tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16748632701724954132024-02-02T00:55:42.177-08:00Splashin’ GloryJump in, splash around, get drenched in God's goodnessSarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17295906251145450659noreply@blogger.comBlogger223125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674863270172495413.post-58873679373538188452018-07-09T11:34:00.002-07:002018-07-09T21:49:33.455-07:00Plan B<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Life hits hard. Sometimes it plum doesn't go the way you had planned, the way you dreamed, the way you put every piece together in the unfinished puzzle. The picture turned out a bit different. <i>Plan B happens.</i><br />
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I crazy love my plan B story, because my Abba picked up the pen to write it all over my life. I fought Him hard at first. I flippin' grabbed the pen out of his hands and tried to keep the original plan in tact. My frantic scribbles could never compare to the plan my God had for me. <i>Plan B gloriously happens.</i><br />
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It happened before. Way back when a mighty King came to reign. He was plan A for God's chosen. Saul was the man. But he blew it. He disobeyed. He broke the covenant. God never forced him to obey. It was okay, God knew a young man named David. <i>Plan B doesn't take God by surprise.</i><br />
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David, a stinky shepherd boy, no one would ever think of being chosen. He wasn't God's first choice, he was even better. He stepped into the kingdom. He was a man after God's own heart. <i>Plan B is always beyond.</i><br />
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We all love our plan A, don't we? The Sauls in our life come in many forms. Maybe we blew the plan, life just happened or someone hurt us. Maybe like me, you fought hard to keep the original plan breathing. There is such power as we let go, trust God, clinging to His promises when everything seems to be falling apart. <i>Plan B unfolds when we let go and trust. </i><br />
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My David was there before I knew I would need him. He was God's plan B when I didn't realize plan B was even an option. He is my beyond, living breathing best for our family that defies all reason and highlights God's goodness. <i>Plan B will take your breath away.</i><br />
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When chaos strikes, when plan A shatters into a million shards, when Saul (insert your own circumstance) gets dethroned in your life. Trust your Abba. You are His CHOSEN. He has a plan for your life, plans to give you a hope and a future. He can't go back on His promises. Plan A might be done, but He isn't. <i>Plan B is greater than anything you can imagine.</i><br />
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<i>"I know what I'm doing. I have it all planned out - plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for." (Jeremiah 29:11 Msg)</i></div>
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It ain't easy when plan A fails. Trust me, I get it. But maybe just maybe we can learn to embrace God's plan B like David. He fiercely trusted. He wildly danced. Unashamed. Passionately praising. God had him. God's got us. <i>Plan B is worthy of our dance. </i><br />
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17295906251145450659noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674863270172495413.post-30641704507551473322017-05-30T21:58:00.000-07:002017-05-30T22:48:52.465-07:00Paint from the Ashes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I know a master painter. He dips His brush into all the broken and creates pure masterpiece. I live it. I watch it unfold in my life. I pick up pen, with joyful abandon, attempting to capture my story. His story, beauty from ashes, written in my life. </div>
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This picture, this woman I barely recognize from who I was. it's me. A life redeemed. A heart restored. A wife filled with joy that only my Abba could pour in my heart. into my everyday. </div>
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To know the joy, one must peek into the pain. For the season of ashes allows the beauty to blossom. To share my story is never to forget where He found me, but refused to let me stay. Sharing. Believing. Someone needs to hear. To grab onto hope. To cling to His promises. And refuse to let go.</div>
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From the ash heap. Abandoned. Divorced. Forgotten. Insert your own words, your own pain seared into your you. My God found me, drenched me in His love. He does the same for all of us. My story is yours. </div>
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a heart abandoned, searching for value when her world splintered into shards. My Abba sheltered my heart, washed it in His Word, healed it through his unconditional love.</div>
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the curled up woman on the floor of the closet, exhausted from the tears, grieving a marriage and a man I adored. My God held me, reminding me through His promises who I really am, refusing to ever let me go. </div>
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a single mom, never wanting or dreaming of this life, weary from the daily and the stress. My God wrapped me in rest and held me when I couldn't stand on my own. even when I fought him. hard. </div>
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All that the enemy stole, my God restored. All the painful broken, my Abba healed. Not in my way, but His. His way ...</div>
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"to bestow on them a crown of beauty, instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead a spirit of despair." - Isaiah 61:3</div>
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Master painter, paint from the ashes. Your kind of beauty. </div>
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17295906251145450659noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674863270172495413.post-9995451543693771482016-12-25T14:13:00.001-08:002016-12-25T15:13:32.752-08:00Splintered Joy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My apologies in advance. Dear friend, if you are hunting for a wrapped up in sparkling paper post, please skip my words. Real. Raw. Unedited. My syllables today. <br />
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This picture, 5 years ago today popped up on my Facebook feed. Just moments before, tears trickled down my cheeks as I dropped off my children to spend some time with their dad on Christmas. Everywhere, as I drove home alone, I watched as families gathered, giggled. Reminders of my shattered family. <br />
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Whispering the hard, daring to ask the tough. Can joy exist in the midst of the pain? Isn't that what Christmas whispers to us? Wrapped up in random blankets, God gave us His Son. Joy abounding. Angels singing. Shepherds coming to worship. All because God loved us so crazy much and he knew we would need him. <br />
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The manger pointing to the cross. He knew the pain Jesus would endure. He knows the pain we endure. Abandonment. Betrayal. Sickness. Disease. Divorce. Death. and the list goes on. Jesus was the answer for all of the pain and heartbreak and anguish. Joy came to infiltrate our pain. Even when we didn't ask or understand.<br />
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When life hits hard, he holds your hand. When all you can do is fall to your knees, he wraps his arms around you. When you have no strength to even breathe, he lets you sob in his arms while he carries you. My testimony. My life. <br />
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Sometimes, this life sucks. There is a real enemy that roars around like a lion just waiting to devour. We all have felt his teeth. On our families, our children, our self esteem, our (insert your own word). But it must be possible in the midst of the teeth and tears, to cling to joy.<br />
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A single mom can stay up late wrapping presents on her own, cling to joy and wrap his present too. A driver can hand a crisp $5 bill to a homeless stranger, whether they deserve it or not, cling to joy and slip away. A cancer patient can vomit with a daunting round of chemo, cling to joy and snuggle with her baby boy. <br />
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Maybe Joy never fades. Maybe in the midst of the hard. the horrible. the horrendous. Joy splinters with you. And the shards spread out to others, each little piece infecting in a beautiful glorious way. <br />
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<i>"You turned my wailing into dancing; you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy, that my heart may sing to you and not be silent." Psalm 30:11</i><br />
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Maybe Joy invades when we need it most, just like baby Jesus all snuggled in the manger. Maybe it's not a feeling, but rather the fingerprint of God on our lives. Maybe joy is how we face the hard, trusting Him, and take one more step. <br />
