tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2577814657184285162024-03-14T09:39:15.991-07:00The Todds In Real LifeJenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05559426392624984698noreply@blogger.comBlogger185125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-257781465718428516.post-45519386930505193932013-06-01T07:19:00.000-07:002013-06-01T07:19:34.219-07:00Things Jack saysI <span style="font-size: large;">LOVE</span> corn on the hog!!! <br />
<br />
That man had too much food! (This said 10 feet away from a rather large man trying to quietly pick out bug killer in Home Depot.)<br />
<br />
There's a bug in the chicken!! Come and see! It's in the chicken where you cook!<br />
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Awwwww. I squished that little bug. Poor little bug. I will put that bug on the deck so he can get better.<br />
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(The next day) Momma! There's that little bug! He's laying on the deck RIGHT THERE! He's dead. Yes. He needs to lay there for a while 'cause he's dead.<br />
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Momma? (What?) What is that? (It's chapstick.) WHY is it chapstick? Why? Momma? Why is it chapstick? Momma? This goes on for the next 6 months.<br />
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Momma? Bella is dead. Yes. And she doesn't have anymore tee tee or poop 'cause she's dead.<br />
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Momma? I can hear that sound!! ~Fits of laughter ensue.~ (This is yelled in a Target bathroom where we stopped for a potty break.)<br />
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Momma? What is that? (It's chicken.) Why is that chicken? Momma? Why is that chicken, momma? Momma? Why? This also goes on for the next six months.<br />
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Momma? I didn't put MY shoes on the table. (This after Tessa got in trouble for doing just that.)<br />
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Momma? I didn't bump MY head on that door. (This after Tessa has cried for 10 minutes about doing just that.)Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05559426392624984698noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-257781465718428516.post-62241968896779434712012-07-18T07:58:00.000-07:002012-07-18T07:58:18.443-07:00I Quit ReligionI heard a quote on a TV show recently that went like this: <br />
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<u><strong><span style="color: purple; font-size: large;">"Religion is like a drug. In small amounts it's curative, but in larger doses it becomes addictive."</span></strong></u><br />
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I agree with that quote. I so agree with it.<br />
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I have decided to <strong><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">quit religion</span></strong>. I think I have been living that stated position for some time, but I now draw the line in the sand behind me. I am walking away from religion. By religion, I mean the second definition given in the dictionary: Details of belief as taught or discussed. This is the world's working definition of religion. And most church-goers think of religion in this way, too. Never mind that the first definition is : The belief in and worship of a superhuman controlling power, esp. a personal God or gods. <br />
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I have decided that going to a "church" is being religious. Walking in the doors of a church building, and sitting in a pew for an hour or two is a religion. So is communion--the way it is taken is religious. The way we sit and watch the performers on stage as they preach and sing is religion. Most all of the public prayers I hear in a church service are religious. <strong><span style="color: blue;">How some churches present the gospel and how to be saved is</span></strong> <em><strong><u><span style="color: blue;">MOST DEFINITELY RELIGIOUS</span></u></strong></em>. <br />
<br />
So how am I to be a Christian and a member of the body of Christ, that is the church, without being religious? How do I keep clean from the drug?<br />
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I have struggled with this question for years. I truly believe that, besides Catholic, I was raised in one of the most religious groups there is out there. I have survived a very strong addiction to the drug religion. <br />
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It all seems to boil down to this: what to do and what not to do. That's it. That is religion, in my humble opinion. <br />
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Does this mean we, as Christians, do whatever we want? Does this mean all of Paul's teachings about what to do and what not to do are to be ignored? Is there not a plan of salvation? What about the rules? Rules are for babes in Christ. The fact that many don't seem to graduate beyond the rules is evidence of religion. Religion is birthed from the womb of fear and control. <br />
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What I mean is this: yes, there are things a Christian should and should not do. But it's what <em><strong>MOTIVATES</strong></em> that action that is paramount. <span style="color: blue; font-size: large;">Is it rules or faith?</span> Is it milk or meat? Do I stop bad language from coming out of my mouth because it's wrong or because my kids might hear? Or do I stop because the Spirit led me to read Ephesians 4:29-30 one morning and it convicted me? I responded to this because I did not want to grieve the Spirit. I love the Lord, and it grieves me when I realize my flippant choices hurt Him in any way. He hung on that cross because I chose to use bad language. Because I chose to watch those movies. Because I chose to read those books. Because I gossiped about that person. Because I chose not-God. <br />
