tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60038195912443977312024-03-08T13:12:18.875-06:003-Fold Cord<center><b>A Crazy Christian couple's Meditations on God, the Bible, Holy Spirit, Healing, and Life.</b></center>Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13893036203414585178noreply@blogger.comBlogger160125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6003819591244397731.post-39410939309281985352022-11-06T22:11:00.002-06:002022-11-06T23:25:14.643-06:00The Juncos Usher in the Gloom of Winter<p><br />I stood in my office looking out the large north facing
window. Under the row of pine trees, small birds bounced around, shuffling
through the leaves, looking for something to eat. These weren’t the ubiquitous sparrows,
nor the numerous finches, not even my favorite black capped chickadee. These
birds were rounder, with darker heads and white bellies. Juncos. The Dark-eyed
Juncos are winter birds in South Dakota.
The seasons had changed. The
darkness of winter was coming quickly. As the days shortened, the juncos ushered
in the cold and the shadows. I stood
staring out that window at the group of chubby juncos with silent tears streaming down my face. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.audubon.org/news/juncos-are-original-snowbirds" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="Dark-eyed Junco. Jocelyn Anderson/Audubon Photography Awards" border="0" data-original-height="1811" data-original-width="2400" height="242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjipceM3NWdFzOChVg3iuMcJz5YI9qL7O2SRYpy495IPb7USRfuG0W76FTXUu4ye1S2IVzgN04M_e6ElDaf91koXsdf8R8uwm2xyg5G8Rau4e9SH0vpM5tShfaPS8c6cN9dWPa9cuKhDA1o8SjtbkAiSoGIloUbYOxtTUs-eW6jIzmDDfbxqPZV9GH0sQ/w320-h242/web_a1_3764_2_dark-eyed-junco_jocelyn_anderson_kk_0.jpg" title="Dark-eyed Junco. Jocelyn Anderson/Audubon Photography Awards" width="320" /></a></div>I watched those adorable juncos move about their day as if
they had been here for months.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seeing
them, I could no longer deny the passage of time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From January through summer we watched the days
lengthen, until summer breezes turn to chilly autumn winds, and in the blink of an eye the hours of daylight dwindled. The leaves changed, work campaigns ended,
and the juncos arrived.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The world seemed
to be constantly changing, evolving even, and here I was, just the same as always.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still fat, still a chatterbox,
still worrying about my dad too much, still Auntie Carla to the ever increasing
children of siblings and best friends, and still childless. The days and months
and years seem to both crawl and fly by in some twisted joke of the
universe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the first quarter of our
lives we’re always desiring to be older, to get to the next step, until
somewhere in your late twenties you realize you want to stop time- you want an
extension on this assignment called adulthood.<span><a name='more'></a></span> <o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Recently I told my therapist that I was an exceptional
student in high school and college, and now I was an exceptionally mediocre
adult.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I laughed, and she asked by who’s
standards. I promptly replied, society’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know
my worth does not lie in what I produce or own, and honestly that’s not the
part that really bothers me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I plummet
ever faster towards middle age, I’m still trying to achieve the title that so
many have accidentally earned: Mother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So the arrival of the juncos, and the impending winter and dreadful
holiday season only reminds that time keeps passing, and I keep waiting with
empty arms. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I found myself admonishing myself that the Junco’s round, feathered
bodies happily hopping around the base of the evergreens should have brought me
joy; they should not have added to the heaviness weighing on my heart. But
their presence reminded me of all the death and darkness that winter brings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These small, dark colored birds seemed to
taunt my weary soul, when in previous years I loved both identifying them and
observing their pleasant hops.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, it
wasn’t just the season change. It was this particular October. This year, I also fear that infertility is robbing me of my longest friendship. After 10 years of
stealing so much from me, I was shocked to find it might steal one thing that I never
thought was endangered. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Isn’t that how life goes? When we believe that something is
solid, it surprises us with its ability to rot and decay; to crumble and fall
apart. But everything in this life is temporary, on a long enough timeline,
every earthly thing ends. I was hoping this one would last at least another 25 years. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL6IFiS3-5LSZvjeIXZo4cjngc-vF9zLH-_7HBzcbHpA8lmGWKerAsJz9uSz5WF8-qCqJzAGpK9kdeMC-FrFousl8w6auePQD0WQWrPKsJ39ocz9wr0YRf6LBBLaIYGgfbNWRtGM8zCyeGbC_Kp76GLM2v5yha1DAACRUc8l2rnqcuYM7ADezJYOuEIQ/s1664/314669381_668079718175601_6451036354686567390_n.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1664" data-original-width="1136" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL6IFiS3-5LSZvjeIXZo4cjngc-vF9zLH-_7HBzcbHpA8lmGWKerAsJz9uSz5WF8-qCqJzAGpK9kdeMC-FrFousl8w6auePQD0WQWrPKsJ39ocz9wr0YRf6LBBLaIYGgfbNWRtGM8zCyeGbC_Kp76GLM2v5yha1DAACRUc8l2rnqcuYM7ADezJYOuEIQ/w273-h400/314669381_668079718175601_6451036354686567390_n.jpg" width="273" /></a></div>The beautiful thing about a life with Christ is that we’re
promised light in the darkness, new life<br /> springing forth from the decay, hope
that no matter how long the night, His joy comes with the morning. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As cold as the Dakotas are in the winter, this
is where many Juncos choose to nest when they leave Canada and Alaska.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It goes to show you that perspective is
powerful, while winter in the South Dakota feels almost unbearable with is
short days and subzero wind chills, to these round northern birds, it’s a
lovely climate compared to the literal tundra of northern Canada.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> J</span>ust like this terrain is only the junco's temporary home, this earthly realm is only our temporary residence. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But just as the juncos still must negotiate this
slightly warmer landscape and strive for food, shelter, and survival, we are
tasked with experiencing the fullness of life this side of heaven. And that
fullness doesn’t come without strife and pain. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">You can tell me that I will meet my miscarried child in
heaven and think your hope-filled message is neat, tidy, and unproblematic, but
I still have to grapple with the grief of never seeing that child’s face here
on earth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jesus promised us that He
would be with us, until the very end of the days, Hem also promised us
that in this life we would have trouble. We would have death and darkness. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why are we so uncomfortable living in the
tension of both eternal hope and the reality of earthly decay. Why do we not
allow ourselves to both revel and grieve in the passing of time, marked by the
arrival of the juncos?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>Carla@3-foldcord.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12219075398294807437noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6003819591244397731.post-27060255750538388752022-10-01T15:19:00.001-05:002022-10-01T15:19:33.111-05:00Cultural Influence: From Silly Green lawns to Silly Church Services<p style="text-align: left;"></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr2Zb9zLu7B4nG37x5YsBc4g-tR24Nf4pGCsdW82Z4erVjJ_4mvP0O1AE5ZlD8ioak8gYShZjWnoWrm-HQATSt7F15mz1BnUGBHG_YFgKC1bcyJ-hxU7uSo9rvScXl0O4-INq_ySJh1s6rYNCi8X7NnWEAvx4Y_syTzBPunM9FWypxecpEZXVdmlw/s300/weedkillers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="168" data-original-width="300" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr2Zb9zLu7B4nG37x5YsBc4g-tR24Nf4pGCsdW82Z4erVjJ_4mvP0O1AE5ZlD8ioak8gYShZjWnoWrm-HQATSt7F15mz1BnUGBHG_YFgKC1bcyJ-hxU7uSo9rvScXl0O4-INq_ySJh1s6rYNCi8X7NnWEAvx4Y_syTzBPunM9FWypxecpEZXVdmlw/w644-h251/weedkillers.jpg" width="644" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Killing in the name of LAWN!</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">About a month ago, while taking out the garbage, I saw our next-door neighbor standing on his front porch, beer in one hand and a garden hose in the other. Connected to that hose was a large green bottle of lawn fertilizer/weed killer that he was indiscriminately spraying on his perceived lackluster yard. The smell, although familiar, still burned my nostrils and caused my eyes to run like a millstream. As I made my way back into the house, searching for Kleenex and an antihistamine, I began to wonder: where did our obsession with perfectly groomed green lawns come from? Obviously, this was a product of culture, which begs the question: <b><u>do you think most cultural changes are positive or negative?</u></b> I don't believe it's always an either-or question; I do think we have to weigh cultural changes on how it positively or negatively affects the population as a whole.