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<i>"The Lord is my strength and my shield: my heart trusts in him, and I am helped. My heart leaps for joy and I will give thanks to him in song." Psalm 28:7</i><br />
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Maybe Joy. In the midst of the happy or the hard, may your Christmas be drenched in it. Splintered joy and all.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz__EaawCYHR5bCO8WWiHhvz5BNzoCB229ImOMriYmRn0mFFGMeVlfwOQZwc2lTKrWeD_F599ZQsTPQtVL-aPc8hR6n5BMtlUzzI-6AYhCW_l6PpSlkP0RVhyphenhyphenF0LG4o2O5LwUWGY1zJh4/s1600/signature.png" imageanchor="1" style="color: #6131bd; font-family: Georgia, Times, serif; font-size: 16px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="134" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz__EaawCYHR5bCO8WWiHhvz5BNzoCB229ImOMriYmRn0mFFGMeVlfwOQZwc2lTKrWeD_F599ZQsTPQtVL-aPc8hR6n5BMtlUzzI-6AYhCW_l6PpSlkP0RVhyphenhyphenF0LG4o2O5LwUWGY1zJh4/s320/signature.png" style="border-width: 0px; padding: 4px;" width="320" /></a>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17295906251145450659noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674863270172495413.post-70039285616894373282016-07-30T15:22:00.002-07:002016-12-25T15:13:10.687-08:00Hope Carried<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Today, I stood. In a room that could have been dark sorrowful dreary. Instead, hope flickered and fanned into a brilliant blaze.</div>
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In a week where tragedy rocked our tight knit community, hope held tighter. Glimpses all around. As young people spontaneously gather to pray, uplift, cry and hold one another. As friends call and reach out and stand together. Even when we don't understand, hope surfaces.</div>
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Hope is the sweetest of incense that permeates death's nasty stench. </div>
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In my own walk, down the dusty road that brought me to my knees. Hope came. A hug. A prayer for my family. Flowers delivered to my door. The list goes on.</div>
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In all honesty, we all hit times where hope hibernates. Alluding our grasp as we focus all our strength to cling. Because hope was never meant to be held alone. <i>Hope was meant to be carried. </i></div>
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Carried into the hospitals of those sick with pain. Carried into prisons where the world of sin has seemingly won. Carried to a friends house with sticky cinnamon rolls. Carried into a memorial where no one understands. <i>Hope was meant to be carried.</i></div>
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I witnessed it today. The tears came for all of us. At one point, my tears burst fast and furious. Hope was there in the arms of a friend and a hug. One that has walked my path. One of my hope carriers. </div>
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Hope carriers. Find them. Your life craves them. You need them. The ones that infuse hope into any situation. The ones who can listen and understand and breath hope with a simple sigh. </div>
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Hope carriers. Be one. The lives around you crave them. They need you. The ones that carry hope into a dark situation regardless of the ick that may splatter on you. The ones who refuse to stay in the safe place and march into the battle side by side with you.</div>
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Hope deferred makes the heart sick ... but hope carried brings life like no other. </div>
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"Oh, may the God of hope fill you up with joy, fill you up with peace, so that your believing lives, filled with the life-giving energy of the Holy Spirit, will brim over with hope!" (Romans 14:13 the message)</div>
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Brim over with hope. Splash it. Spill it. Slosh it. All over everyone's lives, regardless of the circumstances that swirl. Because hope was meant to be carried, together. </div>
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<i>I have been silent this week. But today as hope filled my heart, I put pen to words and wrote. That the lives of these precious ones would spill hope into all of ours.</i></div>
<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17295906251145450659noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674863270172495413.post-89459401292616027122016-07-26T16:55:00.000-07:002016-08-01T15:09:41.048-07:00Tattered capes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Dear <strike>Single </strike>Brave Mom,</div>
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I love you. I looked up to you as you raised your children alone. In heart wrenching honesty, I never wanted to be you. </div>
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I prayed for you. I admired your strength and courage. In my worst nightmares, I never dreamed of walking in your footsteps.</div>
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You were my hero, but I didn't want to wear your tattered cape.</div>
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I scribble tonight. Pen on paper. My heart spilling all over the place. Trying to catch every drop with syllables. </div>
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Brave moms, we talked together and prayed. We barbecued in my backyard and our children played. You held me as my heart ached and the tears refused to stop. You took my hand as I began the same journey. You were there. Holding me up. </div>
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We talk about heroes and legends in our society. But you never stand in the spotlight. Silently, day by day, you raise your children in a less than ideal world. You pull the all nighters, every night. You wipe little tears and hide your own.</div>
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Thank you. Thank you for loving me when I had no idea what you walked through on a daily basis. Thank you for forgiving my ignorance. Thank you for opening your hearts and homes when I needed tears. Thank you for being you in the midst of the ridiculous expectations hurled at you. every. single. day. </div>
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Your strength encourages me. I can. </div>
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Your grit nudges me forward. I can do this. </div>
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Your hope infuses me. I can do this with joy.</div>
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To all <strike>single</strike> brave moms, including my own that raised me seated in a wheelchair. thank you. Because of you, I can walk this road bravely with my head held high. Tattered cape and all.</div>
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17295906251145450659noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674863270172495413.post-84826396557139973512016-07-15T20:50:00.001-07:002016-08-01T15:08:37.884-07:00Tears of Splash<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I sit here. No words. <br />
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This place is where I have come to splash joy. To share the goodness of my God.<br />
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From the mission field as a family, I began this journey. Wading into this blog to give Him the glory. Back home in the United States. Fostering our little princesses. Raising our little precious family.<br />
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Splashing His glory. Proclaiming His goodness.<br />
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Tonight, I have to splash. You see, sometimes life hits hard. But in the hard, bring to your knees times, I will stand and proclaim that He is good. <br />
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I don't understand. I don't have to. <br />
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Maybe that is where the real joy comes from. The real glory. When your heart is shattered and you wake up with the unthinkable becoming your reality. When your worst nightmare unfolds before your eyes. To refuse to bow to the storm. To refuse to let go of the promises God has given you. To refuse to walk in anything but victory.<br />
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In the midst of it all, I choose to shout it loud. My God is good. He is faithful through all generations. His love never fails.<br />
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I dip in this place again, not for you sweet reader. But for me. And maybe just maybe, tears can make splashes of their own. <br />
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<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17295906251145450659noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674863270172495413.post-69818139124406146232015-11-17T15:27:00.000-08:002016-08-01T15:09:19.043-07:00Shards of Broken<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My God is good. No. Matter. What.<br />
