessing for you:</span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">May exhaustion guide your child's will to a quick and painless death,</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">May their bedsheets wrap ever so <strike>tightly</strike> lightly around their bodies,</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">May you walk forth from their rooms without the spanker in hand,</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">May you never hear their voices again. Until morning.</span></i></blockquote>
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Heather Thompsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381863277588824167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-370269047987199829.post-79269326485479999222014-03-06T11:50:00.000-06:002014-03-06T11:50:20.433-06:00Candy Crush, Lent, and Rage<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I'm hovering quietly around level 266 on Candy Crush.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIRaiHbt44t-PwPO3iFVqqF0X30U4-92VBloIWSyOHSanKib6qrbtRfOzHEvQEU7rCFqsJsyqGfClLaq0OMsKbw5nt3twUk6wdPXCz2wt25bd5BpCP9zcMsw2hYG07u0UrGpSRI5v7LpA/s1600/IMG_9189.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIRaiHbt44t-PwPO3iFVqqF0X30U4-92VBloIWSyOHSanKib6qrbtRfOzHEvQEU7rCFqsJsyqGfClLaq0OMsKbw5nt3twUk6wdPXCz2wt25bd5BpCP9zcMsw2hYG07u0UrGpSRI5v7LpA/s1600/IMG_9189.png" height="200" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">There I said it, and now you can judge me. Maybe instead you're standing in awe of my candy crushing awesomeness. I only play a few minutes a day but in the spirit of vulnerability, I'll admit that somedays it's a lot more than a few minutes. I was even one of the last people to jump on the sweet ol' wrapped candy band wagon because I couldn't believe the obsession - or Facebook requests. Now I understand and it's embarrassing. One website says "it's both the best thing and worst thing to ever happen to you." Bless it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Yesterday was the first day of Lent and while I'm making all sorts of confessions, I will tell you that I have never participated. I have never fasted during Lent, marked my forehead, or done a study alongside the weeks leading up to Easter. Fat Tuesday means nothing to me. Ash Wednesday seems to me more a day for finding out who's Catholic and thus, I don't identify. This year feels quite a bit more inviting as my church is providing us with a great resource that's guiding my prayers and focus. I'm observing Lent for the first time as a 33-year-old mom who drives a minivan, struggles with menu planning, and hasn't showered since Tuesday. Or maybe Monday, there's no telling. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So the big question is <i>what are you giving up? </i>I'm not giving up Candy Crush, although I'm sure I will be playing quite a bit less. I'm not shutting down Facebook or unplugging the television or dumping desserts in the trash. </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I'm giving up </span><b style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">excuses</b><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>The more I think about the things that hold me back and keep me from seeking the heart of God, the more I realize that it's not the things in my hands that keep me from Jesus, it's the things in my head and heart.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It's ironic to me that on the first day of Lent, my day was marked by a full-scale, hormonal rage attack that nearly ended the lives of most of my immediate family members. I screamed like never before at each of my kids, cussed at my husband over text, and yelled at drivers on the road. Chipotle was out of chicken and I nearly drove through their front door. Over chopped meat, y'all. I was legitimately mad and for legitimate reasons. I overreacted at every turn and hurt each of my kids and my husband. I laid in bed with a migraine for the entire afternoon while my kids ate cupcakes and bell peppers for lunch which undoubtedly led to Colby's horrible headache that evening. The hearts of my kids slipped through the cracks of my selfish, bleeding heart and I justified it because I was PMSing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Oh wait: No excuses. No justifying.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My hormones didn't hurt people - I hurt people. I sinned over and over again. I chose sin, I chose to offend and hurt, and there was damage left in the wake of my wicked behavior. There might be a good explanation for yesterday's destruction but I'm still responsible at the end of the day for what I did. I stared the ugly straight in the face last night, repented to my kids & husband, and am asking God for forgiveness this morning. He will rebuild, He will tend to their wounded hearts, and I can stand unashamed because He is a good God who redeems and restores, both them and me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Our excuses cannot hide our sin from God. The ways people have hurt us cannot protect us from taking responsibility for our sin. Our busy schedules are not shields of protection that justify why we don't serve the poor, love our neighbor, and care for the orphan. Sometimes I look back over the past few years of my life and see more a string of excuses than I care to admit. It's enough to make me fall to my knees and cry for the things lost.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Because those excuses have had a dramatic effect on my life. They keep me from writing because "I have three kids, home school, and don't have a house keeper." They keep me from eating healthy because "I don't have the budget or resources to eat organic or Paleo." Excuses are keeping me from losing weight because "I don't have a gym membership or time in the day to walk around the block." Excuses keep me in bed in the morning because "I'm tired and sleep is more important than being filled with the life of God for my family." Excuses lead me to Candy Crush and Facebook because "I'm bored and lonely and my kids are annoying me." Excuses are keeping me from all the things I really want, mainly Jesus himself. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">For Lent this year, I'm catching the excuses as they enter my mind and fighting hard against the damage they create. Any ability to choose is all grace and what I believe matters, too. So I'm opening up Luke 14:16-24 and imagining the feast that God invites us to.</span><br />
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<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“</i><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="text Luke-14-16">Jesus replied: <span class="woj">“A certain man was preparing a great banquet and invited many guests. </span></span><span class="text Luke-14-17" id="en-NIV-25571">At the time of the banquet he sent his servant to tell those who had been invited, ‘Come, for everything is now ready.’ </span></i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>“But they all alike began to make excuses. The first said, ‘I have just bought a field, and I must go and see it. Please excuse me.’ </i></span><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">“</i><i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Another said, ‘I have just bought five yoke of oxen, and I’m on my way to try them out. Please excuse me.’ “Still another said, ‘I just got married, so I can’t come.’ </i><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>“The servant came back and reported this to his master. Then the owner of the house became angry and ordered his servant, ‘Go out quickly into the streets and alleys of the town and bring in the poor, the crippled, the blind and the lame.’ “‘Sir,’ the servant said, ‘what you ordered has been done, but there is still room.’ </i></span></blockquote>