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Concerning the American penchant for meticulously manicured lawns, I would say this cultural shift is negative. While every Tom, Dick, and Lary spray noxious chemicals on his property, we lose more and more of our natural fauna and flora. <b>But damn it, our lawns look fabulous!!!</b></p><p class="MsoNormal">An excellent article entitled <a href="https://blogs.scientificamerican.com/anthropology-in-practice/the-american-obsession-with-lawns/" target="_blank">The American Obsession with Lawns</a> explains the history of this cultural shift. One of the taglines from this article is the statement: <span><b><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>"</i></span><i>Lawns are the most grown crop in the U.S.—and they're not one that anyone can eat; their primary purpose is to make us look and feel good about ourselves."</i></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><u>"Making us look and feel good about ourselves."</u> I wonder how much of this has infiltrated Christianity and our Churches? Has our attempts to look and feel good inadvertently removed the metaphorical flora and fauna of our Churches? Recently a Facebook friend posted a video of their church service where the worship band was playing: <i><b>What's the frequency, Kenneth</b>,</i> by REM to apparently help the congregation tap into the Holy Spirit's "frequency." Decent song, but I don't think the Apostle Paul would have recommended this tactic to Timothy to raise the church's spiritual awareness. </p><p class="MsoNormal">I could drone on for hours, but I'm more interested in your thoughts on these matters:</p><p class="MsoNormal">1. Do you have a well-manicured green lawn? (No judgment...well, maybe a little:)</p><p class="MsoNormal">2. Do you think culture has positively or negatively affected today's Christian church?</p><p class="MsoNormal">3. Are you a fan of REM's music?</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUWmTf8D8NOi75L0C9Jy8jHhD0v8QtBnhLOVPCHjqJ1kkcWR7-u8R0kULBLrGXVg89HbmI-v1_CMLKS0H5uq5umuXhSv4jYef--vHF-myhc6UVmW8WmUdXRg06pBSTOObpAcjRaPLlVLgZmsyf3LyKhQVGIPGTTKVedU5TBMf4Q1aBBlXnzF7NT3w/s1659/G-Pro-X-Wireless-Example-FR.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1089" data-original-width="1659" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUWmTf8D8NOi75L0C9Jy8jHhD0v8QtBnhLOVPCHjqJ1kkcWR7-u8R0kULBLrGXVg89HbmI-v1_CMLKS0H5uq5umuXhSv4jYef--vHF-myhc6UVmW8WmUdXRg06pBSTOObpAcjRaPLlVLgZmsyf3LyKhQVGIPGTTKVedU5TBMf4Q1aBBlXnzF7NT3w/s320/G-Pro-X-Wireless-Example-FR.webp" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tap into our frequency and comment below. </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span><span style="background-color: white; color: #323232; font-family: Georgia, serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"> </p><br /><p></p>Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13893036203414585178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6003819591244397731.post-6696383990154394152022-08-21T22:20:00.001-05:002022-08-22T11:19:39.138-05:00Pole Dance<p> The college friend, Munch, who lives in Montreal in the movie Away We Go isn’t ever far from my mind. Yea, a fictional character from a movie most of you haven’t seen is always somewhere near the top of the pile of noodled thoughts in my brain. </p><p>Mark and I have loved this movie since we first saw it in the early months of our marriage. We often go back to it. It’s a sweet pleasure we share, just the two of us. </p><p>And yet, I tell everyone I know to watch this movie, but most don’t. Starring John Krasinski and Maya Rudolph in early in their careers; a little known film from 2009- most people avoid attempting the search function on prime. </p><p>But we watch it together once every 12 to 18 months or so. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLlUlToUPBRjzaIWjNAlGaTqAqHNPb_NmcC7jeGqSfxVIFGORsA8UGhxkrjsxP3EAY6snb6FG4GWFFFH-XaOdIewChGHLrk7DQtGUT6C0ZdU1Z7XIt-_WvpHo4mABbYGcSeqFwM337Wc5jycTjF-i0YhFjeBMckX4vNMCoZ3v_ouHkJ-NokwgWgYYaKQ/s940/Untitled%20design.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="788" data-original-width="940" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLlUlToUPBRjzaIWjNAlGaTqAqHNPb_NmcC7jeGqSfxVIFGORsA8UGhxkrjsxP3EAY6snb6FG4GWFFFH-XaOdIewChGHLrk7DQtGUT6C0ZdU1Z7XIt-_WvpHo4mABbYGcSeqFwM337Wc5jycTjF-i0YhFjeBMckX4vNMCoZ3v_ouHkJ-NokwgWgYYaKQ/s320/Untitled%20design.png" width="320" /></a></div>The plot, and this particular subplot sting more now than it did in 2010. In 2010 I didn’t understand Munch and her pole dance. She didn’t make much sense to me, but I enjoyed the Canadian stop in the progressive travel plot of the movie. <p></p><p>In 2010, I thought Munch and her husband had it all. They had adopted a gaggle of diverse kids ranging in age from 5 to 16. They lived in a beautiful brownstone and were still in contact with their besties from college. It looked like an amazing life, one in which I had hoped to live in a few short years. </p><p>I didn’t fully understand the desperate dance at the random strip club on amateur night. I didn’t understand the look of known pain she exchanged with her husband as she was up on that pole while her college friend looked on stunned. It made little sense to me then. And yet now, over a decade later, I've exchanged similar looks with my own dear husband. </p><span></span><span><a name='more'></a></span><p>In the film, her husband mentioned she had had yet another miscarriage, just that week. Their friends had no idea. While I could somewhat sympathize with the pain they felt, I didn’t yet understand the desperation of the dance and I wasn't yet intimately acquainted with the pain. They had so many kids, how could they still be longing and trying when obviously a full-term pregnancy wasn’t in the cards for them. </p><p>I get it now. A bit too well. I am so glad that 2010 Carla didn’t utter those words out loud to anyone. </p><p>I understand Munch's dance now in ways I wish I didn't. I am not saying I’m going to jump up on a pole to dance at strip club anytime soon.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/q-cXvTzO9wc" width="320" youtube-src-id="q-cXvTzO9wc"></iframe></div><br /><p>But I understand Munch's need to express her grief, to let out the anguish she can't usually show. I understand how happy she is for her friend's pregnancy and the overwhelming grief she has for her own. I understand the tension and anxiety she hides from her friends. I have hobbies now that I didn’t have back when I didn't know all these things. They are filling a space that has yet to be filled with pregnancy, babies, and motherhood. I know many people don’t get the things I’m interested in 2022. I don’t completely understand them either. </p><p>But I do understand Munch's pain. The constant longing. The hoping for something that isn’t logically in the cards. The blame she puts on herself for making plans for a family she thought would be so easy. I understand the desperate desire to be seen as a woman, even though my woman’s body won’t do the things it was meant to do, even though our society doesn’t see me as a complete woman because I haven’t attained true motherhood. I want to be seen as a complete, functioning, whole, sexual woman. I want to bee seen as a woman who can accomplish my so-called God-given female capability. Perhaps I want you to see me that way, because I no longer see myself that way. </p><p>I understand Munch's loss and the ensuing grief, though we’ve only experienced one miscarriage, and not the five Munch had. I’ve yet to know the hope of 2 lines post loss. What I thought was a very painful beginning, a promise of more to come, has just become a very confused, excruciating middle. One that many people in my life are probably learning about for the first time here. I didn’t tell many people about my miscarriage, just like Munch didn’t tell her dear college friend about hers. </p><p>No, I’m not going to dance on a pole. But I am walking around in the world like I’m a whole person not aching each minute for something more. I’m known to most as a normal adult, a professional, who might talk a little too much and make dark jokes- but someone like the rest of you. But I don’t feel like the rest of you. I feel like an anomaly. And I can see that you notice the difference, but you don’t know that those differences come with an unspoken price. And sometimes, when I can’t shake the melancholy of childlessness by moving forward with my normal life, I just want to climb up on that pole and show the world the bereaved mother hiding under the surface. </p><p>But I know you won’t get it.</p><p><br /></p>Carla@3-foldcord.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12219075398294807437noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6003819591244397731.post-11164180901663492292021-02-07T18:17:00.005-06:002021-02-08T21:37:27.132-06:00Applying Pressure<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8b3cZVlAZLOmYAtsomaJJ6z3hIvNyiCU3HYiQ3VEOWdgR_h3jdmO_ahFHYaYtC6xAwjPmQcdyVKnwa1lXSbEUdbJBf_feow4JWJWnwRdrixMVi7agaNKup-HhjNQd61KkJJhyphenhyphenyxHYUsXT/s2048/0824191559b_2.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2030" data-original-width="2048" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8b3cZVlAZLOmYAtsomaJJ6z3hIvNyiCU3HYiQ3VEOWdgR_h3jdmO_ahFHYaYtC6xAwjPmQcdyVKnwa1lXSbEUdbJBf_feow4JWJWnwRdrixMVi7agaNKup-HhjNQd61KkJJhyphenhyphenyxHYUsXT/w200-h198/0824191559b_2.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="color: #0e101a;">In April of this year, Mark and I will celebrate our 11th Wedding Anniversary. It will also mark approximately 8 years and six months of trying for, hoping for, praying for, and desiring babies.