tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88790994438690173352024-03-13T20:12:26.706-07:00 Wings UnpinnedSandy Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766619893291970819noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8879099443869017335.post-83195664909057391982013-11-01T17:15:00.002-07:002014-06-23T13:14:35.269-07:00Church Article<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><b>Here’s To The
Heroes</b></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9PWbGR-pVI0/UnQJ8dVfWiI/AAAAAAAAAd0/ff4c82AAshg/s1600/eagle+flag+mountains.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9PWbGR-pVI0/UnQJ8dVfWiI/AAAAAAAAAd0/ff4c82AAshg/s1600/eagle+flag+mountains.jpeg" /></a> It’s November: a time to give
thanks, and also, a time to honor. It is the time of year that we pause to
remember and pay tribute to all of our Veterans: Those men and women, who are
courageously serving our country, and, those who through the entire history of
our nation, have taken up arms to defend our flag, our lives, and our freedom.<br />
To the thousands upon thousands of soldiers who bear within their souls the
incredible burning, the unstoppable--and to some unexplainable--loyalty and
devotion to country that they willingly leave their homes, families, and
friends, to become our faithful Guardians—I thank you<br />
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I am a military mom and aunt. Three
young men, whom I love with my entire being are serving, or, have served in the
military. Our son has been in the Air Force for fifteen years.One of our
nephews served, and fought courageously in the Army, and our other nephew
serves proudly and selflessly in the Navy. All have served time in Afghanistan
and, or, Iraq. All three are my heroes. And all, thank the good Lord are safe.
My husband is a veteran, as was his father, uncles, and an ancestor who served
in the Civil war. Many of you have served or have a loved one who has, or, is
currently serving our country. Again, to each and every one of these courageous
souls, I give my undying thanks.</div>
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Our nation was conceived, born, and cut its teeth
through war. We fought fearlessly for our independence, we fought to grow, and
we fought for freedom; we fought to abolish slavery, and reunite a fractured
nation. This perhaps was the most tragic of all the wars—the Civil War. The
enemy wasn’t some foreign country, or heartless dictator—no—the battle was
fought, brother against brother, father against son, nephew against uncle,
cousin against cousin. For each and every one of these brave men and boys, I
once again give thanks.<br />
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<i>“Mine eyes have seen the glory
of the coming of the Lord. He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of
wrath are stored, He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift
sword. His truth is marching on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Glory!
Glory! Hallelujah! Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! Glory! Glory! Hallelujah! His
truth is marching on. I have seen Him in the watch
fires of a hundred circling camps. They have builded Him an altar in the
evening dews and damps. I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and
flaring lamps. His day is marching on”.</i></div>
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<i> (</i>Battle Hymn of the Republic -<span class="lead">Words:</span> <span style="color: black;"><a href="http://www.cyberhymnal.org/bio/h/o/w/howe_jw.htm" target="_blank"><span style="color: black;">Julia W. Howe</span></a></span>, 1861, alt. This hymn was
born during the American civil war, when Howe visited a Union Army camp
on the Potomac River near Washington, D. C. She heard the soldiers singing
the song “John Brown’s Body,” and was taken with the strong marching beat.
She wrote the words the next day.)<br />
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From the creation of our nation,
there have been wars, and with war, there are heroes. These heroes however do
not wear red capes and tights; they do not have super powers. They cannot leap
over tall buildings in a single bound, or run faster than a flash of
lightening. No, these heroes are sons and daughters, husbands and wives,
mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers.
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During the Civil War many heroes
were mere boys, whiskers had not yet sprouted upon their innocent faces, and
yet, they fought, and many died. </div>
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<i>“Two brothers alike in so many ways, donned
uniforms on the same day—one wore blue, the other wore gray. One mother, with a
breaking heart, hugged her boys before they did part. She watched, as tears ran
down her face, as her two sons walked away. With a final hug, and a shake of
the hands, the brothers turned toward separate lands. Visions of glory and
honor rang in their heads; each knew they were right, that’s, at least what
they said. But war was not glorious, and honor ran red, as the ground became
soaked with the blood that was shed. Musket balls flew: cannons explode: as the
brothers fought blindly through smoke that billowed. Two brothers met on the battlefield
that day--one wore blue, and, the other wore gray”. </i><br />
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Thousand’s upon thousands of people
fought and died in the Civil war arguing polarized causes which had torn our
country apart, defending the rights of human beings without rights, and
ultimately, aftergreat loss, reuniting our troubled nation. Thousands more
have fought in so many wars through out ourhistory, defending our nation and
preserving our freedom. Men and women have followed a calling that only they
can hear. A calling to leave family and friends; to leave their homes and
security; to wear their uniforms with pride, and place themselves in harms way
to protect us. As the song says, “All gave some, some gave all”. <br />
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<i>“Here's to the heroes, those few
who dare.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Heading for glory, living a
prayer.Here's to the heroes, who change our lives. Thanks to the heroes, Freedom
survives.Here's to the heroes who never rest. They are the chose. We are the blessed.<br />
Here's to the heroes, who aim so high. Here's to the heroes, who do or die.Here's to the heroes, who aim so high. Here's to the heroes, who do or die.
Here's to the heroes who do or die”. </i>(Writers: Don Black & Barry John-
sung by: Mario Frangoulis) </div>
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Here’s to the heroes, those who
marched in ragged clothes, tattered shoes, or bare feet: the boys, men, sons,
and brothers. Here’s to the heroes who traveled the oceans, fighting the enemy
though fear gripped their hearts. Here’s to the heroes who felt the call within
their souls to place themselves in the path of death, so that we may live. Here’s
to the heroes, who after terror struck our shores, stood up proudly,
courageously, with gritted teeth and clenched fists, and said, “No More!”
Here’s to the heroes, who sleep in trenches and grieve for </div>
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kJozn2gRcEg/UnQdY2P5plI/AAAAAAAAAfU/_Za0TEH-tOY/s1600/american+female+soldier+hugging+child.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kJozn2gRcEg/UnQdY2P5plI/AAAAAAAAAfU/_Za0TEH-tOY/s200/american+female+soldier+hugging+child.jpg" height="200" width="181" /></a>fallen friends.
Here’s to the heroes who sail the oceans, or soar through the skies. Here’s to
the heroes whowear the uniform with honor, who protect and serve, but have
been spared the horrors of war. Here’s to the hero, whether young or old, male
or female, son or daughter. Here’s to the hero who touches his children’sfaces
only in his dreams, and yearns for his wife’s embrace. Here’s to the hero whose
mother’s heart conflicts with the gun she bears. <br />
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To all the heroes, past, present, and those yet to come, I
say--from the bottom of my heart-- thank-you. </div>
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God bless all of our Veterans, </div>
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Sandy Wells</div>
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<b>Here’s To The Heroes - A Military Tribute<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
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Sandy Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766619893291970819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8879099443869017335.post-63262144122381116762013-09-30T12:15:00.000-07:002013-10-07T10:04:55.913-07:00Home <b> The Word Love </b><br />
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The Word Love
When asked to choose a word for a writing assignment, think on it and ultimately write about this word - “Love” was not my first choice. It was not even my choice. My mind was searching for an important word, a fun word, a word of deep meaning. A word with more than one syllable. But, when in frustration, I finally asked God what word He wanted me to write about. This one syllable word flew into my mind. It actually flew into my mind before I had even completed my question. My response was; “Love? Really? <br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IQPXFYBoWAY/UknPZIlUOSI/AAAAAAAAAcQ/aGEbrin9uDc/s1600/really+with+cake.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IQPXFYBoWAY/UknPZIlUOSI/AAAAAAAAAcQ/aGEbrin9uDc/s320/really+with+cake.jpeg" /></a>You can’t do better than that?” Then I got smart and stopped arguing. After hours of thinking and sleeping on it, and thinking some more, this is what happened in my brain.
I wrote the article below for class, and was encouraged by our instructor, to search out a magazine who would give my article a home, in their February issue. Valentines Day. I need to do this. But first I am sharing it with my church family. We have just experienced the joys and stresses of the Christmas season. What better time to speak of the simple, one syllable, very complicated word - “Love.” Enjoy.<br />
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Let me ask you a question. What does the word “love” mean to you? Take a second. What word or words pop into you mind? Romance? Valentines Day? Your loved one’s name? Maybe your favorite flavor ice cream or those boots you found on sale - that you just have to have? Are you perhaps smiling, as you remember your first love, and the flutter in your heart each time your eyes met, or your hands touched? Or, are tears slipping from your eyes, as you ache for the love of your life, who has been taken from your world all too soon?
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Love. Such a simple four letter word. One lone syllable. Yet, so complicated. Love of country, love of money, love of family, love for God. This complex four letter word, may in fact, be one of the most essential and also ill-treated words known to man. We as humans crave the love of another, oftentimes going to great lengths to discover and acquire love. Without love in our lives, we feel incomplete, empty and alone. Whether it be the love of our family, a friend’s love, God’s love, or a country to love - our souls cries for it. Our sons and daughters at this moment are sacrificing their very lives - all for love of country.<br />
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This complicated, petite word, is an incredibly powerful force.
We humans, fall in love, slide out of love, love madly, experience love’s first blush and love’s final breath. We know the thrills of new love - the heartaches, joys, and struggles of continued love - and the incredible sorrow of our true love’s, last breath.<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-H9JsYh9VU0k/UknW97wkmAI/AAAAAAAAAdE/WfKLz-vpYds/s1600/to+my+children+poem.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-H9JsYh9VU0k/UknW97wkmAI/AAAAAAAAAdE/WfKLz-vpYds/s320/to+my+children+poem.jpeg" /></a> Our hearts become, if possible, all the bigger, and our love magnifies as we<br />
bring new life into the world. This is pure love. A love for which we would gladly lay down our lives.This love is beyond reasoning and is all -consuming. We are their parents and they are our children. We live in them, and they live through us. There maybe no greater bond of love.<br />
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This amazing, confusing, complicated thing called love, sadly, all too often in today’s throw away society, has become just that; something we desire for the moment, and then, callously toss aside when something, or someone,<br />
better comes along.<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pXmCyzZ_pBw/UknUw_Zgx6I/AAAAAAAAAcw/QrN06K7k3_0/s1600/broken+heart++with+bandage.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pXmCyzZ_pBw/UknUw_Zgx6I/AAAAAAAAAcw/QrN06K7k3_0/s1600/broken+heart++with+bandage.jpeg" /></a> The word love is wielded by some as a cruel weapon, whose soul purpose is to control and abuse, “If you loved me you would…,” leaving the victim, feeling confused and helpless. Marriage vows too often are spoken hastily in love, betrayed in lust, and broken in hate. This is not what love was meant to be.
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So in a nutshell, what is love? Love is alive and powerful, with the ability to uplift and encourage. Love lived before the dawn of time. Love spoke and life was created from nothing. Love is patient, love is kind and never fails. Love is commitment and takes faith. Love’s touch has the power to heal a wounded heart and empower the frail soul. A child crawls into a parent’s warm, loving embrace and finds peace and strength when they are hurt. A wife leans into her husband’s strong, loving arms when she is afraid. We can all cry to our loving Father when we feel lost and forlorn.
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God’s perfect love, hung suspended between heaven and earth. Betrayed. Beaten. Abused. Forgiving. True love is unconditional. It is forgiving. It is everlasting. For some the word “love” is seldom used - “they know I love them,” and only spoken after a loss. How sad. Love is the greatest gift ever given to us, and the greatest gift we have to give to others. This tiny word is so important, that it stands before both “faith” and “hope.” “Faith, hope and love, and the greatest of these is love.” God’s love is perfect, human love is not. Love is absolute, and by no means simple.
Sandy Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766619893291970819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8879099443869017335.post-78349815474201689382013-09-11T11:46:00.000-07:002013-09-11T11:46:33.086-07:00Never ForgetI felt so guilty this morning. It was 8:52 am, and I stood in my kitchen with a package of Raisin Spice oatmeal in my hand—my favorite kind—when the announcer on the radio asked if we knew what was happening at that very moment in Manhattan. Then he played a snippet of a person’s voice calling out people’s names—people who had lost their lives on 9/11. I had, for the first time in twelve years, forgotten. How could I have allowed that to happen?
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WbOsPOltayE/UjC6FE9fKaI/AAAAAAAAAaQ/FMUBo_gBUTI/s1600/memorial+sept+11.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WbOsPOltayE/UjC6FE9fKaI/AAAAAAAAAaQ/FMUBo_gBUTI/s200/memorial+sept+11.jpeg" /></a></div>
I, as most of you, remember exactly where I was standing that morning. I remember Matt Lauer of the “Today Show” (back when I used to watch it) getting a strange look on his face, as he listened to someone giving news feed in his ear. I remember him saying that a plane had just hit the World Trade Center. Then…. everything in our lives exploded as not one but two jets careened into the side of the buildings. Then one more crashed into the Pentagon and yet another crashed in a Pennsylvania field. As the Trade Centers collapsed in a plume of black smoke, ash, papers, and human beings, so did our feeling of security within our borders. We had been attacked.
Now, twelve years later, victims are still losing their lives as a result of that one-day—firefighters, police, survivors, those who lived close to ground zero—are to this day suffering physically and emotionally. Thousands upon thousands of our brave men and women who serve our country have paid the ultimate price—their very lives—protecting our borders and our freedom.
And I forgot. But I remember now, and always will.