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<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="text Luke-14-23" id="en-NIV-25577" style="background-color: transparent;">Then the master told his servant, ‘Go out to the roads and country lanes and compel them to come in, so that my house will be full. </span><span class="text Luke-14-24" id="en-NIV-25578" style="background-color: transparent;">I tell you, not one of those who were invited will get a taste of my banquet.’”</span><span style="background-color: transparent;"> </span></span></i></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">What if we really believed that everything is ready? Would you be willing to leave behind the excuses, no matter how valid, and pursue your banquet? Would you be willing to train your mind against the thoughts that keep you from what you know is waiting for you? </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">During this season of Lent, where denial and sacrifice and fasting train our hearts and minds, I pray that you find a feast that satisfies.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>"Quarry me deep, dear Lord, </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b>and then fill me to overflowing with living water." </b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">(Prayer from The Valley of Vision)</span></div>
Heather Thompsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381863277588824167noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-370269047987199829.post-65500407313296205942014-01-29T13:42:00.000-06:002014-01-29T13:42:50.748-06:00Ruins<div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The fog is heavy today and I wish for the light of morning like a watchman on the wall. I can almost "ache" it into being but my fingers cannot weave together comfort or healing or bravery. My shoulders lift and drop and the inhale of Spirit weaves hope and peace into the tension and you, sweet mama, have come full into my sight. Your weariness cannot be hidden by the coats of mascara or concealer and I wish I could hug you in a way that makes you realize how very honestly you are seen. Your battle is also my familiar battle and I know the strength required of you is unfair and shocking and most certainly exhausting. Please stop holding it together and just for a moment, <b>rest</b> and let the walls fall and the bricks collapse around you. I'll find you a cozy blanket and tissue and we'll cry together as the worlds we've built fall to ruins.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I can see by your hesitance and shaking that you are terribly afraid of the ruins. Oh, but why? What is there that has ever been that could not be rebuilt and by much better hands than ours? What is there anyway that we have actually created ourselves? It is nothing, nothing. We have done none of this ourselves and by trying to hold it together, it is likely that we are actually keeping it from glorious life and purpose. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Let it fall, mama, let it fall.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The dust is still settling so let's take a quiet moment over here to tend to your broken heart. Of course you know that God is kind and tender and available but will you allow Him to come near when your life is ruined? I agree that it is so painfully humiliating to be found like this when you are ruined and everything you've made collapses onto itself. But where did you learn to be so ashamed of your weakness and why would we ever be anything but relieved to be at the end of ourselves and lacking even capacity to utter our need. It is not fatigue or frustration or disappoint that drives us here, it is weakness. Absolute depravity. Yes, I know it will cost you everything to admit this but can you see how it will only lessen your load and lighten the weight? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Now might be a good time to take a breath and have a cup of tea. Can I offer you a warm vanilla bean scone? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Yes, of course, I know you've put so much time and energy into the mortar that holds your family together. The systems and routines and disciplines; the love and care and prayers; the research and crafting and good you've done for them. I can see by your worn fingers that you have given so very much and often only because so much is required of you. But have your efforts been with denial of your brokenness and in the name of capability? The very deepest place of you is all-together falling apart with no hope of self-improvement. Let's muster our strength together and see that not even the greatest acts of motherhood can provide salvation or hope. Nope, not one. Not for ourselves and definitely not for our children. We are not the way to God for their little broken lives. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Let it go, mama, let it go.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Can we please for just a moment stop telling each other that we're doing a great job and admit, no, <i>embrace</i> the broken and terrible thing we've done to motherhood? We have been found dead in the ocean of raising children and cannot do this well until we realize we have done it wrong. Doesn't this feel so much easier to carry than perfection? Failure is the ugly, broken place where we start our journey so I will meet you here, at the bottom, but I will also remind you of hope.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Hope has come for you and your mothering heart and it comes again with blinding light and a balm of healing for your heart. His light was made for the darkness, it was made to fill the once-depressing darkness of our brokenness and while we wait in the rubble, it will find every corner of our failure and pride and impatience and selfishness.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It will shine on us and we will see that <b>the gospel has come for mothers.</b> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The kindest King Jesus has given his very breath and blood to see that mothers can find peace and freedom to walk with Him. So we embrace that everything we need to raise our babies is found at the foot of the cross and that apart from Him we can do no good thing (John 15:5). We build our homes on the foundation that we are clinging to the grace of God and hour-by-hour, we seek how to demonstrate the living power of the gospel.