</span></span><p></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">My mother was sick with Early Onset Alzheimer's for over 13 years and died 2 years ago this month. In those 15 years, I often shared through social media, blogging, speeches, and with acquaintances and dear friends about the unique pain of grieving a parent who is still alive and subsequently burying a parent you were already mourning and missing. </span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">But for the last 8 years, I have not shared much about our fertility struggles. There were brief spurts on social media and even on this blog when I was brave, but it was fleeting. I think it's harder to be public about it because it is a wound that never heals, never scabs, never scars-it just keeps bleeding into every area of my life. Lifting the fragile bandages off this wound only exposes it to the callousness and lack of understanding of the world. So I only give the world glimpses and peeks under the bandage, afraid I will bleed to death if I am too exposed.</span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">You see, when I tell people that my mother didn't remember my name, or know who I was, or couldn't talk or walk, they can briefly imagine their parent with such an illness. They can wear that grief for a second or two. But when I tell them I want to be a mother, and we haven't been able to conceive, people simply cannot forget their children exist- this grief doesn't fit, they cannot wear even for a moment. They cannot imagine a world where they long for parenthood because they are actively parenting in their real world. They cannot empathize their real-life babies into mere dreams.</span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">When people cannot grasp the pain you are in, they respond to it in a myriad of hurtful ways. This includes, but is not limited to, telling me I was not meant to be a mother, giving bad advice, asking extremely personal questions about our reproductive organs, making jokes, and giving more bad advice. Many people have told me to relax. One woman told me I just needed to get drunk and have fun with my husband. Honey, we have lots of fun. One time, our pastor's wife asked me, whose "fault" it was that we didn't have kids. I did not tell her.</span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAEJ0k2MzVFjFSfepXCPJr8u-WOdU2mQxfJisZxX7PVMiimD0tBdSFKoyRRJS98oXgTi6Ofv81XcaLZwgU8Yc0enIRbWblhffq2Dj32uqhW1f-hx4Xadqh1wcFZ48LpR59OtcnBJZ4zC-Z/s550/canva-woman-sitting-on-wooden-planks-MADyQ2oSIrU.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="550" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAEJ0k2MzVFjFSfepXCPJr8u-WOdU2mQxfJisZxX7PVMiimD0tBdSFKoyRRJS98oXgTi6Ofv81XcaLZwgU8Yc0enIRbWblhffq2Dj32uqhW1f-hx4Xadqh1wcFZ48LpR59OtcnBJZ4zC-Z/w320-h214/canva-woman-sitting-on-wooden-planks-MADyQ2oSIrU.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">First of all, it is no one's fault. I have many conversations with God, many pleading, desperate conversations about our unfulfilled desire for children. Still, I am no closer to understanding why we have not had babies. I see slivers of purpose for this pain, but I have no flowery explanation to share with you. What I can tell you is that I trust God and His plan for our family - even if I yell at Him like an inpatient, petulant child. But what I will not tell you is anything clinical related to this journey. I might tell you about the many tests we both have endured, about the invasive ultrasound wands, the humiliation and pain of a hysterosalpingogram. But I won't tell you if we ever received a diagnosis. I will vaguely tell you that the ART routes we attempted were all blocked and that I believe that was part of God's plan.</span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">But I won't give you any details. I won't share reports or doctor's words. If you are a praying person and want to pray for our family, this is not information that you need. It is information that many people want. I believe how we pray matters, I believe that doubt is powerful, and our words matter.</span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><em style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: arial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">While he was still speaking, there came from the ruler's house some who said, "Your daughter is dead. Why trouble the Teacher any further?" But overhearing what they said, Jesus said to the ruler of the synagogue, "</em><strong style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: arial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><em style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Do not fear, only believe</em></strong><em style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: arial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">." And he allowed no one to follow him except Peter and James and John the brother of James. They came to the house of the ruler of the synagogue, and Jesus saw a commotion, people weeping and wailing loudly. And when he had entered, he said to them, "Why are you making a commotion and weeping? The child is not dead but sleeping." </em><strong style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: arial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><em style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">And they laughed at him. But he put them all outside and took the child's father and mother </em></strong><em style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: arial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">and those who were with him and went in where the child was. Taking her by the hand he said to her, "Talitha cumi," which means, "Little girl, I say to you, arise." And immediately the girl got up and began walking (for she was twelve years of age), and they were immediately overcome with amazement. And he strictly charged them that no one should know this, and told them to give her something to eat. </em><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; font-family: arial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">Mark 5:35-41</span></p><p><span style="color: #0e101a; font-family: arial;">If you're praying for me to be ok with a childless life, please stop praying; those are prayers I do not need. If you look at 8 years and only see a mountain of impossibility, I ask for you to search for a mustard seed. If that mustard seed cannot be found, I ask you to completely put our predicament out of your mind. We do not need the doubt of others in our ears or in your prayers; we battle in our hearts and minds enough without your intrusions. We strive to rid ourselves of fear, and only believe; to take all the doubts and doubters and put them outside.</span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixBbvMGEuZkPHvggaOdcnMpO7d4TAnFcxw5RQedxBVrzplasK1gexK876nKRypFD5f21Qn5tf_xVDYb9hpl78olx79dUwTEhgFlmAlERSHETSuzoDfvkvrAkVVl548__1WNdF63ebX1Q03/s1600/canva-white-and-blue-pregnancy-test-kit-MAEP8Dzdx1k.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixBbvMGEuZkPHvggaOdcnMpO7d4TAnFcxw5RQedxBVrzplasK1gexK876nKRypFD5f21Qn5tf_xVDYb9hpl78olx79dUwTEhgFlmAlERSHETSuzoDfvkvrAkVVl548__1WNdF63ebX1Q03/s320/canva-white-and-blue-pregnancy-test-kit-MAEP8Dzdx1k.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">But silence is not what I seek. I will admit that Mark and I have different needs, and I think silence is indeed what he often seeks. But ignoring the gaping wound provides no balm or comfort. People are uncomfortable with pain and grief and, therefore, purposely ignore and avoid it. I know many women who have lost children, they think about them every day, your mentioning their name is not protecting them, or bringing up what was not already on their minds. Every day I feel the absence of children in my life. I am not depressed or forlorn every single day. I definitely have moments of despair; holidays and the darkness of winter are hard. But I live knowing something is missing. I live expectantly. I have a beautiful, thriving marriage and a husband that can always make me laugh. I have friends who are like family and family who are close and caring. My life is good. And yet, it is missing something. I am filled with joy, but I hold grief in my heart. Life is a collage of contradictions. We exist in the 'and' of beauty and pain. We all do. I've gotten more comfortable with the in-between in recent years.</span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></span></p><p style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: #0e101a; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span data-preserver-spaces="true" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;">If you are expectantly praying and hoping for us, if you think about our struggles with sympathy, if you want to support us- let us know! Break the silence. A simple text or card doesn't upset me; it makes me feel seen and loved. Infertility is a lonely community- there are thousands of men and women in private support groups who quietly walk this path every day. You work with them, you go to church with them, but you don't know their daily pain. It is a private ache, and we are afraid that your lack of empathy will cause us to drown in the blood of our emotional wounds. But your encouragement applies pressure to the wound and strengthens our resolve.</span></span></p>Carla@3-foldcord.