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It's easy to believe when life glistens streaming brilliantly through the perfect window pane. When the window pane smashes into thousands of shards and you stand in the midst of broken. Will you still believe? No. Matter. What.<br />
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Scooping up pieces of broken. Feebly trying to put the pieces back together. Slivered glass makes your fingers bleed. When the situation completely shattered mocks you as you stand. Will you still believe? No. Matter. What.<br />
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I whisper this to myself today as I kneel in the midst of broken. Broken beyond what I could ever comprehend. There is nothing I can do. Nothing in my own strength. When all you can cry out "We do not know what to do, but our eyes are on you" (2 Chron 20:12) Will you still believe? No. Matter. What.<br />
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Standing in the midst of broken. Keeping your eyes on Him. Setting down the broken shards and lifting your hands in praise. Believing He is good. No. Matter. What. <br />
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My God, He's not in the window life smashing business. And when you stand in the midst of the broken, He stands with you. When you scoop up the glass shards and bleed because you try to put all the pieces back together on your own, He heals you. When you have nothing left and the tears run dry, He strengthens you. When you have no idea where to step, He leads you. When you simply crumple, He holds you. <br />
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The thief comes to steal, kill, destroy, and shatter. Jesus came to give us life, beautiful amazing, beyond what we could ever ask or imagine life. Even in the midst of this broken. I will believe. My God is good. No. Matter. What.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17295906251145450659noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674863270172495413.post-9691599944097188332014-12-31T13:12:00.000-08:002015-11-17T15:28:08.913-08:00Your Story Through Mine<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSFfBenHqqTRtmaoCJHsieCzaLxfGdx0J4Pw-COV7bWUrQkuSlRjW2JnQ8JLINOPr6PoFja6TuNRMN7jKPuKW2Iy5OA-ftBGVzDO3mzflAOv_IaW89-Ai3_rPqiKPUZ1S-bdkw2d-GW5g/s1600/pen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSFfBenHqqTRtmaoCJHsieCzaLxfGdx0J4Pw-COV7bWUrQkuSlRjW2JnQ8JLINOPr6PoFja6TuNRMN7jKPuKW2Iy5OA-ftBGVzDO3mzflAOv_IaW89-Ai3_rPqiKPUZ1S-bdkw2d-GW5g/s1600/pen.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">The stories shout loud. Encourage. Build up. But the final chapters were always written before the story published. </span><br />
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">What if? What if someone walking through the darkest time of her life. Walking, clinging, crying out, holding on for dear life to her Jesus, wrote. Picked up a pen and bravely shared the story before the final chapter came into existence. In the middle of the ick, the vomit of the enemy all over her life. A woman choosing to dance in the victory now ... but not seeing it with her own eyes, yet.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">Craziness. Transparency. Messy faith. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">Can God pour out His glory through anything? Can I splash others with how God is carrying, lifting, providing, filling in the midst of the all that surrounds me? Can His story unfolding in my life, bring peace to another drifting in a storm of their own?</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">Some may call it absurd. To open up my life wide. Before the hope I cling to becomes reality. If my story reflects HIs glory before the final chapter is written. If realness enables just one person to cling to His promises, stand strong, let nothing move them ... </span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , "lucida grande" , "tahoma" , "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px;">Breathe deep Sarah. Pick up your pen. Crack open the book. Abba, author of life, lavish Your love and write Your story through mine. </span></span></span><br />
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<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17295906251145450659noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674863270172495413.post-9836670258675689032014-06-23T12:45:00.001-07:002015-11-17T15:28:16.895-08:00Butterfly Wings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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These precious girls, they come. Fragile. Precious. Pure Beauty. Our butterflies.<br />
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Opening our home wide, our family. They soar straight to my momma heart. They have weathered hard journeys and foster care brings them to our garden. <br />
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In the past year, I have written less. Lived more. Adding four precious butterflies to our garden, time dwindles. Floors get dingy. Dust gathers. Laundry multiplies. Joy explodes.<br />
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Anne Voskamp grabbed the syllables lingering in my heart and penned them "How we open up our calendars and our doors and our schedules and our agendas and make room for people, because it is how we make room for God."<br />
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I long to make more room for my God. Til he fills every nook of our home and every cranny of my heart. <br />
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My perfectly clean house has vanished. Homeschool lesson plans have lost a bit of luster. Meals have simplified beyond belief. Toys have declared war. But in the midst of the evident chaos, giggles erupt. Lil princesses wrapped up in God's love, sing Jesus loves me to each other. They twirl. They worship. They smile down deep.<br />
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Our butterflies. <br />
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<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17295906251145450659noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674863270172495413.post-35038725061567601112013-09-30T09:07:00.001-07:002015-11-17T15:28:25.282-08:00Formula Hunting<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">Today's formula ... Phenomenal Friends + Encouragement = Happy Momma. And this momma is crazy blessed with Alanda for a friend. She's one of those ladies who exudes encouragement and has spurred me on to be a better me just by being around her. Delighted to share her with you today. </span></span></span><br />
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<!--StartFragment--><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">I love formulas. I love 2 + 2 = 4 and if I do This + This = I will always get That. I remember reading a few parenting books while pregnant with my oldest and thinking that I would end with an excellent child if I did all the right things. My child would never cry, because I had the right tools, and never disobey because I knew how to discipline. It was going to be wonderful. That bubble took about... three hours of actually being a parent, to burst.</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "helvetica" , "arial";"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br />
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</span></span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">As it turns out, our oldest came into this world having never read the parenting books. The books were not written about my children, nor had they factored in my flaws as a parent. They were good, they were written by wise people, and there were certainly gems to be gleaned. However, they had never actually met my child. It turns out, no one can, or should, parent just like a book.</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "helvetica" , "arial";"><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><br />
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</span></span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">I cried out to God a lot as a new parent. I was tired and felt like an utter failure. I learned quickly, I had no idea what I was doing and I was in way over my head. It was during this time of brokenness that I learned to listen, trust and walk with God during my parenting adventure. When you fully realize that you can’t, that’s when God can step in and say “But I can.” Over the years I've learned more and more to rely on Jesus to help me as a parent. I've learned:<br />
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</span></span><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">He made me, He made my kids, He has the answers that no one else does.<br />