</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"He will bestow on you a crown of beauty instead of ashes,</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">He will give you the oil of joy instead of mourning, </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">He will rebuild our ancient ruins,</span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">He will restore the places long devastated. </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Instead of your shame you will receive a double portion,</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">and instead of disgrace you will rejoice in your inheritance</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><i><span style="background-color: white;">and everlasting joy</span><span class="crossreference" style="background-color: white; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-18851Z" title="See cross-reference Z">Z</a>)"></span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span></i></b><span style="background-color: white;"><b><i>will be yours.</i></b>"</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Isaiah 61</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I believe in you, sweet mama, and believe in a bigger God than we can imagine and dare even hope for. My heart is for you and your home and so here is my practical, next-step encouragement: find some time with Jesus and find some more time with a girlfriend who will pray for you and love you and remind you that the ruins are not to be feared. Confess and repent. Every stretch of mother's destruction or failure is surpassed by God's grace and His far-reaching gospel. This truth will heal you and heal your children and heal your home.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I hope very much today that you find Him in the ruins. </span> </div>
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Heather Thompsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381863277588824167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-370269047987199829.post-47990921362326899102013-12-25T21:00:00.000-06:002013-12-25T21:00:25.649-06:00Christmas for the Brokenhearted<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Disclaimer: It's probably a good thing that the inspiration for this entry didn't come until late Christmas Day because this will probably be seen by most as a downer. I apologize in advance for any sort of bubble burst...however, I have a feeling most of us are going to have a Christmas hangover of sorts tomorrow so I'm just jumping a little bit ahead of you and hoping to break the fall. And if you have a bonafide hangover, grab another cup of coffee, wait for the blurred vision to dwindle, and carry on. With sobriety.</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We drove away from my parents' house on Christmas Eve and I warned my husband I would probably cry all week. The tears started before we even hit the highway and I told him I was devastated that we were leaving Olivia behind. She is buried under an olive tree, made the move with us in November, and seems more like a little girl than last Christmas. I've started calling her "Liv" and she's in my thoughts more than usual this past year and all of a sudden, she was staying in Texas while we celebrated with family in Arkansas. I miss her something fierce lately. I set the kids' table last night and there were four little square plastic plates - one extra - and my heart broke as I put it back in the buffet. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Does Christmastime feel broken for you?</i> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My single girlfriends are probably distracted by tinsel and a new DIY from Pinterest but I have a feeling it's another day of wondering why Mr. Right hasn't appeared with mistletoe. I think about my friends who still aren't pregnant and stare at the stockings of little nieces and nephews wondering if maybe, just maybe next year there will be an extra one, hanging with care. Were you hoping for something at Christmas of 2012 that still hasn't happened? Are you emptied of all hope? Are you becoming all too familiar with disappointment?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm not going to preach to you that everything is going to be fixed over the next twelve months (or nine months, as the case may be). I'm not going to flash a neon sign of happiness and elves dancing and tell you that all your greatest dreams are just around the corner. Some of us have a hard road ahead of us. Many of us will find great heartache in 2014. We will suffer loss, death, disappointment, and devastation.</span></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Christmas doesn't solve the problem, it just distorts the mess and the glory. It exaggerates it on some sides and covers it up with twinkle lights and bows on the other. </span></i></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So in the midst of American culture during the month of December, we are confused and befuddled by a baby born in a manger. A baby boy who had skin and toenails, who teethed and coo'ed, and who taught us every step of the way that humanity can hold the tangible presence of God right alongside the worst kind of heartache. There is no need to dismiss our grief and emptiness on a day of celebration. Instead, we should find comfort in the mysterious way the glory of God presses itself up against our heartache. Some days we will find that when our grief meets the balm of His gospel, it is healed and gone. Other days, the grief will tremble and crack and remind us of pain and suffering. The hardest days will find our grief standing strong and willing itself toward independence. However we respond, God's plan of pursuing you is not offended - He is quite intent on displaying unfathomable goodness. I pray that your heart will be found more tender than usual today and I pray that you would relate to the humanity of Jesus as grief clutches your heart. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;">“Wrong will be right, when Aslan comes in sight,</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;">At the sound of his roar, sorrows will be no more,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When he bares his teeth, winter meets its death,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And when he shakes his mane, we shall have spring again.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">C.S. Lewis, <i>The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe</i></span></div>