Sandy Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766619893291970819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8879099443869017335.post-78109936000978838182013-09-11T11:25:00.000-07:002013-09-11T11:25:33.790-07:00Patty Wysong's A2Z Take 2 Writing challengeThe following articles are pieces I wrote for Patty's amazing challenge. Scroll down my sidebar check out her link.Sandy Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766619893291970819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8879099443869017335.post-72613043907889244472012-06-22T13:21:00.000-07:002012-06-22T13:46:47.463-07:00X -"Xtraordinary" Experience<br />
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<i>Patty Wysong's A2Z Take 2 writing challenge. It has been an amazing experience participating in this challenge these past months. I can't believe we're up to X already. </i></div>
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My husband and I just celebrated our thirty- fourth wedding
anniversary this past Sunday, the 17<sup>th</sup> of June. And being the
romantic that he is, Bob, made reservations for us to spend that weekend at
Temple Hill Bed and Breakfast in Geneseo, New York. My first response was,
“it’s going to cost how much?” My next response upon seeing Temple Hill’s
website, and the photos of what can only be called a mansion was, “oh my, do we
have to dress up?” You have to understand; I am a born and bred country girl.
We live on a farm and have never stayed in a bed and breakfast, let alone one,
which looked like a butler, would be greeting us at the door. We did not pack
tuxedos and ball gowns however.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5imySLK4uTA/T-TQXD1fcDI/AAAAAAAAAXA/mqeuPUOuAf0/s1600/temple+hill+b+%2526+b.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5imySLK4uTA/T-TQXD1fcDI/AAAAAAAAAXA/mqeuPUOuAf0/s1600/temple+hill+b+%2526+b.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Temple Hill Bed and Breakfast</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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As soon as we
entered the Grand Foyer and were greeted by the owner, my fears of being under
dressed were put at ease. Gail, the owner was friendly, gracious, and as down
home as my husband and myself. They in fact, are also farmers.</div>
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<br /></div>
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We felt as if we had
stepped back in time, as we were given a tour of the glorious home, which had
been Temple Hill University in the 1800’s, and has had only four owners in over 100 years. I had no problem imagining the lady
of the house gliding down the spectacular stair case in her floor length gown,
or the sound of horses hooves click-clacking up the drive. I could easily
imagine neatly dressed servants, scurrying about doing the many chores needed
to keep this mansion in pristine condition. And I marveled that we would spend
the weekend in this extraordinary home.</div>
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<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hQusci_VazM/T-TQ6TPk1jI/AAAAAAAAAXI/7CMATnNfPNM/s1600/temple+hill+cat.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hQusci_VazM/T-TQ6TPk1jI/AAAAAAAAAXI/7CMATnNfPNM/s1600/temple+hill+cat.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the 3 friendly cats who welcomed us</td></tr>
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My husband and I spent the weekend being pampered and made
to feel like part of the family – family members who did not have to do any
chores however. We enjoyed scrumptious home cooked breakfasts complete with
homemade strawberry muffins, with fresh strawberries, served on exquisite
English china. We sat on the veranda with our morning tea and coffee listening
to the birds serenading us. We strolled the grounds and enjoyed the pool. We
meandered through the cemetery directly across the road (I love cemeteries) and
discovered the Wadsworth Family plot – a prestigious military family who served
as far back as the Revolutionary War. We wandered through town and had a picnic
by the lake. And when our feet needed a break, we rested in our lovely room.
What could be better?</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3_6_TDYA6Ws/T-TRS0BYS6I/AAAAAAAAAXQ/CNM41PM_Lrw/s1600/our+room+temple+hill.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3_6_TDYA6Ws/T-TRS0BYS6I/AAAAAAAAAXQ/CNM41PM_Lrw/s1600/our+room+temple+hill.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our lovely room</td></tr>
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My husband and I both agree after our extraordinary
experience that we would like to visit more Bed and Breakfasts in the future.
We also agreed, and told Gail as much, that our time spent at Temple Hill set
the bar very high for other B&B’s, which we may visit in the future. I cannot
imagine a better way to have spent our thirty- fourth wedding anniversary.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>Sandy Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766619893291970819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8879099443869017335.post-87198860780283304012012-06-06T17:17:00.000-07:002012-06-07T10:12:01.726-07:00V - Vignette lives<i>I have had the incredible opportunity to participate in Patty Wysong's A2Z Take 2 writing challenge these past months. I hope you will check out the other writers as well, simply click on the icon on my sidebar.</i><br />
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<br />
I am a self taught, fair to middling artist. I dreamed of,
and finally succeeded in learning how to paint sceneries the way the late, Bob
Ross, did. I can’t tell you how many hours I spent glued to the television
watching this kind, gentle man create mountains, trees, waterfalls, incredible
sunsets, shimmering lakes and billowing clouds, all with tools which looked
like something you would paint and spackle a house with . I however cannot
complete a painting in an hour like this sweet man, mine take three to four
days – depending on how many mistakes I make.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2NB2vfLhZFI/T8_n7c5ybDI/AAAAAAAAAVg/awErQ4XvMa8/s1600/bob+ross.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2NB2vfLhZFI/T8_n7c5ybDI/AAAAAAAAAVg/awErQ4XvMa8/s1600/bob+ross.jpeg" /></a>One of my favorite paintings was a winter <b><span style="color: #333399;">vignette</span></b> scene. The entire painting was done
in varying shades of blues and soft whites, creating a winter wonderland,
complete with a rustic shed, partially frozen pond, and lacy ice tipped trees. What I loved most about this painting was how the scene flowed from
center into soft, diffused edges, creating a lovely oval. The diffused edges
drew the attention into the center of the painting. The snow, water, rocks and
trees came into focus and jumped off the canvas, while the edges of the
painting faded, causing an ethereal
effect.</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PXj4cB1Z2BY/T8_oqNhtXbI/AAAAAAAAAVo/8GQL28JoXMY/s1600/frozen+beauty+in+vignette.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PXj4cB1Z2BY/T8_oqNhtXbI/AAAAAAAAAVo/8GQL28JoXMY/s1600/frozen+beauty+in+vignette.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bob Ross' vignette, I gave mine away</td></tr>
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As I began thinking about this form of painting, it brought
to mind our lives. We often want people to see clearly the positive aspects of
our life. Our accomplishments, our “perfect” families, our lofty goals, our
faith. But the less than perfect parts of our lives, those things that do not
bring us pride, our mistakes, our “imperfect” families, our secrets, <i>our </i>imperfections,
we want to fade into the background. We want them shrouded behind a lovely
gauzy veil casting them into an ethereal haze while drawing the positive to the
foreground. Our life becomes a <b><span style="color: #333399;">vignette.</span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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In some sad cases, with a person with low self-esteem, or a
person quick to point fingers, the <b><span style="color: #333399;">vignette </span></b>becomes
reversed. All the negatives, all the mistakes, all the imperfections and
secrets become central. All attention is on them. While the positives are
pushed into the diffused back ground, barely visible even to the person who
accomplished them. </div>
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</div>
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<br /></div>
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Our life is not a <b><span style="color: #333399;">vignette.</span></b>
Either all good or all negative with the rest hidden behind a delicate haze.
Oh, we would love to have a life filled with good times and all positive, no
negatives allowed. But just as in nature, one lends life to the other. A
majestic mountain cannot achieve such beauty and grandeur without sharp cliffs,
craggy rocks, and harsh conditions.<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2ZrLeX5pCj4/T8_skGCMAZI/AAAAAAAAAV0/hJGmDRhMvpg/s1600/dead+tree.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2ZrLeX5pCj4/T8_skGCMAZI/AAAAAAAAAV0/hJGmDRhMvpg/s200/dead+tree.jpeg" width="200" /></a> A shimmering lake also has a shoreline of
mud and unruly vegetation. The most glorious sunset often lives after the worst
storms. The bare branches of a dying tree add a dignified sense of age past to
the vibrant green of trees full of youth.</div>
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<br /></div>
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God’s creation, whether in nature or human lives, is a
magnificent masterpiece. We need not shamefully force our negatives behind a
shrouded veil, hiding them from sight. We are the person that we are, because
of the less than perfect aspects of our lives.
Strength comes through adversity, compassion through pain, faith through times
of questioning, and wisdom through mistakes. </div>
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</div>
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In the form of painting, which I have done, the beauty is
appreciated only by standing back and seeing the entire scene from a distance.
When you stand nose to canvas, inspecting each and every brushstroke or
highlight, the eyes see what appear to be flaws.The temptation arises to scrape hours of work
from the canvas and start again. It’s usually after working on a particularly
difficult painting, that I am able to step back, take my nose away from the
canvas, sit peacefully with God, and appreciate the beauty. Flaws and all.</div>
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</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-G0AZAQoLMMA/T9DI8PFxGQI/AAAAAAAAAW0/vxP81f-uIBU/s1600/100_0134.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-G0AZAQoLMMA/T9DI8PFxGQI/AAAAAAAAAW0/vxP81f-uIBU/s320/100_0134.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My full canvas painting - flaws and all</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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God’s masterpieces
are full canvas creations. </div>
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Let’s live full canvas lives.</div>Sandy Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766619893291970819noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8879099443869017335.post-3922773432124313802012-05-30T14:47:00.001-07:002012-05-30T14:47:34.826-07:00U - Unknown Worlds<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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So, how many of you are Trekkies? I’m not a Trekky, I
however, grew up on Star-Trek and the Star Ship Enterprise. Well, let me
rephrase that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I grew up watching
Star-Trek and the adventures of the Star Ship Enterprise. Captain James T. Kirk
sitting in his captain’s chair, surround by his unique and varied crew,
including the always logical, pointy eared Vulcan, Spock - all wearing skin
tight shirts, and pants that look like they are expecting the next great
inner-galactic flood - setting out on yet another mission – “ To go where no
man has gone before.”</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GqTFv7Sk5z4/T8aK0jQ69eI/AAAAAAAAATs/gZA_awfhhSI/s1600/Star+trek+crew.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GqTFv7Sk5z4/T8aK0jQ69eI/AAAAAAAAATs/gZA_awfhhSI/s1600/Star+trek+crew.jpeg" /></a> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>They never knew what
awaited them just past the second star to the right, or on the surface of a
planet from which a distress call has signaled. Will they encounter friend or
foe? Will the distress call be valid, or a diabolical scheme to ensnare the
Enterprise and all on board? </div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eya28drMWVM/T8aLxngNvXI/AAAAAAAAAT8/z8JQeZm6huI/s1600/Enterprise+in+space.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-eya28drMWVM/T8aLxngNvXI/AAAAAAAAAT8/z8JQeZm6huI/s1600/Enterprise+in+space.jpeg" style="cursor: move;" /></a> Each week, each </div>
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forty minute episode, (commercials
you know), found our crew traveling at warp speed into distant galaxies,
exploring <b>unknown</b> worlds, fighting unknown enemies, and at the end of
the forty minutes, the Enterprise may be banged up, the crew battered, but they
lived to take us with them next week, into even more <b>unknown</b> worlds.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Well, we don’t live on the Star-Ship Enterprise and Captain
Kirk, or any of the many other captains, isn’t directing our way. But we travel
into <b>unknown</b> worlds on a daily basis. First day of school, entering High
School, graduating High School, </div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vzapHVEeqR8/T8aMtq7LQNI/AAAAAAAAAUM/46aFFRci1yU/s1600/high+school+grad.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="193" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-vzapHVEeqR8/T8aMtq7LQNI/AAAAAAAAAUM/46aFFRci1yU/s200/high+school+grad.jpeg" width="200" /></a></div>
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College, First job, Marriage, Pregnancy, Giving
Birth, Raising Children, Buying a home, Moving away from home, Watching our
children move away, Retirement, Illness, Impending death – Seeking God’s plan
in our lives.</div>
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<br /></div>
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God’s Plan? For many of us that is an absurd <b>unknown</b>.