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People who try to tell me (with a smile) that it's just a book or it's just a movie--it's not like you cheated on your husband or killed anyone--don't get it. Because Jesus said:<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: red;"><span class="text Matt-5-21"><span class="woj"><sup class="versenum">21 </sup>“You have heard that it was said to the people long ago, ‘You shall not murder,<sup class="footnote" value="[<a href="#fen-NIV-23256a" title="See footnote a">a</a>]">[<a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=matthew%205&version=NIV#fen-NIV-23256a" title="See footnote a">a</a>]</sup> <sup class="crossreference" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-23256AB" title="See cross-reference AB">AB</a>)"></sup> and anyone who murders will be subject to judgment.’</span></span> <span class="text Matt-5-22" id="en-NIV-23257"><span class="woj"><sup class="versenum">22 </sup>But I tell you that anyone who is angry <sup class="crossreference" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-23257AC" title="See cross-reference AC">AC</a>)"></sup> with a brother or sister<sup class="footnote" value="[<a href="#fen-NIV-23257b" title="See footnote b">b</a>]">[<a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=matthew%205&version=NIV#fen-NIV-23257b" title="See footnote b">b</a>]</sup><sup class="footnote" value="[<a href="#fen-NIV-23257c" title="See footnote c">c</a>]">[<a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=matthew%205&version=NIV#fen-NIV-23257c" title="See footnote c">c</a>]</sup> will be subject to judgment.</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span class="text Matt-5-22"><span class="woj">and</span></span><br />
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<span class="text Matt-5-22"><span class="woj"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: red;"><span class="text Matt-5-27"><span class="woj"><sup class="versenum">27 </sup>“You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall not commit adultery.’<sup class="footnote" value="[<a href="#fen-NIV-23262e" title="See footnote e">e</a>]">[<a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=matthew%205&version=NIV#fen-NIV-23262e" title="See footnote e">e</a>]</sup> <sup class="crossreference" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-23262AG" title="See cross-reference AG">AG</a>)"></sup> </span></span> <span class="text Matt-5-28" id="en-NIV-23263"><span class="woj"><sup class="versenum">28 </sup>But I tell you that anyone who looks at a woman lustfully has already committed adultery with her in his heart.</span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
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<span class="text Matt-5-22"><span class="woj"><span class="text Matt-5-28"><span class="woj">Can you live by these standards? You can try, but you won't make it. Trust me. It's not about religion. <strong><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">It's about being perfect</span>.</span></strong> And we are made perfect because we were saved. And I choose to stop using bad language, to stop watching HBO or R-rated movies, to stop reading trash, and to stop talking about others because <strong><em><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: blue;">He chose to save me</span>.</span></em></strong> I am so thankful. And I am so done with religion.</span></span></span></span><br />
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</table>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05559426392624984698noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-257781465718428516.post-41235309813350081672012-07-18T06:23:00.000-07:002012-07-18T06:23:45.822-07:00Repentance<em>True repentance has a distinct and constant reference to the Lord Jesus Christ. If you repent of sin without looking to Christ, away with your repentance. If you are so lamenting your sin as to forget the Savior, you have a need to begin all this work over again. Whenever we repent of sin, we must have one eye upon sin and another upon the cross; or, better still, let us have both eyes upon Christ, seeing our sin punished in him, and by no means let us look at sin except as we look at Jesus. A man may hate sin just as a murder hates the gallows but this does not prove repentance. If I hate sin because of the punishment, I have not repented of sin; I merely regret that God is just.<br /><br /> But if I can see sin as an offense against Jesus Christ, and loathe myself because I have wounded him, then I have a true brokenness of heart. If I see the Savior and believe that those thorns upon his head were put there by my sinful words; if I believe that those wounds in his heart were made by my heart-sins; if I believe that those wounds in his feet were made by my wandering steps, and that the wounds in his hands were made by my sinful deeds, then I repent after a right fashion. Only under the cross can you repent. Repentance elsewhere is remorse, which clings to the sin and only dreads the punishment. Let us then seek, under God, to have a hatred of sin caused by a sight of Christ's love.</em><br />
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<em>by Charles Spurgeon</em><br />
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<em>Get up to your chamber, then, poor sinner, if you would have a broken and contrite spirit, and come not out until you have it. Remember, you will never feel so broken in heart as when you can see Jesus bearing all your sins; faith and repentance are born together, and aid the health of each other.<br /><br /> Law and terrors do but harden,<br /> All the while they work alone;<br /> But a sense of blood bought pardon,<br /> Will dissolve a heart of stone.</em><br />
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<em>by John Bradford</em>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05559426392624984698noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-257781465718428516.post-25739996881500040612012-06-04T18:12:00.001-07:002012-06-04T18:12:55.282-07:00Bella<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This is to Bella, my dog. You were the gentlest, kindest, sweetest dog I ever knew. You had a quiet peace about you, and the softest ears that I could never resist. You were horrible at fetch, making us go get the ball every time. You never<span class="text_exposed_hide">...</span><span class="text_exposed_show"> purposely went in water above your knees (do dogs have knees?). You were probably the single best counter surfer I have ever seen. You were an expert at reaching the unreachable bag of hot dog buns or--your favorite--that brand new loaf of bread. The kids could ride you, pull your tail, and dress you up. You would roll your eyes and lie still so they could tie the ribbon or fasten the cape. You made our home a better place where just the sight of your hair could send us into fits of laughter. We will miss you so much...</span></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05559426392624984698noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-257781465718428516.post-25693145402612834762012-04-01T17:43:00.000-07:002012-04-01T17:43:30.944-07:00Pics<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRbv64gb_N_FdgaSv4p06p-6nC7meXyrJIWZxuWLMGd5NID-soHtMzLU8ByTUAswnSkEF2Dxxvd7Cl5SQVcF6AGu7ypiHTukhUFNoCyMFNSgvjnsORVW8lJH9u_S5_fypWMZqKa88W0Uw/s1600/051.