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Heather Thompsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381863277588824167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-370269047987199829.post-48562137930781296992013-10-14T19:54:00.000-05:002013-10-14T22:47:14.316-05:00Parenting Advice: Funnels & Freedom<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The buckle on Tucker's car seat broke a few weeks ago. Please don't ask how long we waited to replace the dang thing - his grandparents would be horrified. In an effort to save a few dollars, I started by replacing it with one of those belt-positioner booster seats that uses the seat belt from the van. He'd been in the seat for five minutes when he was literally either 1. laying in Zoe's lap or 2. sitting on his knees playing with the reading light. It was a nightmare. I yelled from the front seat, trying to get him to sit correctly (i.e. safely) while I was driving on the highway, fending off images of crashing while doing 70mph. I lost track of how many times he was able to unbuckle the belt altogether. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It took less than 48 hours to replace the seat again but the damage had already been done. He had tasted his freedom. He knew what it meant to have a lap belt and the ability to tuck the shoulder belt under his arms. He had seen the grass was greener and ran through it with bare feet, his hair<strike>piece</strike> flapping in the wind. Needless to say he now screams when I click the harness at his armpits and snap the metal pieces into the lock between his legs. I took away his newly found freedom, Lord forgive me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">One of the best pieces of parenting advice I've ever heard was given to us on a mission trip to Juarez, Mexico. (It used to be a safe place. I think.) This couple shared with us the "funnel" model of parenting and how most people view parenting and authority, especially preparing for teenagers, through the following model:</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Younger age = more freedom ; older age = less freedom</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The funnel gives us a great picture if we start at the bottom and work our way to the top, through the mindset of freedom & authority. We tend to think that we can give our littles lots of freedom - think iPhones and iPads, the clothes they choose to wear, their ability to navigate the climate of the home, and their overall decision making and control over their environment.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Let's go down this path and see where it leads:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My two-year-old is ornery and troublesome when we grocery shop so I give him the iPhone. He plays little kid games or watches videos on the PBS app. I have peace of mind and can focus on my grocery list. Which is unfortunately in my Notes on the phone so I have to interrupt him every 5-6 minutes. When he turns five, he's learned mainly that he doesn't have to actually behave at the store and wants to ride around in the cart. He's big enough to be bored with kid apps and wants to play more aggressive and entertaining games, which usually cost money and eat up my data. Fast forward to ten, he expects to have his own iPhone, can Google any term he learns on TV, and legitimately doesn't understand when I try to enforce boundaries with technology.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My daughter tends to be strong-willed around the age of three or four when it comes to picking her outfit for the day. I'm tired of the battles, hate having to say "no" again, so I let her choose whatever she wears, while silently being more than a little annoyed at her control. She's outgrown the toddler section before I can say "modesty" and then she's telling me exactly what she wants in the junior department. She's a teenager and earning her own money so she's buying stuff at the mall and then I try to explain why the miniskirt and low-cut tank top aren't appropriate for the Sunday service. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Now the dreaded "c" word: chores. My kids aren't required to do much around the house when they're developing their work ethic, between ages 3-5. Mom does all the laundry, clears all the dishes, loads and unloads the dishwasher, while we hope the kid knows how to make his bed and change his underwear daily. Until the day where a couple days' worth of outfits takes up a whole load in the washing machine and I'm drowning in Downy and fluffing the contents of the dryer again. I battle with them over putting their clothes in their laundry basket and try to keep their attention for the 90 seconds it takes to learn how to start their own load. </span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It is easier to <i>maintain</i> control (authority) than <i>regain</i> control (authority). </span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Let's flip the funnel and talk about how we can practically implement boundaries in the same scenarios so that we give our kids more control as they get older.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Freedom is gained as the child approaches the teenage years</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It's hard to grocery shop when you're a toddler who hates the grocery cart. But Mom brought some books, and maybe even has the foresight to print off two lists and bring a jumbo crayon so baby can help with the list. Discipline problems in aisle seven take priority over the peas melting and the sweet little cherub learns that he cannot control Mom and her responsibilities. His little fingers get flicked behind clothes racks and he might cry but Mom is confident in her methods. When he's getting ready for first grade, he picks items off the shelf at the store and helps place cans on the belt in the checkout line. When they get home, Mom and boy will sit down on the couch together for ten minutes and play one of the new educational apps she found for free. They'll snuggle while learning and he'll have a little bit of freedom, but think that he's gotten the world of it. Technology is a privilege - not a right and certainly not a behavior modifier - and this will lay a phenomenal foundation for the years to come. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Until the age of 3 or 4, I pick out the diva's clothes. I lay them out, I make sure the tags don't bother her, and we thank God for providing us with such pretty things to wear. When she turns 4, she can choose from two outfits that Mom picks out. She is empowered to make the choice herself but Mom is setting the boundaries. By age 8 (maybe sooner for most), she can pick her outfit out and bring it to mom for approval, maybe with the exception of special events. She doesn't know any different than getting Mom's okay with what she wears and how she presents herself to the world. We cultivate a heart of modesty and thanksgiving when we realize that God provides everything for us.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">At age five, the boy is unloading the silverware and the girl, age eight, is unloading the dishwasher. The girl knows how to fold everything in the dryer and can put clothes in their place. They work together to scoop the poop in the backyard. The toddler gets to have a lot of fun with the vacuum and is learning by example that everyone participates in running a home, that chores and work are a part of life, and that "jobs well done" honor everyone. We talk often about complaining and having joy in the midst of things that aren't fun. The expectation is built early that we all contribute - it's really just the norm. So when my boys are big enough to eat four plates of spaghetti, they'll be able to mow the yard and clear the table with the ethic of grown men who find pride in their work.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Parenting is like our car seat problem. We absentmindedly give our kids freedom and do what feels easy for us - cheaper - less stressful - keep them quieter - avoid battles - etc. etc. - without realizing that we're giving up our authority over their lives. Once we realize that things aren't the best for them or the family structure, we try to put them under tighter restrictions and they scream, rebel, whatever.