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</span></span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">There are no absolutes in parenting. There are no sure fire ways to have the perfect kid. Breathe easy, it’s ok; no one was meant to be the perfect parent. After all, if we were perfect, they wouldn't need a savior. So after all these years, what I have learned to realize is: I don’t know, and then I pray. No one has all the answers, we aren't meant to. We were made to walk with God all the time. We were created to spend time with our creator. Parenting is no exception.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="font-size: 11.5pt;">So Mom or Dad, pray for your kids! Pray for them to love the Lord. Pray that you would have wisdom as a parent. When you are at the end of your rope and need a solution, the Lord will meet you right where you are. He brings beautiful solutions in a million different ways. Sometimes an idea will come to me while I am praying. Sometimes it will be a wise friend who says just the words I needed to hear. Sometimes He speaks directly to my kids, and they will come to me with the answer… and sometimes I will read it on a blog :)</span></span></span><br />
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And as always, I would be crazy honored to have you link up with <a href="http://justsarahdawn.blogspot.com/2013/05/momma-notes.html">momma notes</a>. I jot some on Mondays, but you can link up any day of the week (I get the momma, filled to to the brim, schedules) Just mom. Sharing our notes. Creating a melody.<br />
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<script src="http://www.simply-linked.com/listwidget.aspx?l=7c5b55e9-af3b-41ba-8c8c-61992866f3e4" type="text/javascript"></script>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17295906251145450659noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674863270172495413.post-72820763224872591762013-09-16T06:00:00.000-07:002013-09-16T06:00:13.193-07:00A Momma For Today<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I used to worry. Kind of like a pig stuck in the mud, I wallowed around in the muck of worry and anxiety. I can say that. I lived it. It stunk.<br />
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Then something crazy amazing happened in my life. Four precious princesses walked through the door of our home straight into my heart. 13, 5, 5 and almost 1 (tomorrow). My life turned upside down, right side up.<br />
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As foster momma to these precious girls, I have no idea what tomorrow may hold. "How long will they be with our family?" People ask all the time, meaning well, and I have no answer. Maybe another day, a few more months, a year, this momma heart has no way of knowing.<br />
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Straight up in the midst of a year of battling to know. of dealing with the uncertainty of it all. of worry trying to hold tight to my heart. God washed it all away with this ...<br />
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"Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own." - Matthew 6:34<br />
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In all honesty, I knew this verse, highlighted like a rainbow, knew this verse. I could quote it. sing it. talk about it. But when I read it in the midst of our foster adventure this year, it took root and I began to <i>live it.</i><br />
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My girls need a momma for today. <br />
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A momma for today, to change diapers, fold laundry, and scrub pots.<br />
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A momma for today, to hug them, sing with them, and tuck them in at night. <br />
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A momma for today, to wipe runny noses, kiss skinned knees, and give extra snuggles.<br />
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Tomorrow will come. I'll be ready for that day. But my home simply needs a momma for today. And that I can do. <br />
<img src="http://i342.photobucket.com/albums/o421/inhisgrace7/newFooter-SG.png" /><br />
And as always, I would be crazy honored to have you link up with <a href="http://justsarahdawn.blogspot.com/2013/05/momma-notes.html">momma notes</a>. I jot some on Mondays, but you can link up any day of the week (I get the momma, filled to to the brim, schedules) Just mom. Sharing our notes. Creating a melody.
<script src="http://www.simply-linked.com/listwidget.aspx?l=c9e1367c-8601-44aa-aabc-545b31084b01" type="text/javascript"></script>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17295906251145450659noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674863270172495413.post-994417823698779422013-09-09T06:00:00.000-07:002013-09-10T09:39:33.487-07:00Thank Goodness<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Thank goodness for friends, amazing moms, like Jamie. She captures real life at <a href="http://www.oneblessedlady.com/">One Blessed Lady</a> and makes you laugh out loud while you read, sometimes even snort. And she stopped by today to splash us moms with some encouragement. </div>
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I was on the phone the other day with a friend talking about a recent diagnosis that my younger daughter needs vision therapy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My friend asked how we realized that there was an issue and I described some of the signs that led me to make an appointment with our optometrist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the middle of this conversation, my friend says, “Thank goodness for mamas.”</div>
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I thought, “Well, that’s kinda weird.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m just doing what any other mother in this situation would do.”</div>
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And then it hit me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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Yes!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thank goodness for mamas everywhere!</div>
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Without mamas, the toilet paper would still sit on top of the empty roll, the milk jug would always be empty and people would be dropping like flies from the scurvy due to a lack of fruit in their diets.</div>
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Thank goodness for mamas!</div>
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Your job, my job, our job is so incredibly important, especially when it doesn’t feel like it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The days go on endlessly and, at times, without the all important recognition that we crave.</div>
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English muffin pizzas are consumed, laundry magically appears clean and ready to go, grocery shopping done, doctor’s appointments made and rides to and from events are taken care of, all without a thought from anyone else.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Field trip forms are filled out, movies censored, stories read.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cuddles are given, diapers changed and prayers heard, lessons taught, children trained.</div>
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Yes, thank goodness for mamas.</div>
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You are doing a job that is bigger than you are.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And yet, you’re doing it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Day in and day out through the murky trenches of <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>laundry, chauffeuring, kissing, washing, loving.</div>
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Can you hear me applauding you?</div>
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This job might seem little, insignificant, exhausting, uninspiring.</div>
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But it’s a rather lovely thing, this momentous, heart-wrenching, heart-soaring thing you’re doing.</div>
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They will look back and call you blessed.<br />
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And as always, I would be crazy honored to have you link up with <a href="http://justsarahdawn.blogspot.com/2013/05/momma-notes.html">momma notes</a>. I jot some on Mondays, but you can link up any day of the week (I get the momma, filled to to the brim, schedules) Just mom. Sharing our notes. Creating a melody.</div>
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<script src="http://www.simply-linked.com/listwidget.aspx?l=9a97480b-91a1-4eaf-b8f3-fa1232580811" type="text/javascript"></script>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17295906251145450659noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674863270172495413.post-6116032735383025602013-09-02T07:00:00.000-07:002013-09-02T07:00:10.851-07:00When You Meet Mrs. Grump<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLOcKTf-E0SLqqaBQZa_vb_sLhhC-nDDWPb6c4BJatrjWy3EqfXsJ24yN_noEWtNX0BBfCepjB5V8cJd7P4Ncmy2zWdirtqrwpodIMHmlZpwzy0IZQSfFH-7_7R-3jVN8ltbl__guvKS8/s1600/Like+mommy+like+son.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5648704394321913778" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLOcKTf-E0SLqqaBQZa_vb_sLhhC-nDDWPb6c4BJatrjWy3EqfXsJ24yN_noEWtNX0BBfCepjB5V8cJd7P4Ncmy2zWdirtqrwpodIMHmlZpwzy0IZQSfFH-7_7R-3jVN8ltbl__guvKS8/s320/Like+mommy+like+son.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a>We all know the feeling ... standing in line at the grocery store, kids in tow, and the lady in front of you has a hissy fit at the register. In times such as these, you double up kindness, thankful the kids are in sweetness mode as well.<br />