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRbv64gb_N_FdgaSv4p06p-6nC7meXyrJIWZxuWLMGd5NID-soHtMzLU8ByTUAswnSkEF2Dxxvd7Cl5SQVcF6AGu7ypiHTukhUFNoCyMFNSgvjnsORVW8lJH9u_S5_fypWMZqKa88W0Uw/s320/051.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05559426392624984698noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-257781465718428516.post-60455840585123213302012-04-01T17:33:00.003-07:002012-04-01T17:33:55.314-07:00SometimesSometimes I struggle. Sometimes I can't "get into it" at church. Sometimes I zone out during the sermon. Or the whole morning. Sometimes I find it hard to give God even an inch of my day. Sometimes I can't seem to stop the spew of negativity flowing out of my heart, my mouth. Sometimes I eat too much. Sometimes I buy too much. Sometimes I sit all day and do nothing for anyone but myself. Sometimes I shake my fist at God in anger, and sometimes I ignore Him. Sometimes, when people talk, it takes all I have to wait until they stop so I can talk. About myself. <br />
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But....<br />
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Sometimes, I fall on my knees at the wonder of the stars. Sometimes I am overwhelmed at the realization of God's love for me. Sometimes I start my day soaked in truth and finish it in sweet, honest prayer with my kids. Sometimes those days end in a vulnerable but powerful prayer with my husband. Sometimes my friends humble me because they are vessels of God's grace poured directly into my day.Sometimes a kiss and a hug can turn my world upside down.<br />
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We are are here on earth for such a short time. For some time. But the love in our lives...that is forever. Beyond our houses. Beyond our money. Beyond our "stuff". Beyond the end of the beating of our very hearts. <br />
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And sometimes.....I get it.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05559426392624984698noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-257781465718428516.post-91076829460815783012012-02-11T06:27:00.000-08:002012-02-11T08:05:51.092-08:00I'm Not Gonna Brag....Last night was the Father-Daughter dance at Tessa's school. I surprised her with a new dress to wear! It cost $7 at Once Upon a Child, but it was in perfect condition and who can resist gold and sparkly?<br />
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As per my last blog entry, Tessa has lost her two front teeth. And I was so glad to capture this very cute "kid" stage on camera. I wish you could hear her lisp. <br />
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I won't brag. Nope, won't do it. I won't go on and on relentlessly about how gorgeous and handsome these two people are. I won't bore you with a litany of lauds, an account of acclamations, or a series of sycophancies.<br />
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Suddenly, I'm feeling relieved of the pressure to brag...<br />
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The journey of a tooth (or two).....<br />
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First you have all:<br />
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Then you have minus one:<br />
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Then you have minus two:<br />
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After this, you're pretty much "in" with the tooth fairy.<br />
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Did you know that we got over 2 and 1/2 feet of snow? <br />
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We also were visited by Bella's unicorn cousin, Beatrice (and her plus one).<br />
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We got to go as a family to the Denver Stock Show rodeo. The kids were so excited they could hardly contain themselves.<br />
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Who really needs an excuse to wear plaid and cowboy boots?<br />
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Tessa has started sounding out messages and leaving them for us to find. This was stuck on her bedroom door the other day. It says "I am in here." Or I aminhere. I think she did a great job at her first attempt to spell aminhere. I mean, it's a hard word.<br />
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I shared a piece of my heart with Anthony today. It was harder than you might think. I had done something wrong. I had spoken of someone I know in a judgemental way. Just remembering my face as I spoke it makes my lip want to curl instinctively. I was proclaiming what "bothered" me about them. With lots of self-righteous indignation, I might add. Anthony wisely said nothing. He just listened. And then, this morning I walked into his Bible class on prayer and heard him read this:<br />
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<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">"9</span></sup> To some who were confident of their own righteousness and looked down on everyone else, Jesus told this parable: <span class="woj"><sup class="versenum" id="en-NIV-25699">10</sup> “Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector.</span> <span class="woj"><sup class="versenum" id="en-NIV-25700">11</sup> The Pharisee stood by himself and prayed: ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other people—robbers, evildoers, adulterers—or even like this tax collector.</span> <span class="woj"><sup class="versenum" id="en-NIV-25701">12</sup> I fast twice a week and give a tenth of all I get.’</span> <br />
<span class="woj"><sup class="versenum" id="en-NIV-25702">13</sup> “But the tax collector stood at a distance. He would not even look up to heaven, but beat his breast and said, ‘God, have mercy on me, a sinner.’</span> <br />
<span class="woj"><sup class="versenum" id="en-NIV-25703">14</sup> “I tell you that this man, rather than the other, went home justified before God. For all those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.”</span> (Luke 18:9-14)<br />
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And I was convicted in that piercing way that leaves you feeling sensitive and raw. Like new skin grown over a burn--not yet rough with life's using. I felt thankful and humbled. And later I shared this private heart-moment with Anthony on our walk. And I went home justified.<br />