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">When these things seem hard I try to imagine giving my teenagers more authority and trust their decision-making. I picture fewer arguments and battles over what to wear, how to clean, without being naive that, of course, we'll have disagreements and tension. But I like to think of this as an investment, a sowing of sorts, where we will reap a harvest of responsibility. We'll have kids who appreciate their control and decisions, and don't demand it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This path requires hard, hard work. Firmness matched with kindness is a difficult skill but this kind of parenting will create healthy relationships in our homes and usher in a kind of peace that comes with the protection of boundaries.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">If you're already on the wrong path with all this stuff, don't be afraid to look squarely at your habits. Take a quick and honest assessment of your coping techniques. Are your kids in charge? Are you relying on all the wrong stuff because the alternative is just too hard? Don't dismay - be thankful that you can make changes, whether you have a toddler and a newborn or kids in elementary school. Get a plan and make small changes. Set your kids up for success and don't get bummed out when you fail. Think long-term goals and apply short-term habits. You can do it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Buckle your seatbelt and let's ride this thing together!</span></div>
Heather Thompsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381863277588824167noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-370269047987199829.post-57031708981892801902013-09-19T17:59:00.000-05:002013-09-19T17:59:11.551-05:00Home Sweet Home<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Right now she's playing with her stuffed animals and the boys are sleeping soundly. A warm forehead and stuffy noses have made for a peaceful afternoon and I'm listening to Keith Urban's new album. Peace comes where she's welcome. She is welcomed here with tiny arms and my deeply desperate heart.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My fingers often graze her forehead and remind me of the warmth that comes from her growing spirit. His dirty fingers wrap around my legs and leave marks from breakfast and brown dirt from the backyard. He limps from growing pains and I rub his back while he snuggles on my chest. "Will you scratch my back, Mama?" I grieve for an instant that one day he'll stop asking but for now, I am elated at his deep need for me. Their deep need for me is something that I carry with all my heart and it often brings me to a kind of prayer that quakes mountains.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The air in our home quietly whispers their need for the four walls that provide their shelter, contain their breath, and witness their extraordinary. There is nothing common about our children because they were created to change the world. But first they need their home, they need healthy & developed roots, and they need inner peace. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The keys hang by the door, sometimes for days, and we reach to the back of the pantry for tonight's dinner. Pillow forts take over two rooms because the afternoons are still heavy with warmth. The pace is driven by whatever they need in the moment, not by my errands or social visits with grownups. Loneliness cannot survive here because they are surrounded by the best and deepest kind of love. I find my need for conversation and relationship met by ever-present and always-helping Jesus.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Tempting this way of life are my selfish heart and long-forgotten priorities. It's only a thief who robs my children of their childhood and their home and I'm convicted to my core when it's me who opens the door. So I set my eyes on the vision of a home where my husband will flourish and where my children will thrive. There I can be fulfilled and satisfied and find genuine joy. I stop chasing race car pace and drive-through lines and buckle-unbuckle and "everyone in this town needs me but the three in my backseat." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The markers are easily identified, mostly by my poor planning and credit card statement. So many cheeseburgers and Sprites, stops at the gas station for yet another fill-up, and other random wasting of money. I cringe at the thought of not honoring his paycheck.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm not driven by shame towards this future; I'm driven by hope. Hope for contentment in the simplicity and a sense of identity in the beauty of family. Hope that my home holds the honor of refining my character and provides a haven when the world is cruel. Hope that my children get to witness the bettering of my skills, love, and vulnerability through the very tangible gift of nearness.</span></div>
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<i style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Are you ready to come home?</i></div>
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Heather Thompsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381863277588824167noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-370269047987199829.post-56824986735580153672013-09-12T16:09:00.000-05:002013-09-17T20:44:22.832-05:00Legacy<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Sexually abused." Sex." "Intercourse."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I made an inward gasp and felt the floor disappear from my heart. My eyes fluttered to the seat beside me to look at her little frame. Is her back always so straight? Do her eyes usually pay such attention to the front of the room? She was this morning and, of all mornings, why wasn't she buried in her coloring book or looking for the next crayon? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The room was dark but enough light came through the back windows that I could make eye contact with Brad. He looked at me with casual surprise but mostly had his eyes locked on her face as she listened to the story of redemption. My heart leapt without reservation from the screen to my girl and back again as the story wove thick and colorful threads throughout the room, like a net catching our hearts. Her bravery was noble, that girl on the screen. To share such wounding that would one day be met with such mercy and compassion. The gospel gave me goosebumps that morning and my watery eyes burned as my heart overflowed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I couldn't catch the words before they landed on her innocence but it was acceptable because she sat with a pillar of parent on her right and her left and she learned - again - that life is not safe and that Jesus always pursues our pain, like catching the pieces of a puzzle falling in slow motion. Her whimsy returned two minutes later, she immersed herself in the busy bag, and we exhaled with relief that she didn't ask questions.