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12219075398294807437noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6003819591244397731.post-79412864614212179762021-01-17T14:28:00.003-06:002021-01-17T14:35:17.046-06:00Knowing Evil<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXHOhUKnDOacECCYPToDX_T5Y207heesIMt9ZJBz6Rr1OEGhifgsdXnn9MlzxLMwiNTWKWsH-pmHu5AmrS9VZGOZkwp0Agnq58-tH-niLeVlMGCVgbzJymI45jx4UYOI-W0K3SAqKdX3A/s1200/gustave+dore+devils+%2528evil+conference%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="575" data-original-width="1200" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXHOhUKnDOacECCYPToDX_T5Y207heesIMt9ZJBz6Rr1OEGhifgsdXnn9MlzxLMwiNTWKWsH-pmHu5AmrS9VZGOZkwp0Agnq58-tH-niLeVlMGCVgbzJymI45jx4UYOI-W0K3SAqKdX3A/w400-h191/gustave+dore+devils+%2528evil+conference%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">When it comes to Christianity, social media is a fascinating and perplexing medium these days. Specifically, I see many Christians posting, Tweeting, and advocating for fellow Christians to <b>“stand up against evil!</b>” or <b>“We need to fight against evil!”</b> On the surface, this emotional “call to arms” appears rational, appropriate, and necessary. However, if we look a bit deeper, things are not exactly what they seem. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;">Just yesterday, I responded to a few posts and Tweets where the author pleaded for Christians to stand up and fight against “evil.” To which I merely replied: “<i>what do you consider evil</i>?” The responses I received varied from “<i>are you a reprobate? I shouldn’t have to explain this to you!”</i> to “<i>you must be a leftist idiot!”</i> I found all these responses rather peculiar since not one of them expounded on exactly what the “evil” was we’re to be fighting? If I pressed them, I was almost always blocked, unfollowed, or unfriended. So when I dug a bit deeper into these “Christian” accounts, it became clear of what they considered the “pinnacles of evil”: </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><i>1. Election fraud (Trump won!) </i></b></span></div><div><b style="font-size: large;"><i>2. Mask mandates (This is nothing more than Social Control and Communism.) </i></b></div><div><b style="font-size: large;"><i>3 Covid-19 (Hoax. The Democrats used it to destroy the economy.)</i></b></div><div><b style="font-size: large;"><i>4. The vaccine (This is nothing more than mRNA reprogramming.) </i></b></div><div><b style="font-size: large;"><i>5. Biden Inauguration (Illegitimate! And the AntiChrist is most likely going to make an appearance.) </i></b></div></blockquote><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"> Christians that espouse the list above almost always have a select Bible verse to justify their post/Tweet, so how can you argue with that? Though I do find eisegesis to be disingenuous and disgusting. </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcfUE7DXAtlu0R9j6nfbfOZelfWmtsOJShfyfqbaJyrBql_jGg_nmPiu0TMQsp37zyndkVnFipalFNJ7NRVISgfvT9bS6xmwiWOFtZs5lCKJem1Im-Xlt1tZebesZqn7TgKxK7g6NfwPY/s304/Helpingothers.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="166" data-original-width="304" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcfUE7DXAtlu0R9j6nfbfOZelfWmtsOJShfyfqbaJyrBql_jGg_nmPiu0TMQsp37zyndkVnFipalFNJ7NRVISgfvT9bS6xmwiWOFtZs5lCKJem1Im-Xlt1tZebesZqn7TgKxK7g6NfwPY/w400-h218/Helpingothers.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"> As Christians, we do both Christianity and the World a disservice when our political ideology blinds us to the real evils and needs that surround us: </span></div><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><ol style="text-align: left;"><li><b><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Poverty (hunger, homelessness, quality daycare) </span>Racism </i></b></li><li><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><i> Consistent life ethic ( death penalty, abortion, and helping struggling single parents) </i></b></span></li><li><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><i>Human trafficking </i></b></span></li><li><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><i> Helping prisoners and widows/shut-ins.</i></b></span></li></ol><div><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><u>This list is not exhaustive, so feel free to add yours to
the comments below.</u><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;">Blessings to you and yours!</span><o:p></o:p></p></div></div>
Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13893036203414585178noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6003819591244397731.post-44803083827332838752021-01-03T15:30:00.006-06:002021-01-05T00:08:37.478-06:00How Trump-supporting “Christians” are destroying the local church<p><b><i>(It might not be a bad thing)</i></b></p><p></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx3BWKx78Ebee3FAmcdqyRflFec9WvngS0YYdroSZlL-63UFjaiujLaMZr1-8pL0E6dyF5flxB4SkRj5ELPhjr-lglkFXX52mH-9rwJTZOG1YIF2pqI0oRkQm9Js44sn1MoK_PHXwbyh8/s760/churchdown.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="506" data-original-width="760" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx3BWKx78Ebee3FAmcdqyRflFec9WvngS0YYdroSZlL-63UFjaiujLaMZr1-8pL0E6dyF5flxB4SkRj5ELPhjr-lglkFXX52mH-9rwJTZOG1YIF2pqI0oRkQm9Js44sn1MoK_PHXwbyh8/w509-h213/churchdown.jpg" width="509" /></a></div><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p></blockquote>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">We currently live in Sioux Falls,
SD, where are there are over 125 local churches. These churches include all mainline
denominations as well as non-denominations. All these churches are brick and
mortar buildings that require utilities and upkeep. I’m not going to
speculate about the amount of money it takes to keep these god-pods up and running, but I will
say it is substantial. <b><u>What a damn waste of time, money, and resources!</u></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhU05GJDhQIiy_WHxSk_9oBdBcN7gtXFyBfEMnDYNOzAMBr-FUuwt5PRl1X_LZKzpOW3GFjCIVhMUiAz3Cdv7q8yyIhBIAcOROC9KTTCpmpHb_iliNDcfmtMEYkQ25ts1lQT67f3nTmSk/s952/moneypreach.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="498" data-original-width="952" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhU05GJDhQIiy_WHxSk_9oBdBcN7gtXFyBfEMnDYNOzAMBr-FUuwt5PRl1X_LZKzpOW3GFjCIVhMUiAz3Cdv7q8yyIhBIAcOROC9KTTCpmpHb_iliNDcfmtMEYkQ25ts1lQT67f3nTmSk/s320/moneypreach.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">We live in a day when it is profitable
to be a “prophet” and run a church, but perhaps those days are coming to a
close? Prosperity preachers and evangelicals have thrown their hats, as well as
their pulpits, in the ring for President Trump, which may be their undoing. We
have seen this in the city of Sioux Falls as well. Many of our local evangelical
preachers have not only been Trump supporters, but they have also been Covid-deniers
and anti-maskers as well. At first, I was perplexed by their behavior; however,
it didn’t take long to see that the main driver here had nothing to with God or
Jesus; it was purely about the almighty dollar: <b><u>the alluring, unholy god of
avarice.</u></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">It is not my intention to throw
the proverbial baby out with the bathwater, but I advocate for these Trump-god
churches to be taxed or shut down. In my opinion, this would be about 30%
of the churches in my hometown (a conservative estimate). <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Good riddance. </p>Marcushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13893036203414585178noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6003819591244397731.post-40585133007375094992020-01-09T22:20:00.004-06:002020-01-09T22:22:13.266-06:00Tales of a Grinch's Holiday Hangover. <h3 class="graf graf--h3" name="35fc">
It’s me, I’m the grinch.</h3>
<div class="graf graf--p graf--startsWithDoubleQuote" name="1f1d">
“Have you been stressed?” my chiropractor asks me. I’m getting a full exam instead of just a regular adjustment. It’s a super exciting way to ring in 2020. She informs me that I’m tight from the base of skull down to the curve of my ass cheeks.</div>
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I pause to consider if I’ve been stressed, somehow forgetting that I just recently escaped the abomination that is the Holiday Season.</div>
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<br /></div>
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“Well, I hate December and everything that comes with it,” I give as an answer.</div>
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<br /></div>
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It seems my back and neck are still clinging to the after effects of the holidays. My muscles are suffering from a Christmas hangover. I was wondering where I was hiding that anxiety, glad to have found it.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img class="graf-image" data-height="3023" data-image-id="1*_yhjbHxPUxxe4HdVpB3H9Q.jpeg" data-width="3984" src="https://cdn-images-1.medium.com/max/800/1*_yhjbHxPUxxe4HdVpB3H9Q.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">Photo by Lynne Hl</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />
The fact that I was born in December doesn’t seem to save the month from my yearly aversion. I have also grown to detest the yearly reminder of my march towards oblivion.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="2154">
My chiropractor briefly agrees with me regarding the awfulness of the holidays. This comes as a relief. Often when the secret of my grinchiness gets out, people pry. People seem to expect me to present a burden of proof to justify my hatred of the holidays.</div>
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The thing is, I don’t hate <em class="markup--em markup--p-em">your</em> holidays. I hate MY holidays.</div>
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I’m a fairly open person. Ok, if I’m being an honest, I’m a recovering over-sharer. Boundaries and personal space were hard lessons I eventually learned in my mid to late twenties.</div>