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I gave away four quarters today. This small amount of money reflected as riches in my children's eyes. Well--in Jack's anyway. Our church has a worship segment called "Coins for Christ" where kids bring up money and drop it into buckets that goes to a few Compassion children. Seeing their excitement at being a part of something big never fails to make me feel grateful.<br />
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<iframe allowtransparency="true" class="stLframe" frameborder="0" height="350" id="stLframe" name="stLframe" scrolling="no" src="" style="left: 0px; top: 0px;" width="353"></iframe></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05559426392624984698noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-257781465718428516.post-90464623932027059732012-01-16T06:39:00.000-08:002012-01-16T06:39:12.900-08:00Sunrise SnugglesI sit alone in the early morning quiet thinking big, deep thoughts until Jack stumbles into the kitchen and into my lap. His little body still smelling of sleep, his curls still warm from his cocoon of blankets. And he lays his head on my shoulder and his fingers twist in and out of my robe--something he has done with his blankets since he was very small. Like a cat kneading a blanket. And my deep thoughts--so wide before--are pulled into sharp focus. A pinpoint sized moment in my life is captured. And we sit together--frozen in time--me, so very thankful and he, drowsy with sleep and comfort. This. Thank you Lord today. Right now. For this.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05559426392624984698noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-257781465718428516.post-28901274191678189392012-01-16T06:27:00.000-08:002012-01-16T06:27:17.366-08:00Right here, Right now...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I received Ann Voskamp's book, One Thousand Gifts from my parents for Christmas. I already enjoy Ann's blog (<a href="http://www.aholyexperience.com/">www.aholyexperience.com</a>) so I knew of her book. But I recently decided to try to take up the challenge of writing three things I am thankful for each day. She posts a guide for writing these gifts on her blog at the first of each month. My goal is to chronicle some of those 1000 gifts here. The goal--to be thankful and content right here, right now. <br />
<br />Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05559426392624984698noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-257781465718428516.post-5938731864429068142011-12-14T06:37:00.000-08:002011-12-14T06:37:39.339-08:00They call me Senor Chocolate Caliente<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii4kTvuNi51jxA1b1-sR7lRFzr9BrLqoZNy2f6mtsIIPapF0fNoPbCSHlMedVOZL60h5nau5kAAgBLknAwms34BOH9pdo88GyE0z8WbR-2aSuF-GxhBl19GNuNJxF5Fm9hHqk-ktOIjoE/s1600/007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii4kTvuNi51jxA1b1-sR7lRFzr9BrLqoZNy2f6mtsIIPapF0fNoPbCSHlMedVOZL60h5nau5kAAgBLknAwms34BOH9pdo88GyE0z8WbR-2aSuF-GxhBl19GNuNJxF5Fm9hHqk-ktOIjoE/s320/007.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05559426392624984698noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-257781465718428516.post-15643864552081059472011-10-16T17:48:00.000-07:002011-10-16T17:49:08.768-07:00I Heart FallThis was one of those beautiful Colorado Fall days. The sun was out, the breeze was gentle, and the temperature was in the mid to upper 60's. We decided a bike ride to the park would be fun. <br />
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Where's Tessa, you ask? Wellllll.......She kinda sorta crashed. I saw the whole thing and after checking her over, discovered that she was more scared and embarrassed than hurt. She refused to get back on her bike. We were fine with that and all started walking up the hill to the playground. Tessa began......let's call it "overreacting". She refused to walk. So we continued to the playground and she sat pouting.<br />
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After about 20 minutes, she brought her bike up to the playground and then walked over to the restrooms nearby to........let's call it "pout".<br />
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But eventually she came around. And Daddy's antics soon had the whole crew laughing.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcg5DntyQhMI_HfL9WucsnwLjRUvdLp0pVJ3YLFz_LrgkBGaDckf1d9GhacrFNpFRUjtUNyG2cY6MIyShHF5ZreFtyg4D9MyyCFAK9cU5IEe9reSH5GFGAzkwOsiQyxM8GpWmrjQvfYOA/s1600/032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcg5DntyQhMI_HfL9WucsnwLjRUvdLp0pVJ3YLFz_LrgkBGaDckf1d9GhacrFNpFRUjtUNyG2cY6MIyShHF5ZreFtyg4D9MyyCFAK9cU5IEe9reSH5GFGAzkwOsiQyxM8GpWmrjQvfYOA/s320/032.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05559426392624984698noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-257781465718428516.post-41768120242498642982011-10-15T11:14:00.000-07:002011-10-15T11:14:16.856-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Dear Grandma and Papa,<br />
<br />
Today we went for a hike. I liked seeing the rocks. I loved the trip. <br />
We saw a lot of deer.<br />
I miss you!<br />
Tessa<br />Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05559426392624984698noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-257781465718428516.post-26580481138074637892011-10-14T06:28:00.000-07:002011-10-14T06:28:05.875-07:00How to Be SavedI was raised in a very conservative Church of Christ in Texas. The church was small, and most of its members older. There are things I love about that background. For instance, I know my way around my Bible. I never need the table of contents to help me find Zepheniah. I memorized the entire chapter of Isaiah 53 when I was about 10 (this was for Sunday school). I was instilled with a deep sense of dedication to meeting times at church. You were there or you were very sick or out of town. Things were very black and white. It was either right or wrong (and most of it was wrong, let me tell you). I often feel pity for the Pharisees when Jesus rebuked them. It's as though I used to be one. <br />
<br />