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We can whisper a breath blessing over them as they storm out of the store. And the same at the car speeding down the highway in a race no one can see. But what do I do when I look in the mirror and see her staring back at me? When I meet Mrs. Grump.</div>
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The mirror doesn't lie. Honest reflection reveals that I allow far too often the circumstances that surround to dictate my day, my emotions, my me. And Mrs. Grump snarls in my home.</div>
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I've decided I'm done with her. I am learning to be led by the Holy Spirit and not my emotions. After all, the fruit He produces, love, joy, peace, kindness, gentleness ... leaves no room for grump. That's just it. The secret hidden for us to find, hidden in a living book that changes lives, changes mine letter by letter.</div>
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Each day, my choice. To be led by my emotions or to align them with His Word. True, I live in an emotion packed world. Yet I will no longer allow them to dictate my daily life. Mrs. Grump, Mrs. Frustrated, Mrs. (insert your own adjective) is emotional driven momma. No, I prefer the spirit led momma ...</div>
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<i><b>"But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Against such thing there is no law." - Galatians 5:22-23</b></i></div>
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Spirit fruit tastes much better, just ask my family. It's the sweet stuff, dripping with goodness and giggles, filling my pantry, better yet ... filling my home.</div>
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<img src="http://i342.photobucket.com/albums/o421/inhisgrace7/newFooter-SG.png" /><br />
And as always, I would be crazy honored to have you link up with <a href="http://justsarahdawn.blogspot.com/2013/05/momma-notes.html">momma notes</a>. I jot some on Mondays, but you can link up any day of the week (I get the momma, filled to to the brim, schedules) Just mom. Sharing our notes. Creating a melody.</div>
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<script src="http://www.simply-linked.com/listwidget.aspx?l=c268e4d0-4095-4ec1-9f4a-a2f0fc41f1ff" type="text/javascript"></script>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17295906251145450659noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674863270172495413.post-67108190752177321672013-08-26T07:00:00.000-07:002013-08-26T07:00:05.198-07:00Tune Thirsty<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSw6ruRfv3E2hBjcN1n4lXc6tp-PdHIWNf0Bu8iaApUaq0zqjyTswB25pXWU3wCz7Z5bltAevlC8x7gpp-vsKC0V3JmaXHVFA4KRFv27h_jSb9xJBTYiDGIDdy6AIeWVbCIfxqYWj_0SI/s1600-h/1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374113666640095698" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSw6ruRfv3E2hBjcN1n4lXc6tp-PdHIWNf0Bu8iaApUaq0zqjyTswB25pXWU3wCz7Z5bltAevlC8x7gpp-vsKC0V3JmaXHVFA4KRFv27h_jSb9xJBTYiDGIDdy6AIeWVbCIfxqYWj_0SI/s320/1.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 254px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
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Tucking my precious warriors into bed, a sweet spirit of worship danced into the room. Sometimes, I lose myself in the stillness of their breathing as slumber kisses their night. </div>
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I sing. I worship. I war.</div>
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This night, a new song sprang from my heart, a tune of joy.</div>
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I will sing for your joy has come.</div>
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I will sing for your joy has come.</div>
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You have captured my heart.</div>
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You have ransomed my life and I must sing.</div>
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As always, the days blur together as life blinks by. Sometime later, the tune forgotten, the Lord gave me a gift, wrapped in the song of my son.</div>
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He began to hum a tune and add words, a song planted in his heart. It sounded familiar. I searched for where I had heard it before. </div>
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He was singing...</div>
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I will sing for your joy has come.</div>
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I will sing for your joy has come.</div>
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You have captured my heart.</div>
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You have ransomed my life and I must sing.</div>
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... a song planted in his heart by a mommy warrior.<br />
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My boys now 9 and 11 still ask for momma to sing each night. My voice may crack. The tune may falter. But the seeds planted will bear fruit. It's the little things, momma. The moments when no one is necessarily watching. The notes we string together, singing of His love. This generation desperately thirsts to hear His tune.</div>
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<img src="http://i342.photobucket.com/albums/o421/inhisgrace7/newFooter-SG.png" /><br />
And as always, I would be crazy honored to have you link up with <a href="http://justsarahdawn.blogspot.com/2013/05/momma-notes.html">momma notes</a>. I jot some on Mondays, but you can link up any day of the week (I get the momma, filled to to the brim, schedules) Just mom. Sharing our notes. Creating a melody.
<script src="http://www.simply-linked.com/listwidget.aspx?l=3e718ed3-a411-4857-a867-583237642062" type="text/javascript"></script>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17295906251145450659noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674863270172495413.post-9892613630385097862013-07-29T11:01:00.002-07:002013-07-29T11:01:37.056-07:00Snuggle Alarm<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivXEKlw2OOtOb6stv9Pg96oI8rdakuyey4vErB0JsZumro6JChwGqoXraY1WYTKx4780ujCzvDzhawMK0KK84Ud0Dp7C2mdo3BTtN6kxOytMJh8PCtIsCquUoDF6SlXmocg28E-DYVq1w/s1600-h/1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398585123916591554" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivXEKlw2OOtOb6stv9Pg96oI8rdakuyey4vErB0JsZumro6JChwGqoXraY1WYTKx4780ujCzvDzhawMK0KK84Ud0Dp7C2mdo3BTtN6kxOytMJh8PCtIsCquUoDF6SlXmocg28E-DYVq1w/s320/1.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
Years ago, morning brought these bright peering over my bed, waiting for snuggle. I was blessed to forever hit snooze and ditch the alarm clock. Who could resist waking to precious children wanting to climb under the covers to snuggle and start the day wrapped in love.<br />
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In the past year, we have added four sweet princesses. Our hearts and home are filled to the brim. Hugs, snuggles, bottles ... my forever snuggle alarm.<br />
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As mommy and wife, my days can be filled to the brim of busyness vying for my precious time. The dishes, laundry, and unmade beds scream louder than the secret longings of little ones' hearts. I can rush out of bed to silence the chores and schedule that beckons. Or, I can choose to nurture hearts, create memories, spend time with my Jesus and our kidz, and simply snuggle.</div>
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I remember during a time of praise a 5 year old climbed on my back. Dancing gently, he held on to my shoulders and we worshipped together. In that sweet moment, I felt as if I was ushering my son into the presence of the King. Gently carrying my little lamb to the Great Shepherd. </div>
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My passion, to carry children around the world to His throne. Set them down in His presence and go and search for the other lost children. Yesterday, four girls twirled in worship and danced. My heart almost burst with joy.</div>
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Yet each day it begins. I have a choice. To awaken to my snuggle alarm and capture the day with His grace. What precious moments do you share with the children in your life? Don't let them slip away, cherish them as we lead them into His love.</div>
<img src="http://i342.photobucket.com/albums/o421/inhisgrace7/newFooter-SG.png" /><br />
And as always, I would be crazy honored to have you link up with <a href="http://justsarahdawn.blogspot.com/2013/05/momma-notes.html">momma notes</a>. I jot some on Mondays, but you can link up any day of the week (I get the momma, filled to to the brim, schedules) Just mom. Sharing our notes. Creating a melody.