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I learned these lessons partly because I married a very private person and I respect my husband enough not share on his behalf. </div>
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Also because in the last 8 years I’ve morphed into a woman whose mom is slowly dying from a wretched disease <em class="markup--em markup--p-em">AND</em> who suffers from infertility and the resulting childlessness. It’s a heavy combo and it doesn’t always make for the greatest small talk. Therefore, I avoid talking about these things with new people. Or I introduce these gems of my life by making jokes about them. I’ve found out, not everyone appreciates dark humor.</div>
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<br /></div>
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If I let my holiday hatred spew out, people are certain to press me for more information. I’m sure it blows many a mind that a vocal Christian and church goer like myself does not want to get all tinseled up to celebrate the birth of Christ.</div>
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Listen, I love Jesus, and I’m grateful for Him every day. I just hate His birthday. I mean, I hate mine too.</div>
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This year there as been an interesting change. My mom died in February. Therefore when people are trying to figure out my reason for the bahhumbugs they get this really pitiful look on their face and say something like, “Ohhh, the first year without a loved one is really hard.”</div>
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To which I tend to blurt out, “But she hasn’t actually been a part of our holiday festivities for like, 8 years. She’s been in a nursing home and hasn’t spoken. So, it’s not the first year without her,” because I like to add an extra dose of awkward to the situation.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="df47">
This exchange tends to make people pretty uncomfortable and tends to work in my favor. Everyone wants to tell me what grieving my mom is supposed to look like and that’s a great distraction so I don’t have to ruin their Christmas joy and get into the real reasons I hate the holidays.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="bf69">
Truthfully, at first it really was about my mom. Those first few years post-diagnosis I created so many expectations for myself to attempt to fill the gaping hole that my mom’s deteriorating brain had left. </div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="53af">
By the time the 23rd of 24th of December rolled around I was ball of nerves yelling at those I loved or crying about pie crust or monster cookies. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I had to let go of that stuff and allow new traditions and new expectations (or no expectations) replace the years of healthy mom holidays.</div>
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After she moved into a nursing home I started wishing December had a forward button on December I could push and somehow safely land in January avoiding holiday-induced crying jags on the living room floor.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="ea98">
But still the worst of my grinchiness hadn’t set in yet.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="graf graf--p" name="210c">
The real killer of good tidings of comfort and joy is ....<i>continue reading on <a href="https://medium.com/@carladthielbar/tales-of-a-grinchs-holiday-hangover-ecec6141101" target="_blank">Medium</a>. </i></div>
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<figure class="graf graf--figure" name="e867"><img class="graf-image" data-height="3264" data-image-id="1*bxOhKVgvD7SlYAQaow3xDA.jpeg" data-width="4896" src="https://cdn-images-1.medium.com/max/800/1*bxOhKVgvD7SlYAQaow3xDA.jpeg" /><figcaption class="imageCaption"><br /></figcaption></figure>Carla@3-foldcord.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12219075398294807437noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6003819591244397731.post-67228716279803818052019-12-09T23:03:00.000-06:002019-12-11T20:52:40.501-06:00"You can have some," and other Remembered Words of Alzheimer's <div class="graf graf--p" name="650e">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I don’t remember the last time I heard my mother say, “I love you.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I don’t remember the last time she said it to me or to anyone else.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She died this past February. But the last time I heard the words, “I love you” pass through her lips was many years before. If I had to guess, I would guess it was in 2011.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It’s hard to remember much of what she actually said to me in my life. When I was 24 she was diagnosed with Early Onset Alzheimer’s disease. Even then in the early stages, conversation was difficult and awkward. Alzheimer’s was like the ugly elephant in the room stepping on our mouths, preventing the usual chatter exchanged between mother and daughter.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFgvReCFiEj9y0X98iuWQuFjEIL_oBeKa465OQ94L6SzdLxTsy_qcRs1PDuOLffVJlwCz70Ycm0pfQOnhxIO_qFX-_UvGFdjvGcCxEu2EUJF3jiRl7NMcDBF9vMTzXAJHyOhYzTn2DJurB/s1600/1209192127d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFgvReCFiEj9y0X98iuWQuFjEIL_oBeKa465OQ94L6SzdLxTsy_qcRs1PDuOLffVJlwCz70Ycm0pfQOnhxIO_qFX-_UvGFdjvGcCxEu2EUJF3jiRl7NMcDBF9vMTzXAJHyOhYzTn2DJurB/s400/1209192127d.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So I would sit and watch Family Feud with her. Or sit next to her and thumb through books of cross-stitch patterns, writing my name next to the ones I wanted her to stitch. I probably wrote my name on over a 100 of those patterns. I didn’t really want any of them. Cross-stitch wasn’t my thing, and it definitely wasn’t my style. But she learned cross-stitch when she was young, and her hands remembered it even when her mind failed her. She couldn’t work as a nurse anymore, couldn’t provide the emotional support to her children that she used to, so she spent hours on elaborate cross stitch patterns. She threaded together words and pictures almost every day. I didn’t want those pictures at the time, but I wanted to give my mother purpose- and she wanted to give us whatever she could. So I wrote my name, and she stitched.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I can’t remember many significant conversations with her. I just remember hours sharing space with her on the couches in her living room and occasionally on long walks. In later years I shared space with her in cramped nursing home bedrooms. Regardless of the venue, I strain to hear her voice in my memories.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Even when Mark proposed, I know she was one of the first people I told- but...</span><i style="font-family: arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Continue reading on Medium <a href="https://medium.com/@carladthielbar/you-can-have-some-and-other-remembered-words-of-alzheimers-bd534266b438?sk=386b1144cc44b32e4671d89ddcb137c3" target="_blank">here</a></i></div>
Carla@3-foldcord.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12219075398294807437noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6003819591244397731.post-87886914541631517772019-12-04T19:18:00.001-06:002019-12-04T19:18:49.580-06:00Update and Exciting Announcements<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hi Friends! Or whoever still pays attention to this very neglected space. 2019. Oof. It's been a weird year. This is literally the second post on 3-Fold Cord this year. And it's the first time you've heard from me in almost 2 years. I can't tell you how many times I had 5 or more ideas floating around my head that I wanted to flesh out into a post. But somehow, it hasn't happened. Call it busyness, laziness, or a lack of commitment, I will admit to any of them. The last 4 years have been full of both changes and also much of the same. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This year has been a strange for me. In January Mark declared it would be THE year and it has definitely not been THE year I was expecting.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnQdet8k9aKiWktzlubU-SPYLCPUVskJC9R9Qc4upKv14PUlPtEvXGKlWhRXPa-TlFx1tcwY53PrH91G0vX8IVs-563h0vRfMNLdjmPqZhwHlIwOhTxSuneiVtV2HKp9ztOGnd6hIRlruW/s1600/41906.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnQdet8k9aKiWktzlubU-SPYLCPUVskJC9R9Qc4upKv14PUlPtEvXGKlWhRXPa-TlFx1tcwY53PrH91G0vX8IVs-563h0vRfMNLdjmPqZhwHlIwOhTxSuneiVtV2HKp9ztOGnd6hIRlruW/s400/41906.jpeg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In 2019 my mother died after suffering from Early Onset Alzheimer's for 13 years. I also started a new job, decided I hated it as much as the last one, and quit that job. I'm in the process of launching a freelance writing business and am finding so much joy in putting words on the screen again. In 2019 we celebrated 9 years of marriage, rejoiced in my dad being cancer free, attended a few concerts and one beer fest. We sipped great wines, studied the Bible and grew in love- the 3-fold cord is strong. This year I also buried two grandmothers, became a great aunt, our cats, Gemini and Tulip turned 12 and 1 respectively, and I spent another 12 months in the unfulfilled longing to become a mother. </span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxm86pNNhsSHonC5DRX6-GDooKyBIQASlIn5zr0UgINSDUi_kCnO40OAsWeThL5FzItuaJhH51YgF1zItpZgNlaTkMr4XE3ryuDAKisWOif7ZlbciO2sedcqvqagyNHn9rIOYqR8HF3j0s/s1600/FB_IMG_1575506563198.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="718" data-original-width="1080" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxm86pNNhsSHonC5DRX6-GDooKyBIQASlIn5zr0UgINSDUi_kCnO40OAsWeThL5FzItuaJhH51YgF1zItpZgNlaTkMr4XE3ryuDAKisWOif7ZlbciO2sedcqvqagyNHn9rIOYqR8HF3j0s/s320/FB_IMG_1575506563198.