Did you know that if you Google "steps for Salvation", the search engine automatically tries to tag "church of christ" on the end? I haven't done my research on this topic--I don't know EXACTLY where or when those steps were first put together. I don't know if the steps are exclusive to the church of christ (although, I've never heard them anywhere else). I came to the Lord by hearing, believing, repenting, confessing, and then being baptized. And I don't regret a single step because that was where the Lord in all His infinite grace met me. In the waters of baptism, my 12 year old body became the Holy Temple of God. The Spirit rushed in with the breath of the Most High God. I felt nothing (except embarrassment because my baptismal gown clung to my wet skin in an uncomfortable way). It's funny and glorious how the Spirit is described as a mighty rushing wind. For me, it was like a gentle, warm exhale. My conscience was awakened as never before. It was no longer a rudderless ship tossed about on the sea of my tween emotions. There was evidence--for the first time in my life--of a higher purpose. A real direction to travel in. I began to feel compelled to let go of the wheel. I looked down at my hands and realized there was no wheel. What had I been gripping? I could still feel the ghost of the wood grain pressed against my palms...<br />
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"Do you know brothers--for I am speaking to men who know the law--that the law has authority over a man as long as he lives? For example, by law a married woman is bound to her husband as long as he is alive, but if her husband dies, she is released from the law of marriage. So then, if she marries another man while her husband is still alive, she is called an adulteress. But if her husband dies, she is released from that law and is not an adulteress, even though she marries another man. So, my brothers, you also died to the law through the body of Christ, that you might belong to another, to him who was raised from the dead, in order that we might bear fruit to God. For when we were controlled by the sinful nature, the sinful passions aroused by the law were at work in our bodies, so that we bore fruit for death. But now, by dying to what once bound us, we have been released from the law so that we serve in the new way of the Spirit, and not in the old way of the written code." Romans 7:1-6<br />
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I knew the law before I was saved. I knew scripture, I knew how to be a nice person. I knew how to act like a Christian. I knew the importance of showing up to church. I KNEW ALL OF THIS. But when I got saved by Jesus, it began to slowly dawn on me that it wasn't that I <em>knew</em>, it was that I <em>was new</em>. I was owned. The wood I had been gripping had pressed into the back of my Savior as He suffered on the cross. Blood had run down it in rivulets until my grip slipped. I was FREE!!!!<br />
<br />
"So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed!" John 8:36Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05559426392624984698noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-257781465718428516.post-15659272770765491712011-10-10T06:35:00.000-07:002011-10-10T06:35:41.594-07:00Pumpkin FestivalWe rolled over to the Botanical Gardens at Chatfield for their Pumpkin Festival yesterday. We try to go every year partly because it's so close and mostly because the kids love it. We spent a lot of time waiting in line. The big day for the festival (Saturday) was rained out so I think everyone just went yesterday instead. It was packed. Pretty much all of my pictures were taken while we waited in some line or another.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The monkey and the princess.</td></tr>
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Tessa did a lot of dancing, but if she caught me with my camera out she would stop. So I snuck a few shots:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisHlWboCtKsJtq7A507W6CLoPdK-5WOrQXKXmzRCpURrAVehBG2q_mLhyphenhyphenUcZ0jZmr3NAoWzHbfhGgVHC7eRPPsE26qxVxCtU3AxZwKDhRiLmiwAwiPcIJ40uGyEsEosnh-mpB7yGYZA2o/s1600/013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisHlWboCtKsJtq7A507W6CLoPdK-5WOrQXKXmzRCpURrAVehBG2q_mLhyphenhyphenUcZ0jZmr3NAoWzHbfhGgVHC7eRPPsE26qxVxCtU3AxZwKDhRiLmiwAwiPcIJ40uGyEsEosnh-mpB7yGYZA2o/s320/013.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQbWPcy9RJiIM1xzbnrCmT5YRktCDc_Qd31OgYuPOvjcms8_pPSXo1MRllrceNvmT-nVzGJCvXkAR6wyxrozwHcLk0taxwmNfIJ40Iy3sYo2iKzyPbQMa7zzmYfZXR_mEP2eUCj6XtgXo/s1600/010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQbWPcy9RJiIM1xzbnrCmT5YRktCDc_Qd31OgYuPOvjcms8_pPSXo1MRllrceNvmT-nVzGJCvXkAR6wyxrozwHcLk0taxwmNfIJ40Iy3sYo2iKzyPbQMa7zzmYfZXR_mEP2eUCj6XtgXo/s320/010.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The perfect-sized chariot.</td></tr>
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Jack was extremely excited to ride an airplane ride. I think the whole experience was heightened when four fighter jets passed over us several times. Of course, he picked the airplane with Japanese markings. And considering they looked old fashioned...it was kinda wrong. We waited in line together a loooooooooooong time. So I pulled out my camera, of course. I mean, what's more interesting than standing in line??<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy-2NQi6sM7a6WgicL2BM8pYjgEnV_qFJMUUmho8yJStYtEq3pis1nXdFApQl6QWgIVXCZUDT4Mp9KgJK79jgJe6MGYD64g_-LS8E28WjHVgao_OPbKkPYeAFHHao4DDCwhonSNj2Va0A/s1600/003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy-2NQi6sM7a6WgicL2BM8pYjgEnV_qFJMUUmho8yJStYtEq3pis1nXdFApQl6QWgIVXCZUDT4Mp9KgJK79jgJe6MGYD64g_-LS8E28WjHVgao_OPbKkPYeAFHHao4DDCwhonSNj2Va0A/s320/003.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love my monkey suit.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizFoLWHn5JmQF3pHHCLq2wlbab0uEIyYyY_RHRF1byOIxwGKo6AX-tz0QziZyXMLszdTmPxuR41_tV4lG9LeE05cy75pATqheusDqPY8MQ8KIGM9WWdDuJJiy9GhedongRBRF0mWL6dac/s1600/002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizFoLWHn5JmQF3pHHCLq2wlbab0uEIyYyY_RHRF1byOIxwGKo6AX-tz0QziZyXMLszdTmPxuR41_tV4lG9LeE05cy75pATqheusDqPY8MQ8KIGM9WWdDuJJiy9GhedongRBRF0mWL6dac/s320/002.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My favorite picture of the day--look at the dimples!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-DqFOP4y4GNJZLN2joTnfCKI1cYB49TSpSy_c9GOwK-CxMOcCGVQxZ2c23G_aiDcZXRKkESfwl0bJLxGdEfg_JeHlAWNlzS6cqzPhcDKQleMBIJCR9lMc0oKemR0LDH00nuhgfHzJIks/s1600/008.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-DqFOP4y4GNJZLN2joTnfCKI1cYB49TSpSy_c9GOwK-CxMOcCGVQxZ2c23G_aiDcZXRKkESfwl0bJLxGdEfg_JeHlAWNlzS6cqzPhcDKQleMBIJCR9lMc0oKemR0LDH00nuhgfHzJIks/s320/008.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No, not crying---CHEERING!!!!<br />
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And to end this post, I will share what I overheard Tessa saying to Jack last night.<br />
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"Jack, you need to get your vite-ee-yums so you are healthy. Okay??" <br />
Loud sigh and a head shake.<br />
(To herself)"I have to tell him everything."<br />
Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05559426392624984698noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-257781465718428516.post-19671077078800902212011-09-19T17:34:00.001-07:002011-09-19T17:34:38.695-07:00It runs in the family.Does this seem too good for a 5 yr old? I was blown away that Tessa drew this with no picture to look at. It's an Egyptian sphinx I think. She says it's a queen mummy. <div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1_uAufeRSujje_QgVcdgfC3L9E85CCROua-Pf5GG6_TcL22WJMEoySZjmPDG0WofkmpLNRd9lbVnparqPv50NHHJ8ZIMM1bEwF00-BP7tnR_duNMSnZJQSclMb02uyvXcvtcK0GT6L4E/s640/blogger-image--342921621.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1_uAufeRSujje_QgVcdgfC3L9E85CCROua-Pf5GG6_TcL22WJMEoySZjmPDG0WofkmpLNRd9lbVnparqPv50NHHJ8ZIMM1bEwF00-BP7tnR_duNMSnZJQSclMb02uyvXcvtcK0GT6L4E/s640/blogger-image--342921621.jpg" /></a></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05559426392624984698noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-257781465718428516.post-60604656966917476742011-09-19T17:31:00.001-07:002011-09-19T17:31:02.735-07:00Haircuts!!<div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPOAviYPeOT808oxQ9NVzKErdDrJ_QuGk_pjC-u3_cId65GrQmfICQWgBzTmXCn8CTJOQGCU_H2ZkexTUZx2u1hM7BjT57l4TFHEX83M6RifNMnsrbNQrVTcbKLLuumnL3D6jdXkcKN3Y/s640/blogger-image--1093970191.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPOAviYPeOT808oxQ9NVzKErdDrJ_QuGk_pjC-u3_cId65GrQmfICQWgBzTmXCn8CTJOQGCU_H2ZkexTUZx2u1hM7BjT57l4TFHEX83M6RifNMnsrbNQrVTcbKLLuumnL3D6jdXkcKN3Y/s640/blogger-image--1093970191.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCMVdRc30M1ORMJl_TIEw2ovpNqeu08fsz82cuZigHAQCUC-0IrGTs6W47Lg7d9D9eWy1XAs2sQNQtVTWydfmhp5rYAa_wMZiz7lHZlN9jq_1xjJlmM6-OUjgLxJ4YHel56RMfldDE35M/s640/blogger-image--1569214986.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCMVdRc30M1ORMJl_TIEw2ovpNqeu08fsz82cuZigHAQCUC-0IrGTs6W47Lg7d9D9eWy1XAs2sQNQtVTWydfmhp5rYAa_wMZiz7lHZlN9jq_1xjJlmM6-OUjgLxJ4YHel56RMfldDE35M/s640/blogger-image--1569214986.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHIseuY9K0CBU-ldHfjxbae_FAJpLuw-PxGEk4DqIxWV1h45316SpRW4hLwHsJAzfLpw9srvsfyqVuunPcy1SLUvTLwhcFkiLm6bxDYUH0UsFnWSLUu1YiblPzm3yqA4Yvp0aFD03_pww/s640/blogger-image--1288315696.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHIseuY9K0CBU-ldHfjxbae_FAJpLuw-PxGEk4DqIxWV1h45316SpRW4hLwHsJAzfLpw9srvsfyqVuunPcy1SLUvTLwhcFkiLm6bxDYUH0UsFnWSLUu1YiblPzm3yqA4Yvp0aFD03_pww/s640/blogger-image--1288315696.jpg" /></a></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05559426392624984698noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-257781465718428516.post-34110412484697574362011-09-01T11:59:00.000-07:002011-09-01T11:59:26.845-07:00Etc.<div>
Tessa rode Aliana (pronounced Ally-ayna), her "horse" to school today. Aliana is notorious for not listening and running wild into bushes and trees. Sounds like a few horses I've had before...</div>
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Jack is my (unsolicited) poop detector. If their is any on the sidewalk, he points it out. Loudly. Oh, and he calls it "poot" with a very hard "t". Which makes me laugh, but not as hard as when he says, "Uh-Oh, Mom!!! It's poo-poot on sidewalk!" And he'll keep repeating it until I repeat it back (thus proving I, in fact, understood him and am not merely placating by saying "really?" or "okay"). </div>
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Tessa's Joke of the day:</div>
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Tessa: What does an octopus have on it's bottom?</div>
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Me: Ummmm.....what? </div>
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Tessa: A Flower</div>
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Tessa's jokes are always followed with rip-roaring laughter. Which, I guess, is half the charm.</div>
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May your "horses" take you where you want, may your shoes be free of poot, and may your jokes get the highest audience approval.</div>
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Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05559426392624984698noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-257781465718428516.post-58002960398296783792011-08-12T06:14:00.000-07:002011-08-12T06:18:17.528-07:00<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUFad2wKPfvo3YJfaWkirE4QvJW2adCRP8Qy7wI3dDOxHMA9zOUjTsMjD4eM-2lF8Q2PjjykSdW2YUZYmOxu8_PNg33Ef_q18h9hsQ38f4YLuTNoKZcJBZLbyZ7qnJflOILkKMbxbp7jo/s1600/001.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639957592082125138" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUFad2wKPfvo3YJfaWkirE4QvJW2adCRP8Qy7wI3dDOxHMA9zOUjTsMjD4eM-2lF8Q2PjjykSdW2YUZYmOxu8_PNg33Ef_q18h9hsQ38f4YLuTNoKZcJBZLbyZ7qnJflOILkKMbxbp7jo/s320/001.JPG" /></a>
<br />Isn't she lovely
<br />Isn't she wonderful
<br />Isn't she precious
<br />Five and a half years old
<br />I never thought through love we'd be
<br />Making one as lovely as she
<br />But isn't she lovely made from love
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<br />Isn't she pretty
<br />Truly the angel's best
<br />Boy, I'm so happy
<br />We have been heaven blessed
<br />I can't believe what God has done
<br />Through us he's given life to one
<br />But isn't she lovely made from love
<br /></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05559426392624984698noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-257781465718428516.post-60556008443030679602011-08-11T06:44:00.000-07:002011-08-11T07:02:12.720-07:00Nugget Alert!!Teachers use the word "nugget" a lot. Or maybe just the ones I worked with. Or maybe just me. Hmmm. Anyway, I love to find nuggets. I loved to be able to teach a nugget to a student. And nuggets were NEVER math -related. In fact, they weren't scholastic at all. They were other-worldly--only existing in the heart to shine out the eyes.
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<br />I stumbled across this blog. Oh, heck. You and I both know that's not true. The Spirit of God LED me to this blog. I know this because it touched me like nothing else has this morning during my quiet time. It shook my heart from its moors and let it drift. I call that a pretty big nugget. And I am thankful. So here is a teaser--a taste. The author of this blog (her name is Ann Voscamp--as she says--"a plain Ann without even the fanciful "e") wrote what she believes. Her creed, so to speak. I am pasting it here straight from the blog to entice you. If you don't find some time to go check her blog today (or soon), you will be missing out.