After all, we know what our future holds, what our plans are.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We will graduate High School, go on to
college and get our degree, while leading an outrageous social life. (Or
perhaps the military and serve our country)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span> </div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a1xjPO4jlY4/T8aNJfVVhXI/AAAAAAAAAUU/626nzB6ltAQ/s1600/Adam+Air+force.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="132" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-a1xjPO4jlY4/T8aNJfVVhXI/AAAAAAAAAUU/626nzB6ltAQ/s200/Adam+Air+force.jpeg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our Incredible Son</td></tr>
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First day after graduation we land the career of our dreams. We will
then meet the perfect person, marry and have 2.3 children. We will live in the
perfect neighborhood, and have two cars in the garage. All this leading up to
our retirement with a hefty retirement package, which will allow us to travel
the world. Sounds like a plan – right? What’s God got to do with it?</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XIZyArVlTD4/T8aNmiWeR8I/AAAAAAAAAUk/i2TDf1dfM1U/s1600/female+exec.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XIZyArVlTD4/T8aNmiWeR8I/AAAAAAAAAUk/i2TDf1dfM1U/s200/female+exec.jpeg" width="182" /></a> </div>
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Oh, how God must laugh as He hears us spout our plans. And
how disappointed and sad he must be when we completely leave Him out of our
life’s plans. Seeking God’s plan in our life may possibly be one of the most
mysterious, and confusing <b>unknowns</b> out there. It involves placing our
faith in someone other than ourselves, or our degrees, or our work- all
tangible, visible things. Seeking God’s plan means placing our faith in what is
unseen, and <b>unknown.</b> It involves prayer, patience, faith, wisdom, more
patience, trust, and a complete belief in a being we cannot see with our human
eyes.</div>
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<br /></div>
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God’s ultimate plan, His big plan is not <b>unknown.</b> He
loves us and wants us to have a relationship with Him, to love Him, and to be
with Him for eternity in His Kingdom. He loves us so much that He gave His only
begotten son that we can live. He gave us His word so we can grow closer to
Him, read His word, and know His love. His big plan, for those who seek Him is
absolutely known.</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aQMTyoWEng4/T8aQUwKs42I/AAAAAAAAAVE/Pgc1QARwlf0/s1600/Jesus+saves.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aQMTyoWEng4/T8aQUwKs42I/AAAAAAAAAVE/Pgc1QARwlf0/s1600/Jesus+saves.jpeg" /></a></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s the intricate,
everyday life plans that become complicated. Oft times possibly causing us to
butt heads with Him, or scratch our heads in confusion as we await clarity as
to His plan in our lives. His plans can sometimes come through our most
difficult times of pain and healing – times when our questions out number the
answers - times of great loss and sorrow. It can also shine through the pure
gentle smile of a child. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-b_0OWZ3M4Hk/T8aS45Fx1qI/AAAAAAAAAVU/3NTItuRVvgw/s1600/walking+with+Jesus.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-b_0OWZ3M4Hk/T8aS45Fx1qI/AAAAAAAAAVU/3NTItuRVvgw/s200/walking+with+Jesus.jpeg" width="200" /></a></div>
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</div>
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His plans often take us out of our comfort zones, and into
the <b>unknown </b>zone. His plans can give us butterflies in our stomach and a
sense of anticipation like never before, and when we get done butting heads, a
joy and peace beyond compare. Okay, there may also a little trepidation as
well. After all we are stepping by faith into an <b>unknown</b> world. But we
do not step into this world alone. </div>
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<br /></div>Sandy Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766619893291970819noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8879099443869017335.post-42963643477309575242012-05-22T10:39:00.003-07:002012-05-22T10:39:53.065-07:00T - Trust The Pilot<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<i>Patty Wysong's A2Z Take 2 writer's challenge. Click on the icon on my side bar to read other articles by fantastic writers. </i></div>
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If you have read my last few posts, you have likely deduced
that this past month or so has been a difficult journey for my family. We have
experienced the pain of a loved one. We have watched him grow in faith through
his arduous walk. We have encouraged, uplifted and prayed during his times of
weakness, confusion, healing, and even anger. We know that God has a plan, and
that we must continue in faith. </div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-R2j5fxqsgd8/T7vIk1MWoUI/AAAAAAAAAS0/RPngE5VeMhw/s1600/god%2527s+time%252C+god%2527s+plan%252C+god%2527s+purpose.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-R2j5fxqsgd8/T7vIk1MWoUI/AAAAAAAAAS0/RPngE5VeMhw/s1600/god%2527s+time%252C+god%2527s+plan%252C+god%2527s+purpose.jpeg" /></a></div>
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We have placed our faith in a God we cannot
see, and a plan which shows itself in bits and pieces.With the human eye it would appear as if door after door is slamming shut, God's plan seems questionable at best. Yet with every closed door, a window has opened. Our 20/20 eye sight has leaped to the foreground as time continues, and we and our loved one continue the twisting road he is traveling, placing our faith in the one who holds our lives in the palm of His hand.</div>
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Our loved one this past month or so has, as he says, spent
more time in the air than with his feet on the ground, due to job related
traveling. It was on one particular flight that the thoughts of trusting an
unseen pilot and trusting God began playing out in his mind. I am sharing the
words of our loved one, as he wrote them. I’m honoring his wishes however in
allowing him to remain anonymous to all but us. Here are his thoughts.</div>
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<br /></div>
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As we took off for our flight to Las Vegas I have a thought
about our assent and all the past flights I have been on in my life</div>
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<br /></div>
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Many times when we board an aircraft we never see the pilot,
the person who we will entrust our lives for the upcoming journey. We have never
met, nor seen him, but he will speak to the passengers throughout the flight.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3_latYOJc4A/T7vJGD9s38I/AAAAAAAAAS8/eyGfiuUrp-8/s1600/piolet.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-3_latYOJc4A/T7vJGD9s38I/AAAAAAAAAS8/eyGfiuUrp-8/s200/piolet.jpeg" width="129" /></a></div>
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As the plane takes off the speed can be felt. It’s bumpy and
for some people scary. The plane then becomes airborne and you can see the
ground rushing away from you, and all the hustle below. Soon the plane will
enter the clouds, which is like a fog, you can’t see anything so you have to
trust the pilot. Sometimes the clouds are dark, sometimes not, but almost
always there is some light in the fog.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Finally, in the right time, the plane emerges from the
clouds into the vast, clear and beautiful sky. No more fog. No more hustle. No
more confusion. Just peace. Yet, many times we still can’t see the ground.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qzfnEFSggEU/T7vJe8NK8sI/AAAAAAAAATE/ehMt5d3GiA0/s1600/turbulence.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="137" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qzfnEFSggEU/T7vJe8NK8sI/AAAAAAAAATE/ehMt5d3GiA0/s200/turbulence.jpeg" width="200" /></a></div>
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Now various times you’ll hit turbulent weather, or more
clouds, and it’s time to again trust the unseen pilot and that he will do
everything to get the flight through safely.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--wUzBTWbkqY/T7vJ9DI7jUI/AAAAAAAAATU/bPyESoADG8I/s1600/light+thru+clouds.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--wUzBTWbkqY/T7vJ9DI7jUI/AAAAAAAAATU/bPyESoADG8I/s200/light+thru+clouds.jpeg" width="150" /></a><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes on the
journey, when you glance out the window you can see through the clouds a
little; and other times the clouds disappear and the ground is revealed. And in
these times, from that height, the point of view is much different than what we
are used to. You won’t see people, cars, or anything specific.</div>
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In the end all the
passengers make it safely to their destination, because they trusted someone
they never met; and even though some of the flight was in blindness or
turbulent, the trip was worth it to reach your goal.</div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PlBKVMr543s/T7vKUhp_kXI/AAAAAAAAATc/OiZlBreOdS8/s1600/Jesus+our+pilot.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="242" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-PlBKVMr543s/T7vKUhp_kXI/AAAAAAAAATc/OiZlBreOdS8/s320/Jesus+our+pilot.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trust Our Pilot</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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The flight path is much like life and the Christian walk.
Many times we get so caught up in the hustle, it’s hard to see God’s plan. Then
as we go through life we encounter fog and turbulent times. But if we can trust
God, He will get us through and many times His plan will be revealed. But if
not, in the end we make it.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<i> Our loved one is still placing his trust in our Lord and our pilot. Even through turbulence and times of fog. </i></div>
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<br /></div>Sandy Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766619893291970819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8879099443869017335.post-62563171252537656852012-05-11T11:50:00.002-07:002012-05-11T13:00:11.839-07:00R - Random Events<i>Patty Wysong's A2Z Take 2 challenge, letter R. This has been a fun challenge and I can't believe we're nearing the end. Click on the icon on my sidebar to check out other writers works.</i><br />
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I have discovered these past few weeks that God lives in the
<b style="color: #134f5c;">random </b>acts, or <b style="color: #134f5c;">random</b> events. Or should I say, seemingly<b style="color: #134f5c;"> random</b>. It could be a
song on the radio, a bumper sticker on the car in front of you, a TV show, a wrong turn down the right street, a
scripture, or even words from a complete stranger. <i> </i>In our times of confusion or pain, God
uses anything and everything, events that appear to be <b style="color: #134f5c;">random,</b> to get our
attention or answer questions. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gmV9AQGEsrY/T61edh6GM8I/AAAAAAAAASo/vOr-VPDMmrE/s1600/faith+jouney+not+destination+license+plate.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gmV9AQGEsrY/T61edh6GM8I/AAAAAAAAASo/vOr-VPDMmrE/s1600/faith+jouney+not+destination+license+plate.jpeg" /></a></div>
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I was speaking to someone about a week ago, and he told me
about three specific, <b style="color: #134f5c;">random</b> events that occurred to him during one
particularly stressful day. Many people may have dismissed these<b style="color: #134f5c;"> random</b> events,
but he did not. Each event, each <b style="color: #134f5c;">random</b> act, answered a question or addressed
an anxiety he had experienced that day. I could hear the quiet awe in his voice
as he related these events to me, and I could only praise our incredible God
for speaking to this young man in this way.</div>
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I don’t believe in coincidence. I believe in God’s plan. I
know that God hears our every thought, He knows our every need, and He listens
to our cries and our praises. Absolutely nothing is impossible with God. Even
when we can see no way out, God has a plan, and He talks to us in so many
creative ways. Yes, even through seemingly<b style="color: #134f5c;"> random </b>acts and events.</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X1MsAsnz9Lk/T61Y5WsTV7I/AAAAAAAAAR8/9COk9LQfYyE/s1600/give+you+rest+scripture.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X1MsAsnz9Lk/T61Y5WsTV7I/AAAAAAAAAR8/9COk9LQfYyE/s1600/give+you+rest+scripture.jpeg" /></a> </div>
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What have been some seemingly <b style="color: #134f5c;">random</b> events in your life
that have spoken to you?</div>
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Or has there been a time when you feel you may have been
someone’s<b style="color: #134f5c;"> random</b> event?</div>
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<br /></div>Sandy Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766619893291970819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8879099443869017335.post-78983820339187299822012-05-01T13:24:00.000-07:002012-05-01T13:24:06.300-07:00Q - Questions?<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<i>Patty Wysong’s – A2Z Take 2. It has been fun and
challenging taking part in this challenge with other writers. Check them out by
clicking on the icon on my side-bar.</i></div>
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Asking <b style="color: blue;">question</b><span style="color: blue;">s,</span> seeking answers, has been a part of
our lives since toddler-hood on up. Why is the sky blue? Why do I have freckles
and Johnny doesn’t? Where do babies come from? That’s a biggie.</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kviB0J4YmeM/T6A91IsL7HI/AAAAAAAAAPI/0W0ILEDRBDM/s1600/questioning+child.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kviB0J4YmeM/T6A91IsL7HI/AAAAAAAAAPI/0W0ILEDRBDM/s1600/questioning+child.jpeg" /></a></div>
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As we grow from
a young child to pre-teen and teenage years, we begin <b style="color: blue;">questioning</b><span style="color: blue;">
</span>everyone and everything. Our looks, our parents, authority.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The world screams around us, peer-pressure
consumes us, wanting to be liked, to be one of the crowd confuses us. </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-t00NdlEdyh0/T6A-WXlyP_I/AAAAAAAAAPQ/q0A55H6nm8w/s1600/questioning+self+worth.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-t00NdlEdyh0/T6A-WXlyP_I/AAAAAAAAAPQ/q0A55H6nm8w/s200/questioning+self+worth.jpeg" width="198" /></a> All
bringing more and more <b style="color: blue;">questions</b><span style="color: blue;">, </span>and sometimes very few answers.</div>
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Then we reach adulthood, the time we all craved when we were
kids. A time when we would be able to stay up as late as we want, watch
whatever we want on TV, and in general do whatever we want. No more school. No
more tough <b>questions</b>. Only it doesn’t work that way. </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lNbbnMMDQ5s/T6BAI-xpb-I/AAAAAAAAAQY/MqFzchVU0ZY/s1600/question+road+mark.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-lNbbnMMDQ5s/T6BAI-xpb-I/AAAAAAAAAQY/MqFzchVU0ZY/s200/question+road+mark.jpeg" width="200" /></a> </div>
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The <b style="color: blue;">questions</b> become all the more confusing and serious.
Lives, careers, marriages, our children’s welfare and our eternal welfare begin
to be <b style="color: blue;">questioned</b><span style="color: blue;">. </span>We seek sound advice, and many times the answer we
hear is deafening silence. Our <b style="color: blue;">questions</b><span style="color: blue;"> </span>may lead us toward truth and
God’s wisdom or down a different road all together.</div>
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These past few weeks have been a time of intense<span style="color: blue;"> </span><b style="color: blue;">questioning</b>
for a loved one of ours, and our entire family. With the <b style="color: blue;">questions</b> have
come anger, confusion, discouragement, and grief - as well as growth, learning,
wisdom, and a sense of unconditional love. Our minds and hearts have been
opened to the big picture, which hovers beyond the pain of the possible smaller
picture. And our loved one has grown so much closer to the Lord through his <b style="color: blue;">questions
</b>and is honestly teaching me a thing or two.</div>
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It’s during our most difficult times that we <b style="color: blue;">question</b><span style="color: black;">
t</span>he most. Why? – Being a <b style="color: blue;">question </b>most asked.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zlP01tQv4FM/T6BAmAIy5EI/AAAAAAAAAQg/FbPrxW1ZFKE/s1600/why.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="142" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zlP01tQv4FM/T6BAmAIy5EI/AAAAAAAAAQg/FbPrxW1ZFKE/s200/why.jpeg" width="200" /></a> During these past few
weeks, during the days gut-wrenching grief God’s very existence was <b style="color: blue;">questioned</b><span style="color: blue;">.
</span>“If there’s a God why did he allow this to happen?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why can’t I hear His voice? What’s going to happen?” Over the
weeks, God in His infinite wisdom has been slowly answering these<span style="color: blue;"> </span><b style="color: blue;">questions</b>
and more, and ultimately renewing our loved one’s faith.</div>
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When we are children we ask our parents the tough questions,
trusting that they will have all the answers. Then comes the time we <b style="color: blue;">question</b><span style="color: blue;">
</span>the very parents we once trusted, knowing somehow that they will love us in
spite of our defiance. As we continue our journey we<span style="color: blue;"> </span><b style="color: blue;">question</b><span style="color: blue;"> </span>ourselves,
our actions, our motives, the world, and God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>During our times of <b style="color: blue;">questioning</b><span style="color: blue;">,</span> it is vital to take time to
listen for the answer. </div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dVkip6BdeSQ/T6BCfvbRWcI/AAAAAAAAARA/aXXLx_LftA8/s1600/whisper+of+god.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dVkip6BdeSQ/T6BCfvbRWcI/AAAAAAAAARA/aXXLx_LftA8/s1600/whisper+of+god.jpeg" /></a><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--UEKcEFWcLU/T6BCBd0HkKI/AAAAAAAAAQw/YFHVegy3c9c/s1600/talking+with+Jesus.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="149" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--UEKcEFWcLU/T6BCBd0HkKI/AAAAAAAAAQw/YFHVegy3c9c/s200/talking+with+Jesus.jpeg" width="200" /></a> The world, as my loved one reminded me, is loud, it
screams in your face. God’s voice is whisper soft – we need to focus on it to
hear it.</div>
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God speaks to us and answers our <b style="color: blue;">questions</b><span style="color: blue;"> </span>in so many
ways. It may be kind words from a friend, a pastor’s message, a song on the
radio, a movie, or a book. God is creative in how He chooses to speak to us.