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">photos by Still Falling Photography</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Every year is filled with both trials and triumphs and at year end I often focus on the joy and blessings- this year I'm determined to do the same. I've heard Jesus speaking to me through tough lessons and I feel finally ready to let go of my stubbornness and open myself open His lessons and accept my soul is still in need of refining. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I could talk about the wayward path that has brought me here today and bemoan my bad luck, but I've come to realize, that even if the path is long and windy, there is purpose in traversing it. Through this change in my attitude to God's lessons, I've decided to stop hammering away jobs I'm not really good at, hoping to manifest financial blessings through shear belief and hope (all while being unfulfilled). Through my career, I've had jobs I've loved and jobs I've hated. I'm finally ready to stop compromising and pursue something I'm excited about. I'm in the process of launching a <b>freelance writing business</b> and I'm finding so much joy in putting words on the screen again. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So my dear readers (if there are any of you left), I wanted to let you know that I'm back and that you can expect to hear from me often. I'll be updating this site weekly and you can also find me writing over on Medium. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Let me know if you or someone you know is in need of content for your business!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Please also let me know what your current creative pursuits are and where I can find them- I would love to be inspired by you!<br /></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwCPBRPRy07a1i7z-S122O6qzB0da_PS3rxLnk0J1QOe4ZLcbmWp-94GGww_qiXJh_AS5zT_pyXF0qxrdzVzuhXmK5jef3I-GdIcZTAdHyI6kFq_dpbRTf1RzEaOigl33Ac8E6Fp7o43q7/s1600/27.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1065" data-original-width="1600" height="424" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwCPBRPRy07a1i7z-S122O6qzB0da_PS3rxLnk0J1QOe4ZLcbmWp-94GGww_qiXJh_AS5zT_pyXF0qxrdzVzuhXmK5jef3I-GdIcZTAdHyI6kFq_dpbRTf1RzEaOigl33Ac8E6Fp7o43q7/s640/27.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Still Falling Photography</span></td></tr>
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<br />Carla@3-foldcord.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12219075398294807437noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6003819591244397731.post-70407866632663557172019-01-18T09:21:00.001-06:002019-01-18T10:20:52.468-06:004 Dangerous Words<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_9TCVRWhF8ArztZc5crBrPp7eXw4_S-m9BKmyNcMaT4GATqCU1VMuGVFazBsVH9YtuQ7tKFFnshGfQsCFB3kFhTNnbQxCoytv2tOM1wIjuZX5ccdiFRyVDrTVQKgCAW_CW7PwyKrzBbE/s1600/arizona-sunrise-1343586096ufZ.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="150" data-original-width="408" height="146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_9TCVRWhF8ArztZc5crBrPp7eXw4_S-m9BKmyNcMaT4GATqCU1VMuGVFazBsVH9YtuQ7tKFFnshGfQsCFB3kFhTNnbQxCoytv2tOM1wIjuZX5ccdiFRyVDrTVQKgCAW_CW7PwyKrzBbE/s400/arizona-sunrise-1343586096ufZ.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I believe the four most dangerous words in the English
language for Christians are: <b><i><u>“Thy Will be done.”</u></i></b> I realize we Christians give a
lot of lip service to these words- and the truth is- how can we not? I mean
when the disciples asked Jesus to <i>“teach us how to pray?”</i> Jesus uttered these
exact words when reciting what has come to be known as the Lord’s Prayer. That
being said, have we really considered the ramifications of these words? Up
until a couple years ago I know I didn’t. Many of us really believe that
wherever we are, and whatever we are doing, it’s God ordained. I have come to
realize that nothing could be further from the truth. </div>
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My personal experience, when I prayed those powerful words,
and meant it, was my world began to be shaken to the core! The things that once
gave me security started to foundationally erode; the things that I thought
made me happy gradually became bitter. This was God’s Will…this was God’s plan.
And while common sense would say, “just surrender”, I had other ideas: I fought
it tooth and nail; I became angry at God! I believe my response is all too
common in Christendom. We have been programmed to believe that if we are
comfortable and secure, God is blessing us. However, if our supports and
securities are getting kicked out from underneath us, God is angry and
punishing us. The truth is, God has had a plan for each and every one of us before
time began, but ultimately, when it comes to our life, we have the choice of “thy
will be done” or “my will be done”. The former is not the smoothest most
comfortable path, it is the narrow path. This path is often wrought with trials
and attacks from the enemy…however, this is nothing more than a refining
process that strips away the follies of the flesh and molds us into the image
of Jesus Christ.<o:p></o:p></div>
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In closing, when you pray the words, <b><i><u>“Thy Will be done”</u></i></b>, do
you really mean it? <o:p></o:p></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6003819591244397731.post-12808359040094567212018-08-16T10:39:00.001-05:002021-01-17T20:28:37.948-06:00Rapture Theology<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">I must admit, I enjoy a good theological debate. However, I find most Christians would rather endure the pillory or the rack than engage in a good Biblical discussion. I believe people fall into several categories concerning this issue: </span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">1. There are those that think it's a waste of time and divisive. </span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">2. There are those that feel they are uninformed and have nothing to add.</span><br />
<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">3. There are those couldn't care less.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No Biblical debates please!</td></tr>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><b>That being said, I will push forward anyway. </b></span></div>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">About a week ago I put up a Twitter poll where I asked people the following: "Do you believe in any form of Rapture theology?" I had 1033 kind souls chime in and the results were as follows:</span></div>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">74% voted <b>Yes</b>, they believe in Rapture theology</span></div>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">21% voted <b>No</b></span></div>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">5% voted that they thought this was <b>song sung by Blondie.</b> (God bless them!)</span></div>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">So as you can plainly see, a vast majority of the people polled believe in some sort of rapture doctrine. Now for full disclosure, <u style="font-weight: bold;">I do not believe in the Rapture.</u> Now at this point you may be tempted to pelt me with rocks and verbal rebukes...but please hear me out! </span></div>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">My first contention, which I will deal with in this post, involves the Rapture theology not being taught in the first 1800 years of church history. It wasn't until 1830 that <i><b>John Darby</b></i> formulated this theory. In his own words he said: <i>"it literally jumped out of the pages of the Bible."</i> And while this is all fine and good, we must ask:<b> "is it really possible that all of the church fathers up until 1830 missed this little gem?" </b></span></div>
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Church fathers like: Augustine, Athanasius, Ireneaus, Basil, Tertullian, Origen,Cyril, John Chrysotom, Justin Martyr, Jerome, or Hilary. </span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Is it also possible that the theologians of the middle ages: Aquinas, Anselm, Abelard, Calvin, Luther, and Zwingli missed it too?</span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Lastly, is it possible that more modern theologians like Barth, Bonhoeffer, Bulgmann, Moltmann, Tillich, and N.T Wright missed it also?</span><br />
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<span face=""arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Now it's your turn...</span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6003819591244397731.post-23160161282428974722018-02-27T21:28:00.000-06:002019-01-19T14:46:57.130-06:00Creeping Lies of the Enemy <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Ugh. Ok friends I can’t post out of nowhere without mentioning
that we haven’t posted much in the last year(s).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I promise you, at any given time I have at
least 5 blog posts floating around my head, waiting to get out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am just undisciplined.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I promise by summer, I’ll have at least 5
more for you (if we have any readers left). <o:p></o:p></div>
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For the past 6-8 months I’ve been experiencing a comforting
renewal and regeneration in my faith life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>After a couple years of beating myself up about not being where I used
to be, I finally let go of the times I was stronger and just accepted the now.