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<br /><strong>What I Believe</strong> (by Ann Voscamp)
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<br /><strong>I believe</strong> in Jehovah God who created the whirling galaxies, the birds soaring in the sky overhead, the endless crashing waves and all that dances within them. I believe in Father of all who knits together life, made in His very own image, in the secret quiet of our beings.
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<br /><strong>I believe</strong> in Jesus Christ, the One with no earthly Father, with the dust of this earth between His toes, and with our names etched onto the palm of His hands, right beneath the nail scars…Who now sits at the Father’s right hand making endless intercession on our behalf. I believe in the stone rolled away, in the Body being raised, in the first fruits of the dead…and us all following soon, very soon.
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<br /><strong>I believe</strong> in the Cross as our only Hope, our only Claim, and our only Foundation. I believe that in the pounding surf of life we have only one thing to cling to: the feet of our Lord, hanging on that tree, His lifeblood flowing down, washing us whiter than snow.
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<br /><strong>I believe</strong> in the Holy Spirit, moving, whispering, indwelling our very skin. I believe in living by the Spirit, walking in the Spirit, and producing fruit in the Spirit…in the Spirit who helps us in our weakness with groanings that can’t be expressed in words.
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<br /><strong>I believe</strong> in the infallibility of the Bible, God’s Word – a sure Word, a pure Word, the only secure Word. I believe the words on those pages are breathed from the very throne room of heaven, are the love letter penned from the heart of the Lover of our souls; a beacon of light for stumbling feet to find sure footing on a dark path.
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<br /><strong>I believe</strong> there is more than believing. There is <em><strong>living</strong></em> what I believe.
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<br />So go there now. The blog is www.aholyexperience.com
<br />Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05559426392624984698noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-257781465718428516.post-17750690542256415322011-08-07T17:04:00.000-07:002011-08-07T17:10:06.501-07:00Ladies DayOur church recently had a Ladies Day. My mom was the key note speaker. It was such a huge blessing to hear her speak. She has spoken at many retreats and functions, but I have never been to hear her. Until now. I wrote a reflection for the newsletter about my thoughts I had that day and thought I would post it as a blog:<br /><br />=========================================================<br /><br /><br />(Not So) Great Expectations<br /><br />I wasn’t surprised by the numbers. Out of a church of hundreds of women, 30 came the Ladies Day. I had been expecting this. The multitude I desired to praise God with—the need for a stage or a microphone—wasn’t going to happen. Don’t think I hadn’t prayed. I had prayed that God would bring who He wanted there, that He would open hearts to His truth. But I prayed these things with not-so-great expectations. Like a child asking for bread but receiving a stone, I obediently began to raise the rock to my lips. I guess we’re eating gravel again, I thought. Do you ever do that? Does God hand you precious, life-giving bread and you look down and see a handful of dirty rubble? I seem to put on glasses of self-importance, low expectations or pessimism when I stop trusting God. They color how I see His gifts, His path for me, and even His people.<br /><br />Well, I got my glasses knocked off on Saturday, praise Jesus!!<br /><br />I sat in my chair literally God-smacked as I listened to precious women from our very own congregation testify to the Lord’s grace in their lives. The theme was discovering your God-given gifts and having the courage to use them in the church body. These women… they spoke openly about their journeys. They revealed weakness and fear and stumbling. They were transparent and relatable. I was feasting—my cup was being filled to overflowing.<br /><br />And it didn’t stop there. The key note speaker was my own mom, Cindy Burden. Her story of salvation is so closely tied to my own. In fact, my earthly tent had been a home for the Holy Spirit a few years before He took up residence in my mom. Do you know the meaning of the word “Namaste”? It sort of means, “the spirit in me recognizes the spirit in you.” It’s a common form of greeting in India. But have you ever experienced it with another Christian? It’s as if you just know what they are and Who’s they are. I was awed by the sudden sameness I began to see between my mom and I. What had never been there before was suddenly glowing between us and reflecting light off of everything. Our relationship became something I had never allowed myself to hope for in the past. It became filled with love. And not just any love, but the supernatural kind—beyond feelings or obligations. There is nothing common about it. It was then that I truly believed God works miracles today—not just the garden variety of healing or the saving of a life, but the greatest kind there is—the saving of a soul. And as she spoke, I was swept up in a wave of thankfulness that I was there to hear it. When my mother’s words drew our gaze back to the point on her path when dark became light, I remembered how bright my own walk had become.<br /><br />So they asked him, “What sign then will you give that we may see it and believe you? What will you do? Our ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness; as it is written: ‘He gave them bread from heaven to eat.’” Jesus said to them, “Very truly I tell you, it is not Moses who has given you the bread from heaven, but it is my Father who gives you the true bread from heaven. For the bread of God is the bread that comes down from heaven and gives life to the world.”