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17295906251145450659noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674863270172495413.post-19335333201593210332013-07-26T07:00:00.000-07:002013-07-26T07:00:06.118-07:00Simple Steps<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Lil princess came into our home, she turned it right side up. Filling it full with pink giggles and slobbery raspberries.<br />
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Despite the utter cuteness, we realized straight real, we had a road ahead of us. Lil sweet pea had yet to attach to a caregiver. So crazy thankful for those who have walked the road of foster or adoption before us and paved the way.<br />
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This momma, an admitted snuggle a holic, determined to help this precious bond to bless her life for always. In our first short weeks, we have learned some simple steps to encourage bonding and are amazed at the results.<br />
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1. <b>Learn the signals.</b> Become a student of your child, no matter the age. When are they hungry? When do they need to sleep? What makes them grumpy? Watch for the signals. Learn them. Then respond ALWAYS. This builds their trust in you, a vital block in the foundation of attachment. (and throw out whatever anyone told you about your precious, learn for yourself as they might have missed the real cues)<br />
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2. <b> Snuggle Baths. </b>Skin to skin. It's vital in bonding. Having an older princess we got a bit creative. One bath time, I slipped my swimsuit and jumped in. Momma baths, the new norm. LIl fish splashes and plays. I snuggle, rub, and touch. Bonus - seeing her cute chunky thighs makes me feel a bit better about mine.<br />
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3. <b>Baby Talk Back</b>. She coos. She giggles. She string syllables together. And now so do I. With each babble, momma babbles back. The whole family has gotten in on the action. We have had entire conversations based solely on raspberries and dadadadadadada. We are engaging in her world, bonding on her level.<br />
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4. <b>Blue Eye Time</b>. I've fallen in love with her baby blues and its a blessing. Eye contact remains a key in bonding. Every chance I can, changing her diaper, feeding a bottle, picking her up from her nap ... I connect eye to eye. I make it a point to <i>intentionally</i> look into her baby blues and smile. At first, she gave me no eye contact back. Little by little she is connecting. Thinking there must be a link straight from the eye to the heart.<br />
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5. <b>Rub. Tickle. Scratch. </b>We all know touch is crucial to bonding. But what touch does sweet princess enjoy the most. Discover it. Does your little one like to be massaged? Or does she prefer a light tickle on her skin? My 8 year old son drools when I scratch his head. Each child is different and might not be the same as you. So, take the time to figure out what type of touch they like best. (and of course give them tons)<br />
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We have just begun our journey to help this precious princess attach. You would crazy bless me (and her) to share your tips, your ideas, your what worked with you. Would you take a moment to share with us something that helped you bond with the children in your life?<br />
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<img src="http://i342.photobucket.com/albums/o421/inhisgrace7/newFooter-SG.png" />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17295906251145450659noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674863270172495413.post-68419377615500939882013-07-23T18:42:00.004-07:002013-07-25T13:25:18.959-07:00Syllable by Syllable<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Words ... they have such power. Simple syllables strung together can break, heal, destroy and mend.</div>
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The world around us seems to have gone crazy with their words. Have you heard some of the phrases dribbling out of mouths lately? As a momma, how do I teach my lil' warriors to wield these weapons with grace and kindness? </div>
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Honesty here, it's a battle I have fought as well. Those sneaky syllables seem to slip out when I least expect it. Discouraging remarks. A raised frustrated tone. Words ran rampant in our home, and not the best ones either. </div>
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By no means am I an expert, but I am mom. And we have been getting a tight grip on our words. Wanna know how? Happy you asked ...</div>
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Get creative. March into battle. Take it into our every day.<br />
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We call them building words, straight from Ephesians 4:29. And yes, we sing that verse in our home as well. As for now, think of a slew of kids and mom singing a bit off key to our own tune with catchy hand signals ...</div>
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<b style="font-style: italic;">"Do not let any unwholesome talk, come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up ..." </b></div>
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To teach the power of our words, we grabbed our wooden building blocks. Any blocks will do ... We all took turns saying kinds things about mom. I even joined in the fun. With each kind thing, our tower built up, block after block, word after word. Then, with one quick word of unkindness out of my mouth about myself, I hit the tower sending blocks scrambling to the floor. Eyes popped wide. Hearts ready to listen.</div>
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Words build up. Words tear down. Really, there is no in between. This led to lively discussions around our home. My kids, <i>blesstheirhearts</i>, really dig deep. Is everything I say either building someone up or tearing them down? Can we really do this, ALL the time? Would God give us this command if it was impossible? And we dug together.</div>
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Its taken time and we're going strong. As we grasp the power of our words, these kids and their momma might just change the world, syllable by syllable.<br />
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It's Tuesday. Missed the Momma Monday by a day. New momma here. Baby slumbering in our home. Grace. Thanks. But I couldn't miss your words. I would be splashed happy to have you link up with <a href="http://justsarahdawn.blogspot.com/2013/05/momma-notes.html">momma notes</a>. Anything gloriously mom. Our notes. Creating a melody.</div>
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17295906251145450659noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674863270172495413.post-72422391988664048962013-07-08T09:53:00.002-07:002013-07-08T10:40:41.561-07:00And Baby Makes Six<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Sorry. I posted a bit late. Life just slowed down a bit in a beautifully marvelous way. I'm tired. I'm ecstatic. I'm called mom by 6 now. Thanks for grace.<br />
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Our sweet 9 month old princess snuggled up in our home yesterday. In less than a year our family of 4 has been crazy blessed into a family of 8. We had our perimeters. We had our boxes. We had what we thought would be the path our family would take on this foster journey.<br />
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So beyond happy that His Word is true ...<br />
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<i>"Many are the plans in a man's heart, but it is the Lord's purpose that prevails." - Proverbs 19:21</i></div>
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... and that He explodes our man made boxes!<br />
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We've splashed <a href="http://justsarahdawn.blogspot.com/2012/09/pinkify.html">a bit of pink</a> into our lives. Brought home a sweet teenager. Wrapped up a toddler. And now, a crawling princess. 13, 11, 8, 5, 2, and baby makes 6. <br />
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It's been beyond long since a baby slumbered in our home. 8 years. So I sit and type, asking this group of mommas for your advice. Your tips. Your what I REALLY need. This tired happy life turned right side up momma could use you. What was a favorite, a must have, something you remembered from your baby days? </div>
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And as always, I would be splashed happy to have you link up with <a href="http://justsarahdawn.blogspot.com/2013/05/momma-notes.html">momma notes</a>. Anything gloriously mom. Our notes. Creating a melody.</div>
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<script src="http://www.simply-linked.com/listwidget.aspx?l=32dcdc71-eb0c-472d-8cde-0f3e75137c3b" type="text/javascript"></script>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17295906251145450659noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674863270172495413.post-87321000225215413362013-07-04T06:00:00.000-07:002013-07-05T15:45:36.789-07:00Splatter It Up!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It's scorchin hot around here. No other way to sugar coat it. Temps reaching to 118 degrees in the shade. For those who don't dwell in the desert ... You <i>can</i> cook an egg on the asphalt. Crayons ooze if left out in the sun. Kids tend to melt, moms too for that matter.</div>