</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The fullness of Christ is found in the church. (Ephesians 1:23)</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I processed what we had watched, with our daughter at the age of seven that morning in our church service, I was surprised at my comfort and relief. If you had asked me the night before what I thought, I would have erred on the side of caution and suggested that children leave the room before the clip was played. Sometimes it takes being blindsided to realize the deep truths that need to take root in our parenting philosophy. It should not disturb us that our children can (and should!) hear the ragged stories in our churches and city groups. Have you considered the work of the Bible lately? Have you scanned the breadth of sins that the blood of Jesus covers? Sunday school messages that teach our children to focus on the colors of the rainbow at the end of "Noah's Ark" are making light of the genocide that drowned men, women, and children and how a man who "walked with God" was saved. The story of God is not a safe one.</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The fullness of Christ, <b>for my children</b>, is found in the church. </span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Our children walk with tender, open hearts and accept what they hear as absolute truth. Every single attitude and perspective and response is created by the words that are planted in their minds. They listen, they watch, and they absorb. And the voices, oh, the voices. As much thought as I give to </span><i style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">what</i><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> my children hear, so I give to </span><i style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">whom</i><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> they are hearing it from. I pray that my children will be surrounded by men and women who tenderly hand them pieces of God's story and remind them that God is glorious and good. This is what it means to raise our children in community. This is what it means when we say it takes a village. This is what it means for the church to preach the gospel to our children. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Because there is no place, besides my home, that I would rather them hear truth and love and light than the church. The glorious and aged church that has the opportunity to speak into our children's lives, before culture turns on its loudspeaker and before the playground steals them from our laps. We must insist that our churches take back the responsibility of equipping families for the work of the gospel, for the love of the King, and for the sake of our salvation. It's a daring and hard work but this partnership is the most effective way to disciple our sons and daughters in the kingdom.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She wouldn't remember that morning if you asked her about it. The words planted something deep below the surface, a seed that will be nurtured over time by the displays of vulnerability she witnesses and words that appear to miss her comprehension. She will, however, develop a love for broken stories that surround each of us and she will have the courage to embrace the hurting. She will learn it from me and she will learn it from us and she will impart it to her children. What a legacy.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image courtesy of Go Forth Creative</td></tr>
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Heather Thompsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381863277588824167noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-370269047987199829.post-62747086495971837182013-09-11T11:39:00.000-05:002013-09-11T11:39:37.309-05:00Prelude to Home School<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Good morning, dear friends!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Many of you know that we home school and, while this hasn't always been the case, I am just loving it lately and I am finding thriving rhythms for both me and my kids. I will be hosting an intro to home school morning in November. If you live in the Dallas/Fort Worth area, please <a href="mailto:heather@whitedoordiary.com" target="_blank"><b>email me</b></a> if you're interested in coming out. My plan is to go through a broad overview of the why's and encourage parents to shift their philosophy from education to parenting & home life. I will also have a lot of resources, practical advice, and encouragement straight from the heart of God. I'm praying for clarity for each of you, breakthrough in vision for your home, and wisdom from God for all of us. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Until then, I wanted to pass along some websites & just a book or two that are excellent resources. </span><br />
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<b><u><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Consultant & Speaker Carole Joy Seid</span></u></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">My mentor Carole Joy Seid has done seminars in Dallas that have radically impacted our home school philosophy, vision, and method. Her website is <a href="http://www.carolejoyseid.com/" target="_blank">here</a>. She has recently uploaded some <a href="http://blog.carolejoyseid.com.s126415.gridserver.com/cooking/" target="_blank">cooking videos</a> and just seeing her face and hearing her voice makes my heart soar. You'll see her <a href="http://blog.carolejoyseid.com.s126415.gridserver.com/seminars-2/" target="_blank">schedule</a> (she's in Dallas this weekend!) and you can <a href="http://blog.carolejoyseid.com.s126415.gridserver.com/store/" target="_blank">purchase</a> her seminars, which come with her .pdf book lists. Find "Listen to Carole" to hear an excellent radio interview and consider listening to it when you're prepping dinner tonight. </span><br />
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<b><u><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Authors Raymond S. & Dorothy N. Moore.</span></u></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This couple has written several books, most of which were published in the 1980s and 1990s. My favorite is <u>Home Grown Kids: A Practical Handbook for Teaching Your Children at Home.</u> (<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Home-grown-kids-practical-handbook/dp/0849902703/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1378916204&sr=1-2&keywords=home+grown+kids" target="_blank">Amazon</a> or <a href="http://fwl.ipac.dynixasp.com/ipac20/ipac.jsp?session=1N789162Y1257.27835&profile=ebranch&uri=link=3100007~!410674~!3100001~!3100002&aspect=subtab13&menu=search&ri=2&source=~!production&term=Home+grown+kids+%3A+a+practical+handbook+for+teaching+your+children+at+home+%2F&index=PALLTI" target="_blank">FW Library</a>) Easily followed by <u>Better Late Than Early</u>. (<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Better-Late-Than-Early-Education/dp/0883490498/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1378916431&sr=1-1&keywords=better+late+than+early" target="_blank">Amazon</a> or <a href="http://fwl.ipac.dynixasp.com/ipac20/ipac.jsp?session=1N789162Y1257.27835&profile=ebranch&uri=link=3100007~!28471~!3100001~!3100002&aspect=subtab13&menu=search&ri=4&source=~!production&term=Better+late+than+early+%3A+a+new+approach+to+your+child%27s+education+%2F&index=PALLTI" target="_blank">FW Library</a>) Hard to find but the Fort Worth Library has both available on request. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><u>Home School & The Single Parent</u></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I've had three interactions in the past month with single moms who are struggling with school options for their sweet children. <a href="http://singleparenthomeschool.christianhomeeducation.org/resources.html" target="_blank">This article</a> includes links to 105 resources, websites, articles, and more to encourage the single mom or dad on their home school path. It can be done!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I am looking forward to catching up with you soon and I would love to hear if you check out these resources! Email me to get more details about the Prelude to Home School morning on November 2nd!</span>Heather Thompsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381863277588824167noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-370269047987199829.post-82960674338418491352013-08-26T19:41:00.001-05:002013-08-26T22:23:46.149-05:00Dear Miley<div>You're probably rolling your eyes at me and already putting up a defensive front. I mean, who cares what a thirty-something, homeschooling mom has to say about your life. I guess that's my problem: I care a lot about your life. And not for the reasons you may assume. </div><div><br></div><div>My daughter, who turns eight on Friday, has never heard of you. She doesn't know who Hannah Montana is, hasn't listened to your music, and I'm not the least bit worried about your influence in her life. It's nonexistent. But that doesn't diminish my downright, heart-breaking love and compassion for you. Because, you see, God loves you and created you for something bigger than yourself and I can see a glimpse of it. I hope for you, right now, that you could be sober and lonely enough to be desperate. Truly amazing things just might happen. </div><div><br></div><div>My people - Christians - would probably take this chance to lecture you, shame you to another cigarette, or point to some bigger "Hollywood culture" problem. Forget them. You are just a girl who wants to be loved, find a purpose, and change the world. <b> Let's do it together.</b> I might decide to wear jeans and a T-shirt over my bra and panties, tote a purse with diapers, and drink less than once a week but our hearts are the same. They are simply scandalous apart from grace. Did you know that you shouldn't expect anything good out of your character except what God gives you grace to find? Sorry if Christians make it sound otherwise. </div><div><br></div>You are a very popular girl right now. This afternoon, the lady at the coffee drive-through was talking about you. To me. In a minivan. I can't even imagine how you handle the pressure, attention, and fame. Maybe you *don't* handle it as you navigate the course of identity and security. Those waters are rough under the most idyllic circumstances. Add a famous dad, fortune, and a lot of funk and you have a recipe for struggle. Your pillows must have mascara stains from the tears you cry at night. I wish I could give you a big hug and look you straight up in the eyes and say:<div><br></div><div>You are loved. By a big God. An intimate God who chose you and still chooses you. </div><div><br></div><div>I pray that you find relief. I pray that you find peace. I pray that in the SHOUTING FOR YOUR ATTENTION, OVER HERE, WE PROMISE YOU EVERYTHING AND GIVE YOU NOTHING madness, that you would see that grace will carry you and sustain you. It will redeem you with swift rescue. Don't ever believe that you don't need rescuing. </div><div><br></div><div>As one who can simply point to the greater Someone and with all my love,</div><div>Heather</div>Heather Thompsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381863277588824167noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-370269047987199829.post-53572170636616459112013-08-09T16:10:00.000-05:002013-08-09T16:10:05.052-05:00"Mrs. Depression"<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Before we dive, I want to make it clear that Brad has read and approved of every word in this post. His side of the story is painted in different colors with different techniques but it shares the same canvas. This is my side of the story and written for the women who recognize my journey. </i><i>Take a deep breath, friend, and embrace my vulnerability as a gift.</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">We fell in love over cheap meals, ridiculous hopes, and a break-up. His larger than life personality and popularity made it easy to be his girlfriend and his genuinely humble heart made it easy to say "I do." He loved me well, the way a thunderstorm takes to parched land and replenishes. He settled the dust and brought calm like thick humidity.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I didn't know he was slipping away from me until he had been gone for years. Then one evening he said he needed help. "I have to do something, I can't live like this anymore," so I shrugged in agreement. He was medicated just a couple weeks later and even quicker, found his way back to happy. Engaged. Smiling. More grace and patience. More whole. More himself. Our house brightened with noticeable beams from a man satisfied with life. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">While he was finding his <b>happy heart, </b>I began trembling at the changes. I hadn't known the unbearable weight until it started lifting and settling at my feet. Gradually I began to see my filters for pleasing him, hiding my kids from his darker days, and inwardly condemning myself for every failed attempt at making him happy. </span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Clean, clean, clean. </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Just a cleaner house would make him happy to be home. </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Spank, spank, spank. </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Well-behaved children would make him happy to be a dad. </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Sex, sex, sex. </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Just initiate often and he'll be a happy lover. </span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">All those things, at one time or another, would be in great working order but he still lived half-like. Turns out I was exhausted and cowering in the corner of inadequate and less-than.</span><br />