<br />“Sir,” they said, “always give us this bread.” Then Jesus declared, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never go hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty. (John 6:30-35)Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05559426392624984698noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-257781465718428516.post-34991225773937781572011-08-04T06:25:00.000-07:002011-08-04T07:16:44.984-07:00Too Cool for School<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636991852879575570" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh56syaA6HVajHoPOr6wFq7tYkM0pbkLTDDISNSsWmM-xK5QsZG6AVmbq-e-Y7WRZr3iG3wL5fr8fC5sKL3VmxTOJNErU0ZuDMb0zR3wV_HaOB192RTRQgq1IhxHhUZQSCZYmJG6GoRl88/s320/003.JPG" /><br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTeOB_pkuZQ9EJdMmPLRN-_yl9SNs5KA5Jif93XxDYF5oKFHmqPadykSgKyjIXIhThFcRHgnz2l23YyOUsfOM_g9zHtAZlIBmfyOtW75eH9tl7m6sPfYtV3k_QPaBLhJWmoP2RpfQXF08/s1600/004.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636991849418930098" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTeOB_pkuZQ9EJdMmPLRN-_yl9SNs5KA5Jif93XxDYF5oKFHmqPadykSgKyjIXIhThFcRHgnz2l23YyOUsfOM_g9zHtAZlIBmfyOtW75eH9tl7m6sPfYtV3k_QPaBLhJWmoP2RpfQXF08/s320/004.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><div></div></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05559426392624984698noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-257781465718428516.post-64018792649912854562011-08-03T15:40:00.000-07:002011-08-03T15:57:22.394-07:00CampingCamping is like childbirth. Somehow you forget the pain and lack of sleep and do it again in a year. We always leave a camping situation thinking "not again". But there we were a few weeks ago. It actually was a great time for the kids. We adults enjoyed most everything but the sleeping. And rather than going into the details, I will just show pictures of our two favorite things from the trip.<br /><br />The first was the beach. Well, it wasn't technically a beach, but it was a swimming area at the lake. Jack loved playing in the water. We spent most of a day there.<br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636763768168074962" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGEk0gZVmKbtTfgfIXRS0PRh7xSXiP-xeElMnp1ne6jEbBDj3zNWBjMCms-MqC5TWJYq4Ru5gMIc_HsPyDFmlbvR006bpO-fgvR5FyO_auU0avoeBvnMiSob9FRWu-QBOCQHszvVNIvaE/s320/004.JPG" /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636763755346489826" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL6sOcNlCUb_HS-wEjNgQLA4yx4yUjsbYZiUWv7jwv6p8pfqqjqlNPeWOia69kQ024o-TxM8npXoi3VqM0vvQPmdnNO-NEa6vPtHgpyn7YPw_Evgm0Iygxew9q5m-IhquenCiQ-G35mWE/s320/005.JPG" />The second funnest camping event was definitely the campfire. Lots of marshmallows and hot dogs. Some friends of ours came and their kids and ours spent all their time setting things on fire.<br /><br /><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJhU7j_AR9bpl3E0ZRoXGTnwQtkFB673727dUookucLT7xW9jMcqVUYmd_CqdtThaUvV0iGcmHZuDNGl73BgH16sdNI4BoVnxupm913Xg_03zHA5LbufZRU_X_gia-zbN_27RnIruGWYM/s1600/006.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636763750080625554" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJhU7j_AR9bpl3E0ZRoXGTnwQtkFB673727dUookucLT7xW9jMcqVUYmd_CqdtThaUvV0iGcmHZuDNGl73BgH16sdNI4BoVnxupm913Xg_03zHA5LbufZRU_X_gia-zbN_27RnIruGWYM/s320/006.JPG" /></a> It was short. It was sweet (not really). It was local. And I think summer would not be summer without a good camping trip. <br /><div></div></div>Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05559426392624984698noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-257781465718428516.post-91743881694076893672011-08-03T15:30:00.000-07:002011-08-03T15:59:01.856-07:00You Cut WHAT???My parents were in town and we were all hanging out in the living room when Tessa came in with only one pigtail. Her hair was left so chopped up that we knew we couldn't "save" it. So we went to get it cut. This is Tessa before:<br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636761704421589858" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTksmLdrzy0d4rWEgAWQK1boikEv-ULjBLF2Z7Ke-6fxb6QEWNAV2FSOH6tGOZE8suByokxnYz7I9y4AvbPkuQBMyjzKrkeEXK3h3VJ_-KNk-ym1OCVvu70sfbir0p3qNXMByHUmlDHn0/s320/008.JPG" /><br />And this is after:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig3EQFDu0Yt93XMxE9HNwYVAKIH5fZSlmfX7nbaML4eLAvlFXwEZoQ2509fDAKdrj1rblTrS6srPNebCKy-zPEnMhnGXRrJKwMS2gPgbxLUE7rGDe6_Qg9yt0KZ5fl_GMEu7Ti5tGLTPw/s1600/010.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636761693403253090" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig3EQFDu0Yt93XMxE9HNwYVAKIH5fZSlmfX7nbaML4eLAvlFXwEZoQ2509fDAKdrj1rblTrS6srPNebCKy-zPEnMhnGXRrJKwMS2gPgbxLUE7rGDe6_Qg9yt0KZ5fl_GMEu7Ti5tGLTPw/s320/010.JPG" /></a> I think she was a little concerned about the change, so we went out for ice cream after getting it done. This girl likes her options, let me tell you.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNhBEA7pxzRI8IcltUqvF0YsxfR1foYhnAba7C2Z-c53C-U5qnoPLwRB2ZSWN7h9qNsONS1l0cy4aZcrB_NJ_hViXDLuF32vOOdoSg4lLMjbtAaMj1-T_8PqZNLF9xcAED-6T_mIyoCE4/s1600/009.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636761681045133970" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNhBEA7pxzRI8IcltUqvF0YsxfR1foYhnAba7C2Z-c53C-U5qnoPLwRB2ZSWN7h9qNsONS1l0cy4aZcrB_NJ_hViXDLuF32vOOdoSg4lLMjbtAaMj1-T_8PqZNLF9xcAED-6T_mIyoCE4/s320/009.JPG" /></a> I must say, the shorter hair just goes better with her personality. It's got more pizzaz.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtAM-TCVOUF5SjDTeAXMQ9Pde7120dtm76QKstXZ7LcE963CFjUjvM3GfH8yyUt1fpdHl11rHGPCwkigUUd3eYfYR3zaLlDtOM0GgdeYrZyT21SYNtl1IR9KRsgRb2pduIS3dCixOX9dA/s1600/013.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636761679298431890" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtAM-TCVOUF5SjDTeAXMQ9Pde7120dtm76QKstXZ7LcE963CFjUjvM3GfH8yyUt1fpdHl11rHGPCwkigUUd3eYfYR3zaLlDtOM0GgdeYrZyT21SYNtl1IR9KRsgRb2pduIS3dCixOX9dA/s320/013.JPG" /></a> Here's to you and your 'do, Tessa.Jenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05559426392624984698noreply@blogger.com1