And when we turn our hearts and ears to Him answers will come. Sometimes the
answer is no, sometimes be patient, sometimes His answer is to tell you how
much you’re loved. So ask your <b style="color: blue;">questions</b><span style="color: blue;">.</span> Scream your <b style="color: blue;">questions</b><span style="color: blue;">
</span>if you need, that’s okay He has big shoulders.</div>
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And then – listen.</div>
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<br /></div>Sandy Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766619893291970819noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8879099443869017335.post-63177962119075789342012-04-18T12:22:00.000-07:002012-04-18T12:33:50.983-07:00O - Ownership<b style="color: blue;">Ownership</b>. Not always an easy thing to do. When things are going well, when we have accomplished great, or even semi-good things, we willingly take <b style="color: blue;">ownership.</b> Perhaps humbly, with a quiet smile and heartfelt thanks, or maybe jubilantly doing the happy dance. But what about those things in our lives that aren’t so great? What about our mistakes, serious or not? Do we take<b style="color: blue;"> ownership </b>of them?<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-slu4WpddPiM/T48RvMnIfOI/AAAAAAAAAOo/7W3S_8bQlqA/s1600/ownership.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-slu4WpddPiM/T48RvMnIfOI/AAAAAAAAAOo/7W3S_8bQlqA/s1600/ownership.jpeg" /></a></div>
<br />
These past few days have been an emotional roller coaster not only for myself, but someone who I love with all my heart. There has been joy and excitement, and grief and despair. Through these days I have been faced with the mistakes of another person, which are drastically affecting lives. I have also had to come face to face with my own mistakes, and I mean whoppers, from my past that caused pain to those I love the most.<br />
<br />
When our failures are brought to our attention quite often we want to brush them away. Make excuses. Even blame the other person. But I could not do that. My past mistakes, still have serious consequences to this day. Lives have been and are still being affected. Lives of people I love beyond words. My very children. I can’t brush my past errors under the carpet. I can try to understand and help my loved ones to understand the roots of my actions, but I can’t lay blame. I need to take <b style="color: blue;">ownership.</b> No matter how difficult it is.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MLel856YfuU/T48SxAVchrI/AAAAAAAAAPA/eDfDAfGhX3Y/s1600/healing+poem.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MLel856YfuU/T48SxAVchrI/AAAAAAAAAPA/eDfDAfGhX3Y/s1600/healing+poem.jpeg" /></a></div>
<br />
Our actions have consequences. Some good, some harmful. Hearts can be uplifted and encouraged, or beaten down and broken. Sadly some of my past issues hurt others deeply. Also sadly they may still be living with the after effects of this hurt. I know that my Lord has forgiven me, and for that I am so very thankful. But, I still need to take <b style="color: blue;">ownership</b>, and acknowledge my deeds when my children need to talk about them. It’s hard, but vital.<br />
<br />
I love to take <b style="color: blue;">ownership</b> for my accomplishments. I am the kind who smiles humbly and says thank-you. Then when I’m alone the happy dance comes out. Taking <b style="color: blue;">ownership</b> for my failures, my mistakes, the things that caused others pain, is not something I enjoy. There is no happy dance involved. But hopefully there will be healing for the one who brought them to my attention. It’s only with honesty that healing can come. Honesty and our precious Lord.<br />
<br />
This has been a very personal post, and a very heavy one. I apologize for that. But whenever I tried to think of an "O" word, this was forefront in my mind. For my Faithwriter friends, if you go to the prayer request forum, you will find a request from me as to this subject. All prayers are appreciated. Thank-you.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/-opi1Qre8Cc" width="420"></iframe>Sandy Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766619893291970819noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8879099443869017335.post-279832750831994102012-04-12T12:08:00.001-07:002012-04-12T13:26:25.423-07:00N - NeverthelessDuring my devotional reading last Monday, the day after
Easter, the author of the Guidepost devotional for that day wrote on the one
word, which changed history of all mankind for eternity. <b>“Nevertheless.”</b>
When Jesus was praying at the Garden of Gethsemane, while his soul was
overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death, He cried out to God. “Father, if
it is possible, may this cup be removed from me. ‘<b>Nevertheless</b>’ not my
will, but yours be done.” Some versions say “yet”, some say “but”. I really
like <b>Nevertheless.</b><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EZBb1jj1zDs/T4cJAFlbe_I/AAAAAAAAANA/YCxcYkejOpc/s1600/serene+Jesus+Gethsemane.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EZBb1jj1zDs/T4cJAFlbe_I/AAAAAAAAANA/YCxcYkejOpc/s200/serene+Jesus+Gethsemane.jpeg" width="142" /></a></div>
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Jesus said that His soul was overwhelmed with sorrow to the
point of death. Most paintings, or even movies show a calm, peaceful Jesus,
kneeled serenely before a big rock, praying to His father. Jesus Christ
Superstar (one of my favorites) shows an anguished, even angry Jesus, crying
out to God as he climbs boulders and rocks traveling higher and higher.</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vH2KMSXGRsQ/T4cRvJnuJII/AAAAAAAAANk/TJEx1OAbRQw/s1600/ted+neeley+garden.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vH2KMSXGRsQ/T4cRvJnuJII/AAAAAAAAANk/TJEx1OAbRQw/s1600/ted+neeley+garden.jpeg" /></a> What
began as a quiet prayer from Jesus to His father, escalated into a battle
between human and deity – Satan’s evil desires and God’s desires to save each
and every one of His children.</div>
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My husband and I got brave this year and watched Passion of
the Christ. The opening scene showed Jesus alone and lonely, standing in the
distant in the Garden of Gethsemane. We watched as torment consumed Him,
causing Him to lie upon the ground, crying, begging, and praying to His Father
in Heaven for mercy. For some way out. “Father, if there is a way, take this
cup from me. <b>Nevertheless</b> – not my will but yours be done.”</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OJzjfIah67I/T4cSxqRBD4I/AAAAAAAAANs/zg-a7BaHOtc/s1600/Christ+at+Gethsemane.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OJzjfIah67I/T4cSxqRBD4I/AAAAAAAAANs/zg-a7BaHOtc/s1600/Christ+at+Gethsemane.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If there is a way</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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In that moment in the Garden, Jesus could have said “No”. No
I will not go through the torture of death on the cross for these people. No I
will not allow myself to be captured, beaten, spat upon, dragged through the
streets and tortured within an inch of my life for these people. I will not die
for these people. They just aren’t worth it. And that would have been that.
Jesus didn’t have to die for us. He could have opted out. And we would have
continued down the path of sin and death, till each and every one of us was
lost for eternity. But Jesus didn’t say no – He said <b>nevertheless.</b></div>
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As we sat watching “Passion of the Christ,” as I watched
Jesus tortured in ways unimaginable to most human beings, I found myself asking
so many questions. Number one question – how could you love us so much that you
would allow yourself to suffer as you did? I found myself crying as I heard (I
couldn’t watch) the disgusting cat of
nine tails sink their teeth into His body, ripping flesh and muscle from the
very bones.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sbFCKMy0y1c/T4cTYh9_BVI/AAAAAAAAAN0/qQ0V80KgSAg/s1600/Jesus+carrying+cross.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-sbFCKMy0y1c/T4cTYh9_BVI/AAAAAAAAAN0/qQ0V80KgSAg/s1600/Jesus+carrying+cross.jpeg" /></a>And I felt unworthy. I watched as He was forced to carry the
massive cross upon his back – a back that could bear no more – and yet did. I
watched as the guards continued to beat him, as He stumbled and fell, as he
grit his teeth against a pain that would cause most of us to shriek for mercy. <b>Nevertheless</b>
– He moved on.</div>
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I knew that Jesus suffered horribly for us, for me. I had
read and learned what this kind of death actually did to the human body. I knew
that many people didn’t survive the flogging. Jesus did. Where many men would have
succumbed willingly to the welcome escape of death, Jesus did not. The time had
not yet come. As I watched, I found myself asking if we were worth it? The
answer I felt in my soul was – Yes we were and still are worth it. The question
I heard within my soul was, “wouldn’t you do the same for your children?”</div>
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<br /></div>
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Jesus didn’t have to do what He did. He said that He is the
Good Shepherd. Man could not take his life; He willingly laid it down – for us
– for the very ones who beat him and hated him, for the thief on the cross.
Jesus said <b>Nevertheless</b> for saint and sinner alike. </div>
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<br /></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4CE1kYpJ-F4/T4cUGg0mziI/AAAAAAAAAN8/n8iFN1arCFw/s1600/evil+hovering+with+Jesus+Garden.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4CE1kYpJ-F4/T4cUGg0mziI/AAAAAAAAAN8/n8iFN1arCFw/s1600/evil+hovering+with+Jesus+Garden.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Evil hovering about Jesus, whispering doubt</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rbGU_kqtTs8/T4cUZtIWA2I/AAAAAAAAAOE/2u7mhC4ijxg/s1600/evil+shrieking.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rbGU_kqtTs8/T4cUZtIWA2I/AAAAAAAAAOE/2u7mhC4ijxg/s1600/evil+shrieking.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Evil's scream of defeat</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Through the movie we saw the face of evil hovering around
Jesus, always whispering, waiting. Evil thought it had won. The loudest scene
in the entire movie was of Evil down in a hole, shrieking, screaming, and
wailing in absolute despair and hate. Evil lost. Love reigned victorious.</div>
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<br /></div>
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One word. <b>Nevertheless</b>. One life changing, soul
saving word. Thank you precious Savior for saying <b>Nevertheless</b>. Thank
you for loving us so much. Thank you for saving me - for saving us.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<center></center>Sandy Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766619893291970819noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8879099443869017335.post-36775909370485831112012-04-04T09:24:00.001-07:002012-04-04T09:30:43.533-07:00M is for Meander<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m sitting at my computer, fingers hitting the appropriate
keys to form words, and yet I’m still searching for a “M” word. My brain just
seems to be in vacation mode, even though I am not on vacation. It just can’t
seem to settle down long enough to focus. It’s<b style="color: #274e13;"> <span style="color: #38761d;">meandering.</span> </b></div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AVXMfIhR638/T3xtaSjwO8I/AAAAAAAAAMo/rw-nDxytoIQ/s1600/meandering+river.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AVXMfIhR638/T3xtaSjwO8I/AAAAAAAAAMo/rw-nDxytoIQ/s1600/meandering+river.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My meandering thoughts</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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</div>
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I find that I am a <b style="color: #38761d;">meanderer</b> in much of life. When I shop, I
<b style="color: #38761d;">meander </b>through the store, just browsing looking at this and that. Not always
buying just looking. When my husband and I go for walks in woods, or down
trails, he is set on the course. I <b style="color: #38761d;">meander</b>. I stop and look at moss growing on
tree sides or gracefully cascading over rocks. If we visit museums, I can be
found <b style="color: #38761d;">meandering.</b> Stopping and reading all the plagues to glean every morsel of
information, inspecting each item envisioning those who may have used them. I
find myself<b style="color: #38761d;"> meandering </b>to other places and distant times.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A couple weeks ago my husband and I took our oldest
granddaughter, Taylor, for a walk out on the nature reserve. Tay and I for the most part were far behind my
husband. She made sure to keep him in sight for fear that we would get lost. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-28MvDMMhK3A/T3xuBAKipTI/AAAAAAAAAMw/GHzz6ty8CiE/s1600/ferns+and+mosses.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-28MvDMMhK3A/T3xuBAKipTI/AAAAAAAAAMw/GHzz6ty8CiE/s1600/ferns+and+mosses.jpeg" /></a> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We
didn’t get lost physically, but we did find ourselves becoming lost in our
fascinating <b style="color: #38761d;">meandering.</b> She marveled at a tree laden with woodpecker holes,
some fresh others dried from age. We inspected each piece of moss, each unique
rock formation, each feathery fern. My husband had to from time to time remind
us that if we didn’t get a move on we wouldn’t have Taylor home at the
appointed time. Tay and I <b style="color: #38761d;">meandered</b> a little quicker, but we <b style="color: #38761d;">meandered</b> all the
same.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I found myself frustrating over an appropriate <b style="color: #38761d;">“M”</b> word for
the time that we are in. Easter.<b><span style="color: #351c75;"> Messiah</span></b> was top on the list. But I just didn’t
have the oomph to pull my brain out of vacation mode. I nearly gave up and just
plainly didn’t write anything this week. But as my fingers continue clicking
the appropriate keys, and continue creating words, I am discovering that
<b style="color: #38761d;">meander</b> is a pretty good word and way of life.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For it’s in our
moments of seemingly idle<b style="color: #38761d;"> meandering</b> that we are able to discover some of God’s
most magnificent creations which we would have missed otherwise.<b style="color: #38761d;"> Meandering
</b>allows us to slow our pace and our brains, opening us up to the simplest of
wonders that normally go unnoticed. It gives a grandmother and granddaughter
time to discover nature and build memories. It may allow us time to notice
someone else who may be in need of a hug, a smile, or a kind word.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KCoaMmhAXNU/T3xwYizfvbI/AAAAAAAAAM4/u9sLRWgVuOE/s1600/hugs.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KCoaMmhAXNU/T3xwYizfvbI/AAAAAAAAAM4/u9sLRWgVuOE/s1600/hugs.jpeg" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m a<b style="color: #38761d;"> meanderer.</b> This annoys some people who are more
focused and impatient. But through my<b style="color: #38761d;"> meandering </b>I discover, I feel, I imagine
and envision. Quite often it is through my seemingly idle <b style="color: #38761d;">meandering</b> that I
draw closer to my Lord and discover new and remarkable things, about Him and
myself.