No easy feat for someone who continuously wants to be better and do better in
everything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I am not in a
competition with myself, and no matter the crisis or tragedy that I previously
overcame through Jesus, comparing myself to myself was getting me nowhere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a long dry season of feeling like God
wasn’t speaking to me and wondering why I was more often a hot mess crying on
my bathroom floor than pouring over my Bible and breathing in the truth of
Jesus, somehow I let go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Through
deepened and almost constant prayer and stepping back my from my intense focus
on my desire for children and subsequent pain of those unmet desires while
opening myself up to the pain and needs of others, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could finally hear God again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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So as I was basking in my resurgence of faith I was
surprised to find myself hit with lies from the enemy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lies that sound so true, it’s tempting to
believe them. I was very tempted to return to my former place of wallowing-
usually on the bathroom floor, because I thought Mark couldn’t hear my sobs and
would just assume I was struggling with tummy problems and not pressing my face
into a towel attempting to both muffle my sobs and drown out the pain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sobbing isn’t wrong, friends, but moving in
and making camp in a place of wallowing to the point that Jesus seems like a
distant stranger is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was beginning to
believe that I had left such moments behind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Until that Sunday. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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That Sunday in December I stood in worship at church, and the
lies snuck out of nowhere with a sudden onslaught that almost took the breath
out of my lungs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My memory tells me it
was Christmas Eve, because holidays are hard for me. To be motherless and
childless in December makes me wish time travel existed. My memory tells me
it was Christmas eve, but it could have been any December Sunday. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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I was probably very preoccupied as I’m always running at
least 6 minutes behind and I usually need to touch base with someone before
service about our prayer ministry. Plus, I don’t easily walk by friends without
wanting to say hi and chat a bit- and church is a place full of friends. We were
settling into our seats, and into our opening worship songs and I glanced
behind me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A couple we know, who has
gone through their own struggle and wait, had just arrived. Her pregnant belly
almost taunted me. As I turned back toward the worship team questions flooded
my mind. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Why did her wait end while mine continues to stretch on
endlessly?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Did she pray more?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Did she pray better?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Is her faith stronger than mine?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Does she deserve motherhood more than me?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Do I still not trust You? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How can that be possible when I’ve grappled with your sovereignty for YEARS?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Am I being punished for doubt? Am I being punished for grieving,
for fearing? Am I being punished for all those evenings on my bathroom floor?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Is this because I like wine?</div>
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Or because I’m overweight?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Or because Mark and I’s story doesn’t follow the typical
young Christians who marry after a short courtship in their early 20s?</div>
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Is this wait a result of bad choices I made in my past?<o:p></o:p></div>
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That’s a lot of questions. <o:p></o:p></div>
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And yet in minutes they all flooded my mind and I found
myself crying in church- not one of my favorite past times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But God is good and full of grace and His
Holy Spirit whispered truth where I needed it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I am not being punished.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
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Babies are not a result of perfect faith.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Tear stained towels and moments of pain on bathroom floors
do not prevent God from giving good gifts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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Cling to His promises, even when it hurts. <o:p></o:p></div>
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And shut the enemy up by praising Jesus through the pain. <o:p></o:p></div>
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So I lifted my eyes and I lifted my hands and I sang my
praises to Jesus, with tears and snot ruining my make-up and ruining the image
of a woman who has it together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
wrestle with a weird dichotomy of deeply wanting to be understood, of wanting
my pain to be seen, and yet being afraid to let any weariness show. But that
day at church, I just needed to be seen and heard by Jesus. I needed my faith
to silence the lies and I let my contour and smokey eyes run as I chased after
the only Savior that can make beauty from these ashes. <o:p></o:p></div>
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As I sit here tonight with tears streaming over my cheeks I
remember that God often gives gifts with a bigger purpose. For my entire life,
writing has been a release for me. Writing has offered me the ability to express
myself when speaking was hard. Those who know me would claim speaking is never
hard for me, but in my youth anger often gripped me and only allowed me to
express myself in vitriolic rage and hurtful sarcasm. Pain has always made me quieter.
But writing has always been a salve to soothe the messy parts of my heart, and
a creative release for the hidden parts of my personality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And as these tears fall precariously close my
laptop, I marvel at how silly humans are and how we often vacillate from one
extreme to another. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the last number
of weeks I felt the familiar pain of unmet desires grip my heart. And though I’ve
expressed such pain to a couple trusted friends, I haven’t really paused in it
and processed it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A life that is full of
friends, ministry, a new job, and thriving marriage gives me the opportunity to
jump from that pain into something else. No more hot messes in the bathroom,
but ignoring hurt has never been good for me either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Through surprise pregnancy announcements on
facebook, endless belly pictures, the enemy using friends to tell me my faith
is untested without children, and 3 negative pregnancy tests this month, I’ve
felt the grip on my heart and quickly jumped into something else. Or if I’m
being honest, I’ve also taken that pain and used it as an excuse to sin- by
allowing myself to roll my eyes and snidely remark about said belly pictures and announcements.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But tonight, these words allow me express
myself. To recognize that the pain still exists, the desire for babies still
aches in my heart and my womb- but the ache does not negate the expectance of
my faith.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The hurt of expectation no
longer drowns out the balm of the Holy Spirit and the trust that God has a plan
for my future. <o:p></o:p></div>
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For Christmas Mark
gave me a necklace that holds a tiny mustard seed- it reminds me, that other
people’s blessings do not change my hope. Faith allows Jesus to move mountains.
With faith as big as the sky or a small as a seed, Jesus can grow babies where
babies have not grown for over 5 years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And again I raise my hands in praise of the author and finisher of my
faith, to the one who I expectantly wait upon; my Savior, the lover of my Soul,
the comforter of my weary spirit: Jesus Christ. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Carla@3-foldcord.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12219075398294807437noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6003819591244397731.post-55025339623701851072017-11-13T17:46:00.001-06:002019-01-18T13:41:31.079-06:00Prayer<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><u>“Lord, teach us to pray.” – Luke 11:1.</u></b><o:p></o:p></div>
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Prayer was an important part of Jesus' life and ministry.
Jesus knew, and wants us to know, that prayer is mightier than the sword, and
has the ability to slay the enemies of the soul. </div>
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Prayer is brighter than the
rays of the sun, revealing the hidden depths of the human spirit. </div>
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Prayer is
quicker and stronger than eagles’ wings, bearing us up from the confines of the
earth and transporting us to the throne room of God. </div>
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Prayer is a greater power in
the transformation of the world than all legislation and military might. </div>
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The center
of its power is in the heart which utters it; the radius of its influence is as
infinite as the mind of the Living God. It is the cool breath that comes to
ease the fevered brow. It is the Holy lever of Archimedes to move the world! <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>How is your prayer life my friend?</b></div>
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<b>Also, let us know if we can help or pray for you! </b></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6003819591244397731.post-15278015380044688362017-09-06T08:21:00.000-05:002019-01-18T10:13:19.761-06:00Prayer: A Mystery Unfolds<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtPYHMwnayicpDrX9BuaKlKJbEy1t95k_0g8AUUVmFhl8kxhG36ijzbCdjXJ8RbxOe1Amzj_pgKY11EtHmTU0PdHdSo5VGq9KpimhIgPqvtGPDjZNhAtjOxA5oJw_1MNpFpDK1MkcmkATJ/s1600/sunsent+over+thompson.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtPYHMwnayicpDrX9BuaKlKJbEy1t95k_0g8AUUVmFhl8kxhG36ijzbCdjXJ8RbxOe1Amzj_pgKY11EtHmTU0PdHdSo5VGq9KpimhIgPqvtGPDjZNhAtjOxA5oJw_1MNpFpDK1MkcmkATJ/s320/sunsent+over+thompson.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We lead a prayer ministry at our church. So I feel like I think about prayer fairly
often. But this week the morning show I
listen to (The Walley Show) was talking about prayer, specifically about when
prayers are unanswered or answered in a way that we weren’t really hoping for
or expecting. They had many examples of
how these unanswered prayers lead to bigger things that they just couldn’t
see. Which I agree happens often, but
not always. Recently I’ve also watched a
relatively new believer blossom into a beautiful example of Christian boldness
emboldened by the Holy Spirit. We also have come to realize that many struggle
to attend our prayer gathering because of a fear of praying a loud, or a fear
of praying wrong. I’ve watched Christians grapple with this concept of
corporate prayer and have been moved and touched by the words that they
themselves feel fall short. So I’ve been thinking a lot more about prayer this
week. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Prayer is indeed mysterious.
To me, prayer has always seemed simple on so many levels. I grew up
Catholic and my youthful prayers were either repetitive rote memorization or
easy flowing conversations (many times one sided conversations) with God. It was a lot of asking, a little thinking,
and many times it felt desperate. As
I’ve grown as a Christian, delved deeper into the Word, and walked through spiritual
battles, my concept of prayer has definitely evolved. It is far from
simple. But in many ways, it is still
very mysterious- and there are many things I don’t understand.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I used to prayer desperately for my mother to be healed
miraculously of early onset Alzheimer’s. I prayed for the financial troubles
that came with a dementia diagnosis in one’s early 50s be fixed and I prayed
for health and prosperity for my parents. There were so many things breaking before
my eyes and I longed for miraculous mending.
I called down the power of heaven, I sought the Holy Spirit, and His wisdom. I was diligent. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">At the same period of my life I was also struggling with the
anger that came from losing your mother slowly and suddenly to Alzheimer’s. I was in my early 20s and I didn’t want to be
doing this, I didn’t want to be experiencing it, and I didn’t understand why I
had to. The anger spilled out of my
heart and all over those I loved. Mark,
who was just my boyfriend at the time, very plainly told me that my
emotions did not get to dictate my actions and that I needed to turn to Jesus. I
needed to repent, I needed Jesus to help me regain control, and I needed to
accept the comfort and peace that He offered me. And I actually listened. I dove into devotionals, I read the Bible for
hours a day, I gave up TV, conversing with Jesus became like breathing. I felt
His presence with me always, I could hear His call, and felt emboldened to
speak truths to others. I was still
grieving my mother and the navigating the difficult initial stages of Alzheimer’s.