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<i><b>Surely,</b> since he had become like this after marriage, it was because I wasn't good enough, capable enough, trophy-wife enough. <b>Surely,</b> since it escalated after children and was made worse by children, it must be a reflection of my awful mothering skills. </i>It's crazy how we don't even recognize our <b><i>surely</i></b> thoughts as wicked distortion. I was so sure about my not-so-sure self but didn't know any of this until I started breathing easy again. Little did I know I had been holding my breath for years, slipping in and out of consciousness. <b>I was not surviving</b>. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I cried more in those medicated months than in most years of our marriage. Seven years of covenant commitment but not an ounce of preparation for what felt like a restart. It's simply amazing how hope infiltrates and bleeds through our lives like a drop of blue in an ocean of clear. While I felt the burning of charcoal rip from my heart and soul, I stood on the shore of hope and healing. I watched as years of wrong-thinking and the motions of desperate wife-ing were quietly and quickly exchanged. God wrapped his arms of mercy around my marriage and embraced my bleeding heart. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">He brings and gives beautiful freedom because He is Himself <b>freedom</b> defined.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This story goes on with more words than anyone needs in a blog. So I want to open the door for you to a place where not many are willing to travel. Can you relate? Do you have a husband or a wife who walks on a blurred path with lead shoes? <b>You aren't alone.</b> We are an anonymous tribe of certainly brave men and women who suffer with the suffering. There is hope for us and for them and there is reaping for the required sowing of the smallest seeds. Sow goodness and patience. Tend to joy and hope. Your harvest will be magnificent. Pray for the impossible when you feel timid and tired and when hope seems lost. Sunlight is coming for you, at a fierce speed and with jealous determination. Can you feel it?</span><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">"Strength and dignity are her clothing, </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">She laughs at the days to come."</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Proverbs 31:25</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">P.S. I'd love to hear from you. Comment below or shoot me an <a href="mailto:thompsons129@sbcglobal.net" target="_blank">email</a>. </span></div>
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Heather Thompsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381863277588824167noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-370269047987199829.post-40215539310950928942013-08-01T12:01:00.000-05:002013-08-01T13:43:57.956-05:00The New Motherhood<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When I had my first baby, nearly eight (8!) years ago, the word "Pinterest" didn't exist and "organic" referred to a movement of Christianity. Granted, I was the first among my friends to have a baby and so the culture of motherhood hadn't begun for me. I was naive with all things bebe and when I look back with the information I have now, I sigh at the experts and trends and THANK GOD that I'm not fresh on the journey. Don't get me wrong. I still really struggle with this "mom thing" and my own thoughts are usually own worst enemy. Do you find yourself feeling totally inadequate... overwhelmed... lost... empty... skeptical... ineffective... and just plain befuddled when it comes to raising your kids? I'm secretly hoping it's not just me. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Wow. If you're a new-ish mom, you've got it harder than I think our country has ever made it for us. There is more pressure and comparison and that's-the-wrong-way-to-wear-a-baby and high fives for home births but don't give that baby rice cereal and keep them rear-facing until they're six, when they'll be just two years from their first taste of sugar. Sheesh, ladies. I can promise you that these things are new to the scene and were not around when I was stocking up on jarred baby food and store brand formula for my firstborn. It's like a floodgate of knowledge broke open about three or four years ago and turns out that everything our mother did is dangerous, the FDA is a bunch of idiots, and the air we breathe is toxic. The rug is always being yanked out from underneath our sore feet (that are either wider or longer than pre-baby) because someone with a megaphone (or Facebook newsfeed) read a supposedly helpful article about childrearing. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's a subtle shift from just <i>thinking</i> "I'm a bad mom" to our society actually telling us "Every decision you're making as a mom is wrong." </span><br />
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<b style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And it's ripping the heart out of motherhood. </b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We've just recently found a church home (consider any organized group if church isn't your thing) and I'm working on developing relationships with other moms. It's the first time, in a long time, that I don't know where she's coming from. <i>Will inviting her and her kids to Chick-Fil-A offend her because they use peanut oil? What if vaccinations come up in conversation and we have opposite viewpoints? What if she sees me pull out a disposable diaper & scented wipes? </i>I'm recognizing that all the information I've received over the past few years has written the word "divided" on my heart. The font is fear, the ink is bold, and the message is clear. <b>War</b>. This is the war on motherhood. That rather than standing beside each other and FOR each other, we would disagree to the point of broken relationships and hesitation to start new ones. We begin to believe that we must isolate ourselves in order to feel confident about our choices and styles of raising our sweet children. We dread the debate, the conversation, and ultimately the intimacy of disagreeing but still loving and fighting for the greater cause. </span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">No wonder we <strike>avoid</strike> hate community with other moms. </span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dear friend, let me boldly remind you or tell you perhaps for the first time that you cannot do this alone. You cannot imagine the sweet encouragement from the times I've been most vulnerable and honest with other moms about my impatience, failings, and fears. When the tension and pressure to recoil from opportunities to truly share our heart with another mom pulls us, we must consistently choose to move forward. I can almost guarantee that you will find compassion and relief that she feels the same way. It will probably feel very awkward at first: you might be speaking Crunchy while she is speaking Silky, you'll pull out Pampers while she pins the cloth, and she'll occupy her child with an iPhone while you pull out your boob. Get over it. You both speak Mother and you bleed love and hope for your littles. You'll need each other some day and your kids need to see you being a friend. Model boldness and courage and let them see "how big your brave is." Watch this if you need some inspiration (or click <a href="http://youtu.be/QUQsqBqxoR4" target="_blank">here</a>): </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And let me know how it goes!</span><br />
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Heather Thompsonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14381863277588824167noreply@blogger.com3