</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think I like being
a<b style="color: #38761d;"> meanderer. </b></div>
<br />
<br />
<i>Patty Wysong's A2Z Take 2 writing challenge. click to read more articles by amazing writers.</i><br />
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<center><a href="http://www.pattywysong.com/2012/01/a2z-take-2.html" target="_blank"><img alt="a2z: Take 2. Patty Wysong Helping bloggers blog." border="0" src="http://i128.photobucket.com/albums/p194/impeej/Backgrounds/Take2.jpg" /></a></center>Sandy Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766619893291970819noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8879099443869017335.post-89144483198370528352012-03-30T13:27:00.001-07:002012-03-30T13:27:06.925-07:00L Is For Lineage<br />
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
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As I was cleaning my desktop the
other day, I discovered a red folder I had placed there for safekeeping. And
you guessed it, I forgot all about it.
One the outside of the folder, written in my son’s handwriting was,
“Family Tree,” inside were several fragile, onion skin pages filled with my
family history, entitled, “Two thousand years of Forsyth history.” My lineage.</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gpyARvlfsxk/T3YLRj1W4iI/AAAAAAAAALQ/ly2RW3IYSOk/s1600/forsyth+clan+coat+of+arms.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gpyARvlfsxk/T3YLRj1W4iI/AAAAAAAAALQ/ly2RW3IYSOk/s200/forsyth+clan+coat+of+arms.jpg" width="185" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Forsyth Clan Coat of Arms</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
The first name I read was, “Forsite
The Good.” I was very happy he was good and not Forsite the terrible. That
would have been a discouraging start of my lineage. Forsite the Good supposedly lived in what was once Turkistan in
the year 70 BC. Yikes! For the next few years there was a lot of moving,
conquering, alliance making (with the king of Sweden,) marrying and begetting.
From this time until 410 AD, no record can be found of the family line.
Probably too busy conquering and begetting to keep track of names and dates.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br />
From 410 AD on however is a very
thorough and well-researched document of my lineage. I felt as if I were in
history class again, only the history I was reading was my own. I read of
kings, barons, lords, and a Scottish Chieftain – travels from Denmark to Rome,
on to France, Austria, Scotland and Ireland. I read of wars and battles, one
involving half-brother’s that were pitted against each other – Papin and
Grippo. Grippo was killed.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-86cpKE6uZvI/T3YQCETtwOI/AAAAAAAAALY/OYo-B-QeBYM/s1600/Battle+of+Bannockburn.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-86cpKE6uZvI/T3YQCETtwOI/AAAAAAAAALY/OYo-B-QeBYM/s200/Battle+of+Bannockburn.jpeg" width="197" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Battle of Bannockburn 1514</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I was fascinated reading my
history. Nearly two thousand years. Unimaginable. I found myself envisioning
their lives, their families, the battles fought. When I told my husband he said
it made him think of Mel Gibson’s movie, “Braveheart.” There was a time in history when my family was called de Forsyth's. John Forsyth, was the first to drop the "de", in 1540. Thank you very much John.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<br />
My lineage travels through
centuries and navigates continents - each new generation adding to the last. I found myself doing google searches on names I found. Yearning to learn even more about the people whose blood still flows in my veins. I sat, mesmerized, staring at an etched image of Charles (Charlemagne) who became the King of Franks upon his brother's death. He built a castle for his adopted nephew, and named it Forsyth (his nephew's name) and gave his nephew the title, Vicomte de Fronsac. Wow!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qLHuCudBH2s/T3YRsnsJbMI/AAAAAAAAAMA/yk3r3lvrGxo/s1600/Charlmagne.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qLHuCudBH2s/T3YRsnsJbMI/AAAAAAAAAMA/yk3r3lvrGxo/s200/Charlmagne.jpeg" width="128" /></a></div>
<br />
My ancestors finally immigrated to America,
some settling in New Hampshire, later in Virginia, Kentucky, and my line of the family in
New York State. Some served in the
Revolutionary War, some the civil, more battles, more death.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
<br />
All these names, all the unknown faces, the distant lands, the battles won and lost, are a part of me. A part of my lineage. It honestly blows my mind. My distant ancestors could no more imagine Sandy (Forsyth) Wells, one day living a life, not of royalty, but as proud country folk, then I can imagine those who will follow me, perhaps hundreds of years from now. Through whose veins my blood will flow.</div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AxXegbqS51U/T3YTVE3RGwI/AAAAAAAAAMY/YuCFp_M3U3c/s1600/Glasgow+University.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AxXegbqS51U/T3YTVE3RGwI/AAAAAAAAAMY/YuCFp_M3U3c/s1600/Glasgow+University.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Glasgow UV. Est. by sons of Robert de Forsyth </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in;">
My
grandchildren are the newest and youngest links to my amazing lineage. (I don’t
mean that as brag, we all have amazing family histories.) One day, my husband
and I will be names added to the continuing family scroll. Our faces will be
some old couple in a faded photo, never met by our future generations. That is
a very strange idea for me to wrap my head around. The day will come when we
will be but distant memories as our lineage continues.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
As incredible as it was for me to
travel through time, and visit my ancestors, and learn more about my lineage:
this all pales compared to my, to our, true lineage. I’m talking even before
our first forefather and mother, Adam and Eve, even before dawn of time, as we
know it. I believe our true lineage begins with the one who not only created
us, but all that we know. Before there was Forsite the Good, before Adam and
Eve, there was always Father God.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_raSYPgU6lw/T3YTtf6y2wI/AAAAAAAAAMg/TFsJlQIzkSk/s1600/Father+God.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_raSYPgU6lw/T3YTtf6y2wI/AAAAAAAAAMg/TFsJlQIzkSk/s1600/Father+God.jpeg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
We truly have and amazing
lineage. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>Sandy Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766619893291970819noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8879099443869017335.post-2878909145777615562012-03-20T10:35:00.000-07:002012-03-20T10:35:28.966-07:00K - Family Keepsakes<center><a href="http://www.pattywysong.com/2012/01/a2z-take-2.html" target="_blank"><img alt="a2z: Take 2. Patty Wysong Helping bloggers blog." border="0" src="http://i128.photobucket.com/albums/p194/impeej/Backgrounds/Take2s.jpg" /></a></center><div style="text-align: center;"><i> Patty Wysong's A2Z Take 2 Writing challenge. Feel free to go to her site and check it out.</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
My husband and I recently finished the daunting task of repainting three rooms in our house. Our living room, dining room, and entrance way. We worked hard to choose just the right colors, for our home, which is over a hundred years old. We knew we wanted to be able to keep the historical look, and that we wanted yellow. After weeks of planning, and work, (mostly my husband’s) we have success. I love it.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--kTXkiR8lT0/T2i-EKBjSCI/AAAAAAAAAK8/0E3-2uFIsXM/s1600/100_1202.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--kTXkiR8lT0/T2i-EKBjSCI/AAAAAAAAAK8/0E3-2uFIsXM/s200/100_1202.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">antique stove lifts</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Our home is filled with antiques, family heirlooms, family photos, as well as trinkets and other gifts given to us by loved ones. To me, each one of these items are valuable keepsakes. Things which we keep, for the sake of love. As one travels from one freshly spruced room, to the other, they will see our family keepsakes - our family history - in one form or another.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zOt7OsunctM/T2iwyFXIXBI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/1MnbAk413N4/s1600/100_1204.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-zOt7OsunctM/T2iwyFXIXBI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/1MnbAk413N4/s200/100_1204.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My mother's hutch</td></tr>
</tbody></table>From my mother’s hutch and old teapots adorning my kitchen, to my in-law’s antique secretary desk, and half moon china cabinet in our dining room - which are all filled with charming keepsakes - and on to our collection of old stove lifts, which remind me of my grandfather - and our ever growing collection of whimsical refrigerator art - keepsakes are a vital part of our home, and our lives. They are a reminder of parents and grandparents whose faces we can no longer see, voices we no longer hear. They are a tie which binds us to generations long gone, as well as children whose lives have taken them far from home. They are a expressions of love from little ones who hold our hearts.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8RwNb7u-uS8/T2i1jfTepXI/AAAAAAAAAKE/9dGL14lfy4E/s1600/100_1199.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8RwNb7u-uS8/T2i1jfTepXI/AAAAAAAAAKE/9dGL14lfy4E/s200/100_1199.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">half moon china cabinet</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table> To some, keepsakes are merely useless dust collectors. If they don’t have a practical use, then they are worthless clutter. A place for everything, and everything in its place. I have to admit, it would be much easier cleaning their house than mine. Old crocks, vintage washboards, oil lanterns, hand-sewn quilts, and walls filled with family photos, may be dust collectors, but they are also part of who we are as a family. <br />
<br />
When I walk through my house, yes, I see dust which needs my attention. But I also see family. I feel warm, comfortable, secure. When I look at the numerous photos of our children and grandchildren, I feel blessed. When I look at the unique keepsakes our sons have given us as gifts, I feel loved. I guess you could even say that our home is a keepsake. It is the house I grew up in. The house I was a child in. It holds my life memories, both good and bad. And now it’s the house my grandchildren love to visit. They also love our many keepsakes, as they are a connection to people who they adore, and miss.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Nb04jLD90GI/T2i4CItDNYI/AAAAAAAAAKs/rflK7bOsCUM/s1600/100_1206.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Nb04jLD90GI/T2i4CItDNYI/AAAAAAAAAKs/rflK7bOsCUM/s200/100_1206.JPG" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">grandchildren</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
Our home is long-standing, and over-flows with keepsakes - both old and new. It’s a grandparent’s home, where kids know they are loved. It’s our sons’ home, where their lives were formed, and will always be a part of them. It’s comfortable. It’s filled with wonderful memories, and new memories are being created each new day. Our keepsakes are a vital part of who we are as a family. They are the keepers of much love.Sandy Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766619893291970819noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8879099443869017335.post-82523920149085445112012-03-12T14:04:00.000-07:002012-03-12T14:04:35.375-07:00J - Jumbled Mass Of Emotions<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>First thing I want to say is this that I had no intention to write on this subject. I had other <b style="color: black;">J </b>words in mind, like <b style="color: #cc0000;"><span style="color: black;">Joy</span> </b>and even<b style="color: black;"> John</b> 3:16. But this morning the word <b style="color: black;">Jumbled</b> flew into my mind and I knew I had to write this. Even though it’s incredibly personal, and most people may think I’m a little nuts. Here goes.<br />
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Let me start by asking a question. Has there ever been a person in your life - someone you may never have even met - who impacted you in ways you never imagined? Now, if something happened to that person, possibly they die, have you questioned your strong emotional reaction? This happened to me just last week. (I wrote this early)<br />
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My husband and I were relaxing one night last week, and I clicked on my Face Book account to see what was happening in my family and friends lives. The screen came up, and there he was. The sweet, young face, of someone who most “Baby Boomers” know - Davy Jones. And beside his picture were the bold words - “Davy Jones Died at age 66.” My mind couldn’t grasp what my eyes were seeing. I finally stammered the words to my husband, “Davy Jones Died.” He also had a difficult time grasping how this could be true.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3PulbxG3-rA/T15OwSE9e_I/AAAAAAAAAIM/izItIXOlE4w/s1600/davy+black+and+white+smiling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3PulbxG3-rA/T15OwSE9e_I/AAAAAAAAAIM/izItIXOlE4w/s320/davy+black+and+white+smiling.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Needless to say, I felt instantly sad at his death. His face and name would be added to the growing list of celebrities, who seemed to die all too young. Even though we have never met these people, they somehow make a connection in our lives. But for me, something was very different, and I didn’t understand why. For the next three days I was a jumbled up mass of emotions, which made absolutely no sense to me. Sadness, confusion, great waves of grief, emptiness, anger, anxiety, and yet, more confusion. I felt as if something within me had also died. <br />
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Now I want to take a minute right here, and reassure you that I am not a crazed fan. I do not still have posters of Davy Jones plastering my walls. I have not dreamed of meeting him. He honestly wasn’t even my favorite Monkee - I liked Mike Nesmith. Which is why I could in no way understand, or explain my jumbled mass of emotions. I didn’t even dare speak of them to others, for fear they would say I was crazy.<br />
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I found myself visiting You-tube, watching old videos of Davy singing. I listened to interviews with him. Tears ran down my face as I watched this gentle, funny, adorable young man romping about, singing such wonderful songs, with his soft, sweet voice. And as I did so, my emotions became all the more jumbled. Why was this happening? <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XmE6fgz9Jt4/T15Qmj4k9zI/AAAAAAAAAI0/FAvNXIReXZI/s1600/jumbled+emotions.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XmE6fgz9Jt4/T15Qmj4k9zI/AAAAAAAAAI0/FAvNXIReXZI/s1600/jumbled+emotions.jpg" /></a></div> Finally after three days of grieving and questioning, I knew I needed to talk to the Lord. I needed answers. Why did I feel as if I had lost my best friend, when I never met the man? And as always, our God was faithful and true. God, in His infinite wisdom, began gently bringing pieces of my mysterious, and painful puzzle together. <br />