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Hence my mission, to splatter joy in our summer days with these simple activities. </div>
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">Wet Murals</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;"> </span>- strike a pose up against the backyard fence (block works great). With the hose on mist (put your finger over the nozzle) and spray away. When done, have the kid move away, and the silouhette is the dry spot on the wall. Kids can get creative, do them together, add props. The best is that they dry crazy quick and you have a new canvas.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;"><b>ICE Smash</b></span> - Fill up a balloon with water. Drop in a little something (penny, small toy, etc). Tie the balloon up and sneak it in the freezer overnight. Make enough for every smasher in the family. Once frozen, cut off the balloon knot and peel away from the ice. Arm your crew with mallets, spoons, any age appropriate device. Their mission, to free the item from the ice. Happy smashing.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;"><b>Mega Slip and Slide</b></span> - My kids bust through the conventional slip and slides. We've gone industrial. Head to the local hardware store and buy some heavy duty painters plastic or a large tarp. Spread it on the lawn, add a bit of dish soap to make it extra slippery and spray away. <br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;"><b>Sword Training</b></span> - pool noodles make the best swords. Simply cut them in half (to make a shorter noodle). They make a loud whack, which delights the kids. They cause no pain, which delights the mom. Take them to the back yard, turn on the sprinklers, and let the joust commence. <br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">Book Fort-a-rama</span></b> - Diving into some good books tops our list of must dos. To get the book groove on, create a mondo family fort (you know the adults want to join in too). Once the fort is constructed, choose great books for the kids to devour. Grab a bin (dishwashing bins work great) for each child & load them up. Head to the library if you need more books (as for us, our house oozes kidz literature). <br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;"><b>Chalk It Up</b></span> - You know I have a love for chalk. So why not grab the largest canvas around and create. Head outside, hose off, then hit the sidewalk with some chalk (<a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/29343835045183294/">or your own sidewalk paint</a>). Even better, head to someone else's house (that would adore it) and decorate. Gramma would love it!<br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">Bless their Socks </span></b>- (aka not so random acts of kindness). With your family, brainstorm ideas to bless people in your lives. (neighbors, grandparents, strangers, mailman etc) Write down all of their zany ideas, nothing is off limits. And of course, put the little special in a sock to get the giggles going. Then go for it! <br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">JOY Jar</span></b> - Grab a jar (an old cleaned out peanut butter one works great) Grab some paper and gloppy glue and have the kids decorate it. Create as many as you need. We are working on kindness around here. Label it big. Then, every time someone shows kindness (or your own theme), the kids can catch each other and drop a marble in the jar. Once the jar is filled ... it means a celebration!<br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;">Body Art</span></b> - Grab some washable finger paint (<a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/29343835042252209/">or make your own</a>). Head outside to decorate EACH other. Paint mom's face. Design Dad's legs. C'mon, you've always wanted to paint ON your kids, so have some summer fun. Then hose them off when the creations are finished.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: purple;"><b>#10 - Always room for more ideas ... </b></span>I could use your creative help (because around here, summer ends in November.) Would you join in my splatter joy summer fiesta? Simply leave an idea (or a whole bunch of them) in the comment section. Ready. Set. Splatter it up!<br />
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17295906251145450659noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674863270172495413.post-51916529204122236222013-07-01T06:00:00.000-07:002013-07-01T06:00:01.079-07:00Run Momma Run.<br />
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Tis time ... When you really want something, dream it, eat it , live it, you train for it. Only the ones that train with dripping sweat and a determined stride ever really grab the prize.</div>
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<b><i>"<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way to get the prize." </span></i></b><br />
<b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">- 1 Corinthians 9:24</span></i></b></div>
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Tis time ... This momma is lacing on her running shoes. Going into training, for a real prize, the hearts of my children. Entering into training, to be the best, the best mom imaginable for my kidz (all 5 of them). Going after a real prize.</div>
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Tis time ... A house full of first time obedience with happy hearts. Love lived out loud oozing from every crack & crevice. Joy splattered everywhere. Grace wildly sloshed. </div>
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Tis time ... For this momma to realize, this is my race. The roll of mom, worth every bit of training and sweat. To go after it with absurd abandon. Focus. Determination. Passion.</div>
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<i>"All good athletes train hard. They do it for a gold medal that tarnishes and fades. You're after one that's gold eternally. I don't know about you, but I'm running hard for the finish line. I'm giving it everything I've got." - 1 Corinthians 9:25-26 Message</i><br />
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Tis time ... I can hear the crowds (well at least my lil crowd of 5, soon to be 6) chanting now ... Run Momma Run.</div>
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Wanna lace up with me? Would love to have you join in this glorious race of mom. What books, resources, bits of encouragement keep you running strong? Would you share & leave a comment. We can cheer each other on. <br />
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And as always, I would be crazy honored to have you link up with <a href="http://justsarahdawn.blogspot.com/2013/05/momma-notes.html">momma notes</a>. I jot some on Mondays, but you can link up any day of the week (I get the momma, filled to to the brim, schedules) Just mom. Sharing our notes. Creating a melody.<br />
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17295906251145450659noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674863270172495413.post-50934681252700754102013-06-24T07:46:00.000-07:002013-06-24T07:46:25.964-07:00The New 'To Do'<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I've scratched my old to do lists. They plum weren't working for me. The search of perfection in home, in family, in life, wearing this momma out. stealing the joy in our home.</div>
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In all my list making attempts, of the mind and on the paper, my priorities jumbled up and fell off the page.</div>
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When the simple is overlooked, life mixes up. Smiles tend to fade. Tasks smother joy. Anxiety creeps in. Mommas wither and wilt.</div>
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This week, I grabbed my eraser and went after the chalkboard covered lists in my life. </div>
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With new chalk and resolve, I copied</div>
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<i>"Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength. The second is this: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.' There is no commandment greater than these." - Mark 12: 30-31</i></div>
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Smack dab in the word, it hit me. Something I had missed countless times before. The little word <i>as</i>.</div>
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To love everyone else, I have to love myself first. I can only love them AS much as I love myself. Its kinda hard to love my neighbor as myself when there's a drought in my love tank. </div>
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Wresting a porcupine is easier than truly loving my family when I struggle to love who I am. Ouch. But true. Too true. So, this momma is making a new list. A new 'to do'. Relearning to take care of myself, to love myself. Amazingly, the love spills much easier onto others when I do.</div>
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Love God. Love myself. Love everyone else. The new 'to-do' around here.</div>
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17295906251145450659noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674863270172495413.post-69509955470764765242013-06-17T06:00:00.000-07:002013-06-23T21:47:14.992-07:00Slosh Grace<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Someone recently told me that I have a gift for being mom. Mind you, they don't actually <i>live </i>with me ... but it made me think deep. <br />