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I stood in my kitchen, that morning, and I listened. Really listened. What the Holy Spirit seemed to ask me was to think about Davy Jones, and what did I see in him. What about him had connected with me when I was a child? One word came to mind. Innocence. I then began to think about the other Monkees, and the other “teen idols,” and did I feel the same way about them. My answer was, No, not even Mike Nesmith. I knew if anything happened to them, Yes, I would feel sad, but No, I wouldn’t grieve as I was now. Then the pieces began coming together, and my questions were being answered.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>1966, The Monkees had hit the scene. The show was funny, and the music infectious. Four young men, dreaming of becoming the next Beatles. And in the forefront was a very young Davy Jones. His sweet face, his joyous smile, his angelic voice, his innocence, all drew me in. (I discovered he was only nine years older than me.) 1966, was not a kind year for me. I was eleven years old, home-life was often frightening and painful. It was also the year, my innocence was stolen from me. <br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zVyEaYdF7jE/T15aEJ9KLyI/AAAAAAAAAJU/fCNGoUGV9Ks/s1600/Save+children+precious+gift.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="315" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zVyEaYdF7jE/T15aEJ9KLyI/AAAAAAAAAJU/fCNGoUGV9Ks/s320/Save+children+precious+gift.jpg" width="320" /></a>God, I believe, began to show me that somehow the little girl in me, grasped onto the innocence and joy I saw in the face, of the very young Davy Jones. As he sang, as he goofed around, an innocence flowed through him. And I, a hurting child, grabbed hold of this innocence, and held it tight all these years. My husband, when I told him my feelings, also added to this, by telling me that Davy was a part of my past, and now he was gone. I had lost yet another part of my already dwindling history. With his passing came a very big hole in my heart. I couldn't believe he understood. But he did.<br />
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As these realizations came to my mind that morning, tears ran down my face. I could feel the little girl in me, the 11 year old Sandy, as she cried for the one person who had, in her fragile mind, held her innocence lost. I came to realize that my grief wasn’t necessarily for the 66 year old Davy Jones, although I feel very sad for his passing. But rather, I was grieving the young, sweet, joyous, innocent, Davy, that I as a girl, was drawn to. <br />
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My next cry to God was to ask him what should I do now? His answer. Grieve. He told me that I needed to recognize and acknowledge, all that the passing of Davy Jones meant to me - to the little girl who still lives within me. Allow her to grieve.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-b6NPJ4iRW9w/T15dixGnFCI/AAAAAAAAAJc/8o-bdKABHxs/s1600/grief.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-b6NPJ4iRW9w/T15dixGnFCI/AAAAAAAAAJc/8o-bdKABHxs/s1600/grief.jpg" /></a></div> Allow her to feel all the jumbled emotions that she was feeling, and know that God would be with me through it all. That was hard. Because I had to allow the feelings from the past to once again come to the forefront. Anger, anxiety, fear, loss. But, I also knew that it was yet another step to my on-going healing from the pain. And today as I sit at my computer, even through the tears, I feel another “J” word. JOY.<br />
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So let me ask my question again. Is there someone in your life who has impacted you, possibly even if you have never met them? Could you be one of the people who may have impacted someone else? With the social network being what it is today, the likely hood is very great. If it’s possible, maybe it’s time to tell that person what they mean to you, while there’s still time. I have learned this past week, through my jumbled mass of emotions, that God is always there, to answer our questions, no matter how foolish they may seem, and to bring renewed joy to our hearts.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VaudCIh5qB8/T15eRwWpNII/AAAAAAAAAJs/qchu-OkHEXQ/s1600/davy+older+smiling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-VaudCIh5qB8/T15eRwWpNII/AAAAAAAAAJs/qchu-OkHEXQ/s1600/davy+older+smiling.jpg" /></a>Davy Jones said something that really touched me in a recent interview I listened toon You-Tube. He told the interviewer that he is not the same person he was. He hasn’t remained rooted in his past, as one of the Monkees. He said that he is so much more than that, and that “he is, who he is, today.” His words grabbed my heart, because I too know I am not the person, the hurt little girl that I once was. I have not remained rooted in the past. I am, who I am today. The person God created me to be. Thank-you God and Thank-you Davy.<br />
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I had to include a video of Davy singing. I love this song and hope you do as well.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/6MkKnkDO2SA" width="420"></iframe>Sandy Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766619893291970819noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8879099443869017335.post-36025283314274758422012-03-06T14:26:00.001-08:002012-03-06T16:51:18.493-08:00I - It Can't Break The Spirit<b style="color: blue;">It</b> tears a path of chaos, destruction, and death.<b style="color: blue;"> Its</b> face hides amongst billows of gray, like a coward, but <b style="color: blue;">Its</b> roar holds no cowardice within. <b style="color: blue;">Its </b>voice thunders as a locomotive, shaking the heavens, and hearts of man. <b style="color: blue;">Its</b> fury knows no bounds. <b style="color: blue;">It </b>circles within the billows, growing in might, awaiting the time to strike.<b style="color: blue;"> Its </b>deadly tail grows and churns, begging to be unleashed. Longing to strike all within <b style="color: blue;">Its</b> path.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XlZVgVcmxW8/T1aLE7AIFjI/AAAAAAAAAH0/aBV_doCH3rs/s1600/swirling+dragon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XlZVgVcmxW8/T1aLE7AIFjI/AAAAAAAAAH0/aBV_doCH3rs/s200/swirling+dragon.jpg" width="163" /></a></div><br />
The time has come. <b style="color: blue;">Its</b> voice screams. The gray billows roil. The foul dragon’s tail is unleashed. <b style="color: blue;">It </b>dips and spins, growing longer with each breath. <b style="color: blue;">Its</b> howl chases the earth, <b style="color: blue;">Its </b>tail - massive - lashing all within<b style="color: blue;"> Its</b> path. No earthly force can stand against<b style="color: blue;"> It.</b> Great trees are shredded as kindling. Bricks meant to stand against time, are powerless against <b style="color: blue;">It.</b> <b style="color: blue;">It</b> bears offspring as deadly as<b style="color: blue;"> Itself</b>, sending them in <b style="color: blue;">Its</b> greed for lives, to search out even more vulnerable souls who cower upon the ravaged earth, or hide within shelters of deceptive frailty. <br />
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<b style="color: blue;">Its</b> life is short, and<b style="color: blue;"> It </b>carries within<b style="color: blue;"> Its</b> heart the unquenchable taste of death, and destruction. <b style="color: blue;">It </b>is no respecter of man, woman, or child, or animal.<b style="color: blue;"> It </b>cares not as to poverty or prosperity. <b style="color: blue;">It</b> has no mind for good, but thirsts for evil.<b style="color: blue;"> It </b>can not be controlled, nor tamed by mere mortals.<b style="color: blue;"> It </b>answers to no one.<b style="color: blue;"> Its</b> shrill, cruel laugh can be heard as<b style="color: blue;"> Its</b> power weakens, and the billowing clouds travel their course. As <b style="color: blue;">Its</b> lashing tail begins to roll back upon<b style="color: blue;"> Itself,</b> ascending unwillingly, into the billowing gray mass, as the earth heaves a tentative sigh of relief,<b style="color: blue;"> Its</b> voice grows more distant. <br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--YjTirHGyGU/T1aMT8hl_qI/AAAAAAAAAIE/xV-Ul50I2KA/s1600/tornado.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--YjTirHGyGU/T1aMT8hl_qI/AAAAAAAAAIE/xV-Ul50I2KA/s200/tornado.jpg" width="132" /></a>Though<b style="color: blue;"> Its</b> life is short,<b style="color: blue;"> Its</b> power is great.<b style="color: blue;"> It </b>has done as<b style="color: blue;"> It </b>intended. Yet, has failed in the bigger plan. For within <b style="color: blue;">Its</b> wake, lay death and destruction. What was, is no longer. Rubble, has replaced homes, grief has grasped the human heart. But, <b style="color: blue;">It </b>was powerless against the spirit of man. Through the rubble, in spite of great loss, in the midst of grief, man’s spirit lives on. Man will survive, they will grow, they will love and they will live - to see <b style="color: blue;">It </b>again. They will reach out to others, they will not give up, or give in. And they will continue to look to the One, who promised to be with them always. Even in the midst of <b style="color: blue;">It. </b> God will be with them as they heal. He will never leave them or forsake them, and great miracles shall each day overshadow <b style="color: blue;">Its</b> fury. <br />
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May we take time to remember all those who lost so much due to the tornadoes.Sandy Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766619893291970819noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8879099443869017335.post-68184261800639089922012-02-29T11:29:00.001-08:002012-02-29T12:54:27.570-08:00H - "Holy Guacamole Batman" and other fun expletivesOur four year old Grandson came to our house one day - he was still three at the time - and in a moment of frustration said a word which surprised me greatly. As the word popped out of his sweet little mouth, and my eye brows shot sky-ward, Mason immediately covered his mouth and looked at me sheepishly. Not quite sure what he had said, or why it was wrong, he could tell by my face that he had goofed.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fhRSW1e_-5Q/T056vTHcDtI/AAAAAAAAAHk/bjZpk6ioc0k/s1600/100_1124.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fhRSW1e_-5Q/T056vTHcDtI/AAAAAAAAAHk/bjZpk6ioc0k/s320/100_1124.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
This led to a Mimi, Mason time, in which we discussed that grown-ups do in fact say words that they should not, but that children, and yes, even the grown-ups should not say them. This moment led to a time of belly busting laughter, as I proceeded to teach Mason some fun words which we could use during those times of frustration, or anger.<br />
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Mason found anything that ended in Batman as particularly hysterical. Holy Macaroni Batman, Holy Moly Batman, Holy Mackerel Batman, and my favorite, Holy Guacamole Batman. I crack up each time he tries to say it. “Holy Gramoly Batman.”<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1DDPdkY3GtA/T057hvkjLVI/AAAAAAAAAHs/zptqGVKdX5I/s1600/holy+guacamole+batman+kitty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1DDPdkY3GtA/T057hvkjLVI/AAAAAAAAAHs/zptqGVKdX5I/s1600/holy+guacamole+batman+kitty.jpg" /></a></div>We have discussed that God's name is not a bad word, but using it the way many people do is wrong. So we worked on “Oh my goodness.” It is now one of his favorite phrases. A couple weeks ago Mason was very sick with a painful ear-infection, as well as a sore throat and pneumonia. His mom said he sat on the couch holding his little throat saying, “Oh my goodness, what’s happening to me.” AWWW! It broke my heart, and made me incredible proud at the same time.<br />
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Mason and I continue to work on really fun expletives, for those difficult times. “Fiddle sticks, Oh, cheese and crackers, Fiddle-dee-dee, Holy Cow, Sugar pops, and of course Holy Guacamole Batman. Mason now cracks himself up trying to come up with new funny words, some of which I can’t understand, but hey, he’s trying. <br />
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So do you have any different, and fun expletives for those difficult times? I know a lady in church who when she gets really upset, which I nearly never, she says, “Oh Pickles.” Love it.Sandy Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766619893291970819noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8879099443869017335.post-44326937037520370182012-02-23T10:33:00.002-08:002012-02-24T11:33:51.703-08:00G - is for Grunt, Groan and Grumble BonesThe continuing adventure of Patty Wysong's A2Z Take 2 word Challenge. Every week we write something to do with the Letter for that week. This week we are up to the letter G. Hope you check it out.<br />
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So my husband and I have both hit the age when sitting, rising, or any physical exertion for that matter, is met with grumbling bones, and our owns grunts, groans and umphs.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-353lBHr-3Vk/T0Z6yBqhTkI/AAAAAAAAAGk/PMWKkKCWrwk/s1600/aching+back.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-353lBHr-3Vk/T0Z6yBqhTkI/AAAAAAAAAGk/PMWKkKCWrwk/s200/aching+back.jpg" width="195" /></a></div> He turned the ripe old age of 57 in December, I was able to remain the younger woman for two additional months, before I also met fifty seven head on. Maybe I should say, my husband and I both slammed into fifty seven, with our bodies, joints and very bones, retaliating against us. <br />
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My poor husband, since December has spent more time - sitting in his chair, with his head between his legs, or as close to that as possible at this age, stretching his lower back - than sitting upright. After two months of finding lost pennies on the floor, he finally, much to my surprise made an appointment with our Chiropractor. That was the moment I knew my poor hubby was in more pain than he was letting on.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HHCC3nlBdjs/T0Z9eG2BtAI/AAAAAAAAAG0/3jMwYeWdQGI/s1600/falling+down.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HHCC3nlBdjs/T0Z9eG2BtAI/AAAAAAAAAG0/3jMwYeWdQGI/s200/falling+down.jpg" width="166" /></a></div> Due to my former life as a klutzy teenager, and several unplanned trips down our very steep stairs, on my backside. An unfortunate run-in with a sheet of pure ice, in which I was bruised my tailbone and injured a vertebrae - never letting go of my school books I might add. And an equally unfortunate snow mobile incident, as well as life on a farm in general, I have known pain of one degree or another most of my life. My bones, muscles, and my joints argue with me daily, reminding me of my misadventures. Now along with the usual, grunts, groans, and umphs, when I move is also the resounding OUCH. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>I have to say that my initiation into the fifty seven club, has left me, grumpy, and more that a little disgruntled. First, I injured my neck and collar bone region, by doing a simple morning stretch.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oWBWTXbgyLQ/T0Z_Lne6FyI/AAAAAAAAAHM/dkIODuK4C3g/s1600/grumpy+old+lady.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-oWBWTXbgyLQ/T0Z_Lne6FyI/AAAAAAAAAHM/dkIODuK4C3g/s1600/grumpy+old+lady.jpg" /></a></div> Seriously? A stretch?<br />
My efforts at loosening my back, was met with an odd and very painful POP in my shoulder. That didn’t sound, or feel good. A month, and a visit to the chiropractor later, it still hurts. Then to add insult to injury, the day after my birthday, as a result of standing on a chair scraping and sanding wood work, preparing to paint, I awoke at 4 am in excruciating pain. I couldn’t roll over, or move in any way without pain. Getting out of bed took ten minutes, with a few tears thrown in for good measure. Three weeks later, still bothers me. Chiropractor appointment tomorrow. <br />
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All these, grunts, groans and grumbling bones have caused me to think about my husband’s and my future. Old Age. The way it looks, we may not be going gracefully into the land of Senior citizens. But along with my wonderings about our senior years, comes fear. Will we be crippled? Will we need help? Will we become our parents or grandparents? I hope not.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Dkb9Y0hJUag/T0aCpXOsLRI/AAAAAAAAAHU/2X497xj8cN0/s1600/faith+candles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Dkb9Y0hJUag/T0aCpXOsLRI/AAAAAAAAAHU/2X497xj8cN0/s200/faith+candles.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Hard as it is to do, and I will admit, it’s not always easy. I have to hang on to faith in the One who gave me this life. I have to trust that whatever our future hold, Bob and I can and will make it together, with the Lord’s help. I don’t look forward to becoming a feeble, old woman. Honestly it scares the grumpy right out of me. But I have to hold fast to the knowledge that God is always with us, and His Grace is sufficient. No matter what our future brings.<br />
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So as my husband and I gimp our way from fifty seven to seventy five, and beyond, we will do it with the Lord. We will also do so to the fullest of our abilities, to live those years fulfilling God’s plan in our lives. We also need to learn to take care of the bodies God blessed us with.<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--gl5zqPLQh4/T0aEG80e8lI/AAAAAAAAAHc/sjaPGsy8NZQ/s1600/well+done.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="142" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--gl5zqPLQh4/T0aEG80e8lI/AAAAAAAAAHc/sjaPGsy8NZQ/s200/well+done.jpg" width="200" /></a> And I hope that when we both come to the end of our creaky lives, God<br />
will say, “Well done.”Sandy Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766619893291970819noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8879099443869017335.post-73468121298520530282012-02-15T14:34:00.000-08:002012-02-15T14:55:47.677-08:00F is for "Father Knows Best"<div style="text-align: right;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SUMH7IRPpCg/TzwpXQrePJI/AAAAAAAAAFM/V0nHiQPtbfU/s1600/father+knows+best+banner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="185" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SUMH7IRPpCg/TzwpXQrePJI/AAAAAAAAAFM/V0nHiQPtbfU/s400/father+knows+best+banner.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
How many of you remember the old show, “Father Knows Best?” For those of you staring blankly at my words, saying, “Father Knows What?”, let me fill you in. This was a Television show which believe it or not was in black and white, shown during the time when we had to actually get out of our chairs to turn the channel knob. Yup, no remote control. This procedure didn’t take too long however, since we only had around five channels. I know! Hard to imagine. Adjusting the vertical and horizontal hold was the killer. But I digress.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VUkEUcBzWHo/TzwpkCnTtSI/AAAAAAAAAFU/rG-oln1qagM/s1600/father+knows+best.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VUkEUcBzWHo/TzwpkCnTtSI/AAAAAAAAAFU/rG-oln1qagM/s1600/father+knows+best.jpg" /></a>“Father Knows Best,” as well as several other wonderful shows - Leave It To Beaver, Ozzie And Harriet, and Donna Reed - all portrayed family lives, in which, Mom stayed home, (always looking perfect in a dress and heels, as she cooked well balanced meals and cleaned house. Usually living in the kitchen,) the kids went to school, had chores and actually played together. The father went to work and came home, full of sage advice, and loving hugs for all. Perfectly realistic, right? Maybe not. <br />
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In their, sometimes less than perfect worlds, conflicts occurred, lessons were taught, laughs were had, and all was well once again with their lives. In under thirty minutes. Saving time for a word from their sponsors.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Pd6GboL9DoI/Tzwqlbcac4I/AAAAAAAAAFk/BNIVBDZWzCc/s1600/beaver+with+black+eye.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Pd6GboL9DoI/Tzwqlbcac4I/AAAAAAAAAFk/BNIVBDZWzCc/s1600/beaver+with+black+eye.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beaver has a black eye</td></tr>
</tbody></table> The father in these shows was the strong, wise, compassionate (not always), loving, sometimes a little flaky, head of the house hold. They messed up - but things always worked out. And the family, thanks to, or sometimes in spite of the well meaning father, held strong, until their continued adventures next week.<br />
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Sounds just like our lives - right? Didn’t we all have perfect homes? Perfect thirty minute episode lives? Yeah. Me either. Maybe that’s why I still love watching the re-runs of these old shows.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HIJy35sNWlA/TzwseIZTWvI/AAAAAAAAAFs/xIHxcCLj9no/s1600/father+knows+best+with+betty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="149" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HIJy35sNWlA/TzwseIZTWvI/AAAAAAAAAFs/xIHxcCLj9no/s200/father+knows+best+with+betty.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Listening to Betty</td></tr>
</tbody></table> For thirty minutes I can watch, Robert Young, and Jane Wyatt as they solved Bud, Kitten, and Betty’s life altering problems, always with a lesson learned and a happy ending. If only real life could be as simple.<br />
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Our lives have become more like continuing dramas. The ratings can very from day to day, episode to episode. Problems remain unsolved, even after the drama is over. Black and white, has been replaced by<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MkSzEd7JoAQ/TzwuJ-q4SFI/AAAAAAAAAF8/jn3SglI1GbY/s1600/3d+tv.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MkSzEd7JoAQ/TzwuJ-q4SFI/AAAAAAAAAF8/jn3SglI1GbY/s1600/3d+tv.jpg" /></a>3D and 4D, explode in your face, 1000 channel, mega screens, which dominate the entire home. Father knows best, sadly for many is more like, Daddy don’t give a darn. (I cleaned it up.) Our family issues have become more complex, even dangerous. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--LIdvY8Ud1s/TzwvprgowNI/AAAAAAAAAGU/fpQ_QekfTdk/s1600/god+the+father.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/--LIdvY8Ud1s/TzwvprgowNI/AAAAAAAAAGU/fpQ_QekfTdk/s1600/god+the+father.jpg" /></a></div> I know I did not have a “Father Knows Best” life in growing up, neither did my children, nor do their children. Which is why I am so very thankful that we all have a Heavenly Father, who truly does know best. He is always there to listen when we are angry, hold us when we are sad, encourage us when we are down, guide us when we are lost, and even discipline us when we have messed up.<br />
Unlike earthly fathers, our Heavenly Father never messes up. We may not always understand His ways, but He never makes mistakes. His love for us in unconditional. No matter how fast paced or chaotic our lives, or the lives of our families may become, He is always with us. I find that so very comforting.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EVqL9lj-drM/TzwwAJ90_tI/AAAAAAAAAGc/sTYUc9eyHjk/s1600/daddy+loves+me+forever.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EVqL9lj-drM/TzwwAJ90_tI/AAAAAAAAAGc/sTYUc9eyHjk/s1600/daddy+loves+me+forever.jpg" /></a></div> Life will continue to become more and more crazy. We will continue to mess up. Family issues are not thirty minute, easy fix, episodes. Some of us may not have had, or may not have, the best of fathers. Some may not have an earthly father. But we all have The Father. And He always knows best.<br />
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What are your favorite old family shows? <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.pattywysong.com/2012/01/a2z-take-2.html" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="a2z: Take 2. Patty Wysong Helping bloggers blog." border="0" src="http://i128.photobucket.com/albums/p194/impeej/Backgrounds/Take2s.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Check out Patty's Challenge</td></tr>
</tbody></table><center></center>Sandy Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766619893291970819noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8879099443869017335.post-57040818579832657362012-02-07T17:41:00.000-08:002012-02-08T06:19:24.277-08:00The Letter E - Elephants - Elegant Majesty<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.pattywysong.com/2012/01/a2z-take-2.html" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" target="_blank"><img alt="a2z: Take 2. Patty Wysong Helping bloggers blog." border="0" src="http://i128.photobucket.com/albums/p194/impeej/Backgrounds/Take2s.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Check out Amy Wysong's A2Z Take 2 challenge.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">A2Z Take2 - Letter E - Elephants </span></span></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y3k_RoXk4QM/TzKC-mU-4QI/AAAAAAAAAFE/kn9QlMHd6RM/s1600/elephant+and+mouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y3k_RoXk4QM/TzKC-mU-4QI/AAAAAAAAAFE/kn9QlMHd6RM/s400/elephant+and+mouse.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #990000; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I thought you were afraid of Me!</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>I love Elephants. They are powerful, gentle, majestic creatures. They sadly have also been hunted for their ivory, used by man for their strength and abused by man in efforts to create circus performers. I am greatly saddened when I see photos of Elephants being mistreated. They deserve to be treated with dignity and respect. This week, for the letter "E," I want to share some glorious pictures of truly magnificent creatures. These are not my photos, I wish they were, but I can not take credit. I hope you enjoy, and maybe agree that Elephants are very special creations of our wonderful God.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hVdmmnwiZyk/TzHJzcj5Y2I/AAAAAAAAADk/71OktOQalME/s1600/elephants+playing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="299" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hVdmmnwiZyk/TzHJzcj5Y2I/AAAAAAAAADk/71OktOQalME/s400/elephants+playing.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">I think you need a hug</span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HPVkyvVwjwQ/TzHLariHxeI/AAAAAAAAAD8/LrCu3EH8dBY/s1600/elephants+hugging.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="299" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HPVkyvVwjwQ/TzHLariHxeI/AAAAAAAAAD8/LrCu3EH8dBY/s400/elephants+hugging.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #990000; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I love you too</span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NuwJns99SYU/TzHLyPW_ofI/AAAAAAAAAEE/0XQhU4l9Sv0/s1600/elephant+resting+trunk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NuwJns99SYU/TzHLyPW_ofI/AAAAAAAAAEE/0XQhU4l9Sv0/s400/elephant+resting+trunk.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #990000; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I just need to rest a minute</span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-anYsTin3Vnw/TzHMFsm6KPI/AAAAAAAAAEM/DvjZi94Px78/s1600/family+of+elephants.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="286" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-anYsTin3Vnw/TzHMFsm6KPI/AAAAAAAAAEM/DvjZi94Px78/s400/family+of+elephants.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #990000; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Families come in all si</span></span><span style="color: #990000; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">zes</span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-q8F2XkE6mTI/TzHMfcFH9tI/AAAAAAAAAEU/ezw6UdEaWMc/s1600/dying+elephant+helped+by+another.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="299" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-q8F2XkE6mTI/TzHMfcFH9tI/AAAAAAAAAEU/ezw6UdEaWMc/s400/dying+elephant+helped+by+another.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">This is so sad, This elephant is trying to help his dying friend</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kTKgy68iLIc/TzHM4NNZUqI/AAAAAAAAAEc/FroA74QnCH4/s1600/eye+of+wisdom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kTKgy68iLIc/TzHM4NNZUqI/AAAAAAAAAEc/FroA74QnCH4/s400/eye+of+wisdom.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">The eye of wisdom</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FQHtKeSAfx8/TzHNZcexB1I/AAAAAAAAAEk/dGW_ZK2iKzo/s1600/incredible,+baby+elephant+in+womb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="271" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FQHtKeSAfx8/TzHNZcexB1I/AAAAAAAAAEk/dGW_ZK2iKzo/s400/incredible,+baby+elephant+in+womb.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #990000; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Incredible! Baby elephant in the womb</span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jNrV_CPfp2A/TzHN9GUHbKI/AAAAAAAAAEs/bMWuCQUePjA/s1600/elephant+and+baby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="327" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jNrV_CPfp2A/TzHN9GUHbKI/AAAAAAAAAEs/bMWuCQUePjA/s400/elephant+and+baby.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr style="color: #990000; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">I'm really tired Mom</span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KEhHMqC_Z7E/TzHQ8kwxHTI/AAAAAAAAAE0/CcEmNW1xLAs/s1600/mother+and+child+elephant.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KEhHMqC_Z7E/TzHQ8kwxHTI/AAAAAAAAAE0/CcEmNW1xLAs/s400/mother+and+child+elephant.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #990000; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I love you Mommy</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table> In my searching for photos of elephants, I unfortunately found too many photos showing the remains of poached elephants with their tusks removed. These pictures both disgusted and nauseated me. Needless to say I did not share them with you. I find it hard to believe that human beings could be so greedy and cruel to destroy these Elegant, Majestic animals.<br />
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As I said I love Elephants. And I hope these photos brought you joy, and maybe caused you to smile.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iq5TMiJGCcM/TzHRfquaOrI/AAAAAAAAAE8/WBZnlLpsrKY/s1600/old+grace,+elephant.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iq5TMiJGCcM/TzHRfquaOrI/AAAAAAAAAE8/WBZnlLpsrKY/s320/old+grace,+elephant.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #990000; font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">A truly Elegant, Majestic Being</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Sandy Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766619893291970819noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8879099443869017335.post-81258365273887731422012-02-01T17:32:00.000-08:002012-02-01T17:32:16.414-08:00D - Doubt VS Dreams<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WGLKLE9E9qE/TynlSFC1ilI/AAAAAAAAAC0/DYynzLsqL6c/s1600/100_0134.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WGLKLE9E9qE/TynlSFC1ilI/AAAAAAAAAC0/DYynzLsqL6c/s320/100_0134.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b style="color: #990000;">One of my Paintings - a Dream come true</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table> I remember the day I, as a child, I learned what the word <b style="color: black;">d</b>oubt means. I, for what reason I can’t recall, had asked my mother if we could go to town. She sat in our living room, I<br />