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Digging, I unearthed this gem nestled in 1 Peter 4:10<br />
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<i>"Each one should use whatever gift he has received to serve others, faithfully administering God's grace in its various forms."</i><br />
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Grace. Little word. Big power.<br />
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Viewing the role of mom, as a gift ... shifting my thinking, twisting and turning it to align right side up. This gift can be used, scratch that, should be used to slosh grace.<br />
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Think of the ocean. Sitting on the beach, sand sticking everywhere, waves washing over you, over and over and over. It never ends. They just keep coming. It never dries up. Always enough.<br />
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It's not my grace. Um, that runs dry pretty quick some days. It's God's grace. Whew. His grace that washes over me, over and over and over. It never ends. It just keeps coming. It never dries up. Always enough.<br />
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As mom, I simply need to slosh His grace as it pours into my life. Bring my kids alongside of me, invite them to sit next to me on the beach where the waves just keep coming.<br />
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Slosh grace. Love my kids the way God loves me.<br />
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Slosh grace. Accept them for who they are, not what they do.<br />
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Slosh grace. Recognize their gifts and teach them to use it to do their own sloshing.<br />
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I think I just may need to print a t-shirt to help me remember. slosh. grace.<br />
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17295906251145450659noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674863270172495413.post-23458310316407283292013-06-10T06:00:00.000-07:002013-06-23T22:08:14.267-07:00Time Out. Time In.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We all get out breath. Shoe comes untied. Breaks are needed. Time outs, a part of the tag game of life. <br />
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My kids, they crave tag games. Fast. Furiously Fun. Its how they live life. <i>Full Speed.</i><br />
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I sat watching, observing, absorbing, learning. Love it when this momma slows down enough to learn, even in a tag game.<br />
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As kids scamper, inevitably one pants the words TIME OUT, making the universal sign of T with lil hands. Time out granted. She catches her breath.<br />
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When she's refreshed, ready to give her all, she joyously proclaims TIME IN, dashing to join game once again.<br />
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Light bulb goes off in this momma brain. TIME IN! TIME IN! TIME IN! It brings the joy, announcing to all you are joining in the game again. And its been missing in our home.<br />
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We take time outs. Time outs when the kids can call them, when parent calls them, when mom needs them.<br />
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We all get out of breath. Emotions become untied. Breaks are needed. Time outs, a part of the tag game of life.<br />
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After the mistake admitted, apology spoken, the forgiveness asked & received, the solution agreed on ... TIME IN joyously declared.<br />
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We snuggle up, foot rub, scratch back, tickle match, extra hugs ... TIME IN! Its plum making a huge difference in the way we all enter back into the game of daily life.<br />
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Time In ... Bring on the tag game.<br />
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Would you consider joining me today? I would be honored. I'm on a mom journey. And I could use you. Your nuggets of wisdom. Your failures turned glory. A fave old post. Pictures of memories in the making. Your story of anything mom.<br />
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Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17295906251145450659noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674863270172495413.post-82941667622176582792013-06-05T07:00:00.000-07:002013-06-23T22:09:54.406-07:00On Daddy's Toes<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCGGZ800N9gdBPaPBPmOFCwYXOzqztHno0AIAI8-m-jgKKrCQmisRjjT2ic6GSBBejDmtO02_BBf8yxPTu6f1IuGM-7391XYmxwfhnyPSF26EkBOorcmI3MGxLEAiblM0ZxDs-XpnZhZc/s1600-h/1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427944558842937570" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCGGZ800N9gdBPaPBPmOFCwYXOzqztHno0AIAI8-m-jgKKrCQmisRjjT2ic6GSBBejDmtO02_BBf8yxPTu6f1IuGM-7391XYmxwfhnyPSF26EkBOorcmI3MGxLEAiblM0ZxDs-XpnZhZc/s320/1.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 255px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0px; text-align: center; width: 200px;" /></a>I see His feet.</div>
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I hear the sweet music captivating me.</div>
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I long to dance with my King.</div>
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In dismay, I hang my head.</div>
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I'm afraid I don't know how.</div>
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The steps, the rhythm, letting Him lead, only blurs of hope.</div>
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In majestic gentleness, He lifts my chin.</div>
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My eyes focus on his face, His love,</div>
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His words change my life.</div>
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'<i>Stand on my feet, my daughter, and we will dance.</i></div>
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<i>I will teach you the steps as you learn to trust me.'</i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Holding me close, I step on nail scarred feet.</span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">The dance begins.</span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">With each step, more freedom, lavish love, surrendered trust.</span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">My life's dance, standing on my Daddy's feet.</span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Today, I am learning the rhythm and the song He sings over my life.</span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">As I stand on His feet.</span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">It doesn't matter where we are, the steps we may have forgotten or never knew.</span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">The dance can begin today. </span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">He is waiting to dance with all of us. Step by step, </span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">He is teaching me, again. To trust. To let Him lead. To hear the heartbeat of heaven and dance along.</span></i></div>
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This is a splash from the past, one I needed to read again today. To be reminded of the song my Abba sings over my life as we dance together, step by step. His little girl standing on Daddy's toes.</div>
Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17295906251145450659noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1674863270172495413.post-45154540187931066562013-05-30T06:00:00.000-07:002013-07-24T10:34:57.170-07:00Momma Notes<div style="text-align: center;">
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<br />
Delighted to meet you. My name is Sarah. Wife and momma with a bit of spunk sprinkled in the mix. To sit and splash with me a bit, you would quickly realize, I am passionate about children. Around the world. Down the street. In my home. <br />
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I have loved on kids in the projects, tribal village huts, AIDS orphanages of Africa, in the classroom, on the streets in some tough places, and in our home as we foster precious little ones. <br />
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And I'm not perfect. By any means. I've <a href="http://justsarahdawn.blogspot.com/2013/05/sometimes-momma-misses.html">missed it</a>, blown it, and been lavished by grace to get up again. I'm a mom on a journey to be refreshed, renewed, and rejuvenated. Hence the momma notes, the linking of moms to encourage, up lift, and stand together.<br />
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In this momma melody, I have met some beyond beautiful women. Smiled at their stories, learned to be a bit more creative, encouraged to get on the floor and play, filled up like a squash. All right here in our momma notes.<br />
<br />
We could use you. I could use you. Your nuggets of wisdom. Your failures turned glory. Your story of anything mom. From a fave recipe, birthday pictures, memories of your mom, to tips and hugs.<br />
<br />
I'll start the splash on Mondays. And I know the filled to the brim momma schedules ... so join us any day of the week. Link up. Add your voice. Just moms. Sharing our notes. Creating a melody. <br />
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