stood filled with excitement, awaiting her answer. She said, “I <b style="color: black;">d</b>oubt it.” In my childhood ignorance, I began to <b>d</b>ance from the room, filled with anticipation. Then, I stopped in my tracks and turned once more to my mother, and asked her what “<b>d</b>oubt it” means. Her answer. “It means, probably<br />
not.” My mood sank like a rock in water. I learned I did not like the word <b>d</b>oubt. And, I likely remained in a bummed mood the rest of the day.<br />
I also know, for as long as I can remember, that I have held two <b>d</b>reams within my heart. The <b>d</b>ream to learn to paint and the <b>d</b>ream to write and be published. As a child, I knew these <b>d</b>reams would most assuredly come true. I had not <b>d</b>oubt. I even sent both, a sketch and a written piece to those schools that were advertised on the back of match books. You know the ones. Anyway, I received very positive letters from both companies, informing me that I did have talent, I however was too young. Please contact them again when I was older. That encouraged my childhood dreams. I was good! I was merely too young.<br />
Unfortunately as I aged, my childhood certainty, was being quickly <b>d</b>isplaced by the negative voice of <b>d</b>oubt. Add to that the very polite, rejection letters I received, the few times I<b> d</b>id <b>d</b>are to submit a childrens' story to publishers, and my <b>d</b>reams became unreachable foolishness. I gave up.<b> D</b>oubt overtook my <b>d</b>reams, nearly stomping the life from them. But <b>D</b>oubt would not be the victor.<br />
We’ve all seen the pictures of an angel standing on a person’s shoulder, while the<b> d</b>evil stands on his other shoulder. The <b>d</b>evil shouting, poking and goading, as the angel quietly tries to encourage, uplift and guide. <b>D</b>oubt, as with the<b> d</b>evil, stands on our shoulder, with megaphone in hand, screaming and ranting in our ears. <b>D</b>oubt,<b> d</b>isillusionment, <b>d</b>iscouragement, <b>d</b>read. While our <b>d</b>reams, light upon our other shoulder, as a seemingly fragile bird, quietly whispering in our ear, our <b>d</b>reams, <b>d</b>elight, <b>d</b>estiny. It reminds us that God gave us our <b>d</b>reams, and our talents, and that He will see us through. But <b>d</b>oubt is relentless, and calls in reinforcements. <br />
<b>D</b>oubt comes in many forms. Self-<b>d</b>oubt is a loud enough, then add to the mix the <b>d</b>oubt of others, and we can barely hear ourselves think over the <b>d</b>in of their mega-roars. How do our fragile <b>d</b>reams stand a chance against the power of <b>d</b>oubt? <br />
Have you ever watched a hawk, or an eagle, as it is being bombarded by swarms of much smaller birds. The little birds have great agility, and are able to swoop and <b>d</b>ive, attacking the larger bird from all sides. I have to admit, when I see this I am rooting for the little guys, they after all are defending themselves from becoming the larger birds dinner. But in this case, picture the little guys as <b>d</b>oubt. The larger, less agile bird, (a beautiful eagle) being our seemingly fragile <b>d</b>reams. <b>D</b>oubt swoops and <b>d</b>ives, bombarding our <b>d</b>reams, taunting them with each pass. “Who do you think you are? You’ll never succeed! Remember those rejection letters! People will laugh. You’ll look like a fool. What if you fail?”<b> D</b>oubt calls in his friends, fear, low self-esteem, memories of past failures, and continues its attack. Confident that our <b>d</b>reams will crumble under the assault.<br />
But, just as with the mighty eagle, our <b>d</b>reams, though they may lack agility, do have the power to spread their wings and soar, higher and higher, upon the current. Here’s the amazing thing. An eagle must head into the brunt of the wind, in order to soar. It doesn’t reach the great heights, by flapping its wings. No, it is the oncoming wind flowing under the eagles wings, which lift it to heights the smaller birds (<b>d</b>oubt) can only wish for.<b> D</b>oubt continues its assault, but as our <b>d</b>reams spread their wings, and catch the current,<b> d</b>oubt’s mega-voice begins to fade in the distance. It still screams, but we no longer hear.<br />
Facing our <b>d</b>oubts, takes courage. But if we can allow our <b>d</b>reams to take wing and soar, I can only imagine how incredible the view must be. I have faced <b>d</b>oubt head on, and in the process have in fact learned to paint. Most of my paintings have been given as gifts, one hangs in my house, and two have actually been sold. I am also facing <b>d</b>own <b>d</b>oubt, by living my <b>d</b>ream to write. This blog is just one example of my <b>d</b>reams taking wing. But my biggest <b>d</b>ream, lives within my brain and my computer. It is my novel. Whoa! I said it. Some of you have heard me say that I’m working on a story. That’s the safe thing to say. Saying that I’m working on a novel, is not only<b> d</b>aunting to me, but opens me up to <b>d</b>oubt from others. This has been a fear - until now. <br />
I believe God has placed this story in my heart and it needs to be written. Will I face rejection? You bet your sweet bippy! Will <b>d</b>oubt try to knock my <b>d</b>ream out of the sky? Undoubtedly. Will I fail? Only if I give in or give up. <br />
Sandy Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766619893291970819noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8879099443869017335.post-79347154633289076182012-01-24T11:26:00.000-08:002012-01-24T11:26:44.592-08:00C Is For Cheerleader<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JPAsRx6NHtc/Tx8C0g-6OaI/AAAAAAAAACU/Q0Amd9E8ZAM/s1600/tay+cheerleading.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JPAsRx6NHtc/Tx8C0g-6OaI/AAAAAAAAACU/Q0Amd9E8ZAM/s1600/tay+cheerleading.jpg" /></a></div> “Give me a <b style="color: black;">C</b>. Give me a <b style="color: black;">H.</b> Give me a double <b style="color: black;">E, R</b>. What’s that spell? <b style="color: black;">"CHEER!”</b> Okay that was lame. Maybe that’s one reason I never went out for the Cheer leading squad, many, many years ago. That, and I was in no way athletically inclined, and have two left feet. Neither are good qualities for an enthusiastic, leader of cheers.<br />
This past week, my husband and I had the opportunity to attend an exciting, Junior Varsity Basketball game at our local High School - <span style="color: black;">OACS.</span> <span style="color: black;">GO HORNETS!</span> Since neither of our sons played basketball, it had been over thirty five years since I attended my last game. The sights, sounds and smells were all the same, We however were much older. Our nine year old granddaughter was about to attend her first game, as a junior cheerleader. So of course, her papa and I had to be there to cheer her on, as she cheered on the team. <br />
Oh my goodness, she looked so grown up. How could that have happened? One day she’s running around, our beautiful little girl, and the next she’s sitting with the cheer leading squad, blond hair pulled up in the appropriate pony tail, wearing her blue and gold tee-shirt, and tentatively cheering her first game ever. I might add, she did fantastic. All the kids did. <br />
Sitting on the bleachers, as unwanted pain from an injured collar bone gripped me, I couldn’t tell you much about the game. I knew by the score board that we were winning, but don’t ask me much else about the game. What I do remember is watching the young boys playing their hearts out. Running back and forth, attempting to block the other team, shooting baskets - missing many, but make enough. I remember watching them fall and get up, make fouls and keep on going, and ultimately proudly, and courteously, celebrating their win. I also remember the cheerleaders.<br />
Whether sitting on the bleachers, or standing out on the floor, they cheered the team on. If a player made a basket, they cheered. If he fouled, they cheered him on. If he made a mistake, they cheered him on. I heard no jeering, no shouts of condemnation. No, “what are you doing?.” What I did hear, not only from the cheerleaders, but from the spectators as well, was encouragement. Oh, there were a few shouts to the ref, but these were too few to mention, and were from the other team.<br />
Watching the game, got me to thinking. If only our lives could be like a basketball game. Standing on the side-lines would be our own personal cheer leading squad. When we do something great - they shout cheers for us. When we mess up, and perhaps fall down - they are there to cheer us and encourage us, never making us feel stupid or worthless. I know for myself, I am my own biggest critic. If I mess up, I can beat myself silly. My self-esteem drops to the basement, and all I can see is my mistake. I assume that is also what others see as well. “How could I have done that? How could I be so stupid? I’ll never try to do that again.”<br />
Perhaps we should all try to look at life as a basketball game. There will be times when we shoot perfect baskets, the ball swooshes neatly through the net, and the crowd cheers. There will also be times in our lives, and the lives of others, when we make mistakes. We drop the ball. We miss the net all together. We trip and fall for all to see. These are the times when we not only need to be our own cheerleader, but also when we need to be a leader of cheer for others who need encouragement. <br />
When I was a teenager I will admit I did not appreciate our cheerleaders. They were the popular girls. The girls all the boys wanted to date, and most of the athletes did. They were pretty and entities onto themselves. I, as a teen, was intimidated by cheerleaders. Now, as an adult, as a grandmother, I can see the vital role cheerleaders play. They encourage and uplift our team, when our players are at their most vulnerable. Our cheerleaders set a positive example for all the spectators, who may or may not, become too personally involved in the game, and the outcome. And last week, our granddaughter had the opportunity to also uplift and encourage, not just the players, but myself, and I am sure many others, as we watched our team give its all. I hope we can also do the same.<br />
GO TEAM!<br />
Sandy Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766619893291970819noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8879099443869017335.post-2808905046633167472012-01-17T12:32:00.000-08:002012-01-19T10:52:13.038-08:00"Banister Friends"<div class="separator" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8mfCMe9a38Y/TxXZEB-H9bI/AAAAAAAAACA/D2Z0Sdsz4Kc/s1600/banister.jpg" /></div><b style="color: #990000;"><i><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">B</span></span></i></b> is for "Banister Friends"<br />
<br />
<span style="color: black;">B</span>anister Friends? What are they you may ask? Very good question. In my search for a unique “B” word, I stumbled across the word Banister. I then began to ponder, what exactly it is that our banister does on any given day. If you live in a house with more than one story, as we do, you must have a stairway, very likely this stairway also has a banister. It may be elaborate, or simple. Ours is simple. What ever the case, the banister serves a very important purpose. To support. The dictionary describes a banister as: “the upright support of a stair rail - the row of supports and the rail together.” With me so far?<br />
The banister in our house, as I said, is simple. It quietly leads to a very old, very steep set of stairs. Along with its expected job - supporting the stair rail - our banister also carries an even greater load. With out complaint, it supports our wet hats, scarves, mittens and coats, which are carelessly tossed upon its white post, until we next need them, or decide to put them away. Whichever comes first. It supports myself and my family, as we grab its sturdy surface, preparing to ascend the mountainous stairway. It has endured much abuse, as a result of moving furniture, mattresses and box springs up and down the steps. It does all this quietly, dependably. <br />
As my mind began to wonder, I reflected upon friends who also have the same qualities. In fact in looking the word “friend” up in the dictionary, one description is: “someone who freely supports and helps, out of goodwill.” Interesting, an inanimate object - a banister - and a human being - a friend - both freely support. I was both surprised, and delighted, to discover that I am blessed with numerous “Banister Friends.” <br />
My church family is a collective group of amazing “banister friends,” and within the group as a whole, are several individuals who over the years have been a constant means of quiet support. I know that no matter what is happening in my life, whether good, or bad, I can turn to these friends, and dump my load on their supportive shoulders. My thanks to each of you. My family - sister, brother, sons and nieces - have all over the years been loving, supportive “banister friends,” and I don’t know where I’d be without them. My husband, has stuck by my side and supported me and encouraged me, during my good times and my bad for over thirty three years, and counting. He is quiet in his love, but huge in his support. He is my rock and my best friend. <br />
But there is one, who is beyond all these friends combined. My absolute best friend for eternity. My Lord and Savior. Over my life time, I have dumped so much of my stuff, on his shoulders. I have cried out to him. I have laughed with him. I have pulled away from him. I have heaped piles of my “garbage” on him - and he never budges. He promised that “He will never leave us or forsake us,” and He is true to His word.<br />
So let me ask you a question? Do you have someone in your life who has been your “banister friend?” Have they supported and loved you through the good times and bad? Often asking nothing in return. If you can answer yes, then you are truly blessed. Now another question. Is there someone out there who considers you to be a “banister friend?” If so, you are both blessed.<br />
As we rush about our day. As we run up and down our stairs, or pile things on our banisters, let’s try to take a moment and send up a prayer of thanks for all our “banister friends.” Thank you one and all. I am truly blessed.<br />
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/%3Ccenter%3E%3Ca%20href=%22http://www.pattywysong.com/2012/01/a2z-take-2.html%22%20target=%22_blank%22%3E%3Cimg%20alt=%22a2z:%20Take%202.%20Patty%20Wysong%20Helping%20bloggers%20blog.%22%20border=%220%22%20src=%22http://i128.photobucket.com/albums/p194/impeej/Backgrounds/Take2s.jpg%22%20/%3E%3C/a%3E%3C/center%3E"></a>Sandy Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766619893291970819noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8879099443869017335.post-35566809570754564992012-01-17T12:22:00.000-08:002012-01-17T12:22:24.133-08:00Angels<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IuxtFQ9aU6c/TxXXLyqrVLI/AAAAAAAAAB4/I2Osb7r3xU0/s1600/angels.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-IuxtFQ9aU6c/TxXXLyqrVLI/AAAAAAAAAB4/I2Osb7r3xU0/s1600/angels.jpg" /></a></div>I am now part of an interesting writing challenge, through a writing group I am part of. We will over the next few months, go letter by letter through the alphabet. Each week writing something to do with the letter for that week. Since I am a week late in joining this challenge, I am opting to cheat on the letter "A" and am posting a picture of my word, "Angels" rather than writing an article. I will say however, that I do believe angels are all around us - maybe the cashier who has a kind word for us on a stress filled day. Perhaps the kind gentleman who helps you pull your shopping cart through the sludge and snow. Or perhaps, one of God's angels, sent to do his usher us home while our loved ones grieve. What I do believe, is angels are in our lives, we may only need to open our hearts to see them.Sandy Wellshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17766619893291970819noreply@blogger.com0