But I was also invigorated and energized. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">God never did heal my mother. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But He did heal me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I lived those tumultuous years of confusion and heartbreak filled
with comfort and peace that I didn’t understand. I didn’t know how I could
possibly have peace in those difficult times. But I knew I had it and that it
came from Jesus. It certainly was beyond my understanding. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Prayer and faith tend to be riddled with inconsistency.
There tends to be an ebb and flow. Seasons of abundance, and seasons of dry, arid silence. I think this inconsistency comes from the human
side of prayer. God is faithful. He is always good. We tend to take our eyes off of Jesus and
focus on the waves. We don’t protect our hearts. We let comfort make us lazy.
We let fear creep in. We become closer to the world than the Word. We stop
seeking Him and start seeking answers.
At least I do.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The 5 years we’ve been trying (so far unsuccessfully) to
conceive has been a roller-coaster of winning spiritual battles and languishing
in dark nights. I’ve stood strong and
believed. I’ve feared and wondered if I’d ever be a mother. I’ve calmly sought Jesus and His truth. I’ve
frantically lamented the leagues of unplanned pregnancies and millions of
abortions as I desperately longed to bear and raise children in a godly
home. I’ve ignored Jesus and I’ve blamed
Him. I’ve surrendered it all, just to
pull back that surrender with ideas of my own. I’ve desperately listened to amateur’s
advice and ignored the call to just rest.
My prayers have ranged from desperately seeking peace and truth through
the indwelling of the Spirit, to ranting about the years God made Sarah and
Abraham wait. I’ve been expectant and hopeful. I’ve been a prodigal many times
over. I’ve tried to formulate my faith
into an equation that would yield the miracle of a child. I’ve been jealous and
I’ve been bitter. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I have failed. I have wallowed in the depths of sorrow. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And I have grasped a hold of Jesus and let Him pull me out. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I have learned hard lessons. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Prayer is not about laying out a multitude of petitions and
asking God to give you everything you want.
We have needs, and we have desires, and the Lord knows them and we
should approach Him with confidence. But prayer should be about seeking Jesus.
Striving to know Him better and striving to become more like Him. Knowing what
prayer should be and actually doing prayer in that manner, are 2 different
things. I often beat myself up because I felt so close to Christ in those first
years of my mother’s illness. I let go of control- because I never really had
any to begin with, and I yielded to Jesus. I let ugly parts of me die; it wasn’t
easy and it was not pain free, but it was worth it. The more I pursued Christ,
the more I wanted to purse Him. And I
look back at those moments and I wonder what is wrong with me now, as I often
clamor to Jesus with the last vestiges of energy at the end of my days and beg
Him to send us a child. I know the
comfort I seek is in abiding in Him. He is
the answer. He is always good. And my relationship with Him is the most
important part of my life. So why do I
falter so much? Why is peace more difficult to grasp now than it was then?
Maybe it’s not. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I have complete faith that children are a part of God’s plan
for my life. One day, soon I will write you about that answered prayer. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I need Jesus like I need oxygen. And prayer is the way to
breathe Him in. I’m learning to avoid spiritual suffocation by looking upwards
instead of inwards. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> “In every situation,
[no matter what the circumstances] be thankful and continually give thanks to
God; for this is the will of God for you in Christ Jesus.” 1 Thessalonians 5:18<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Lord, today I bow
before you, letting the weight of this world fall away, so I that I may seek
You and only you. Bring me near to You,
reveal Yourself to me that I may revel in your goodness. Send me the strength
and comfort that only comes from You and heal my broken pieces into a mosaic
that ushers Truth to your people. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuEIXpdItyhTRTRGeNUaYbKQrpQOlUq0mWzIm2iKKVvVoZZAsnobFYouqk7dE-pSWwW-QHldN5Qru6KVFWHHh-HNc-_3WoJXZJE86XzK8ZTcCu4eck8q5ZML9F2xWi2JitGTszRPeS1Io1/s1600/universe.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuEIXpdItyhTRTRGeNUaYbKQrpQOlUq0mWzIm2iKKVvVoZZAsnobFYouqk7dE-pSWwW-QHldN5Qru6KVFWHHh-HNc-_3WoJXZJE86XzK8ZTcCu4eck8q5ZML9F2xWi2JitGTszRPeS1Io1/s320/universe.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Prayer seems mysterious.
But when we diligently seek the Lord, His ways- which are not our ways,
become less mystery and a more cemented part of our faith as we deepen our
relationship with Christ. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Carla@3-foldcord.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12219075398294807437noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6003819591244397731.post-7028821131514070852017-01-30T17:40:00.000-06:002017-01-30T17:40:25.488-06:00Dear Christian, You can't Win.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAy6JRvsD_iO6luFHcv6-12o4kMe9LEko-JG8DPERjEfYxdu245JrD-jGMalGJP5NcrwDOQiwU8uOW9xzrmL23TvyD-MYqzRxYSXQNTQfkoPfTIqDxR5hS200XB1A2bcoAOK4CRLdhs9w/s1600/cantlosemiddle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAy6JRvsD_iO6luFHcv6-12o4kMe9LEko-JG8DPERjEfYxdu245JrD-jGMalGJP5NcrwDOQiwU8uOW9xzrmL23TvyD-MYqzRxYSXQNTQfkoPfTIqDxR5hS200XB1A2bcoAOK4CRLdhs9w/s320/cantlosemiddle.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't argue with fools. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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There is an old gambling saying: “You can’t lose what you
don’t put in the middle”. However, what I’m witnessing on social media and news
websites is: <b><i>we have way too many Christians “going all in”!</i></b> What I mean by
that is we are wasting precious time arguing with people whose only motivation
is to attack Christianity (and Christians) directly and by proxy. This is clearly evident when
you witness non-believers and spiritual reprobates suddenly quoting Bible scriptures
and proselyting like a possessed carnival barker. While their positions have
the veneer of pure kindness and altruism, there is something inherently rotten
at the core: the hatred of God. Yes, I said it because it is true…<b><i>they hate everything
Christianity stands for; they hate you! Now they would never have the guts to
come right out and say it, but they do. <o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
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<a name='more'></a><br /><br />
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
So what should we do?</h3>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I always try to make it a point to not mix Kingdoms (sometimes I fail).
What I mean by that is, I keep my focus on the things God views as
important as opposed to worldly systems. These things were not only written in
the Ten Commandments, but they were also broken down further by Jesus when HE
answered the Pharisee in Matthew 22 concerning ‘what is the greatest
commandment?’: <i>“Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your
soul and with all your mind.’<b><sup>38 </sup></b>This is the first and
greatest commandment. <b><sup>39 </sup></b>And the second is like it:
‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’<sup>[<b>40 </b></sup>All the Law and the
Prophets hang on these two commandments.” </i><o:p></o:p></div>
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When we make it a point to do this, it forces us to adjust
our paradigm and separate the wheat from the chafe. The only thing I feel
obligated to share with non-believers is the gospel and I try to do this
according to I Peter 3:15: <i><b><sup>15 </sup></b>But in your hearts set
Christ apart [as holy—acknowledging Him, giving Him first place in your lives]
as Lord. Always be ready to give a [logical] defense to anyone who asks you to
account for the hope and confident assurance [elicited by
faith] that is within you, yet [do it] with gentleness and respect.</i> (APM)<o:p></o:p></div>
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In closing: </div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>Are you a gambler?</b></div>
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<b>Do you feel the need to defend your political viewpoints?</b></div>
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<b>How do you handle those who are diametrically opposed to your beliefs?</b></div>
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<br /></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6003819591244397731.post-46575943440726896412017-01-29T00:31:00.000-06:002019-01-18T12:47:04.592-06:00ADORATION<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6khI9YCfabc4g0_nGKOwpxVIKFhmxZWYJlSnreEi6dIfllC8_tKnOCofVOJZNSMY2ousT1h7v7Sr17XYDeJrd98pJqEcA0OVKYbAQKYvptpLgIsfM7ve5fqOmwDjlJUZSN1fPUDMucDs/s1600/adoration.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6khI9YCfabc4g0_nGKOwpxVIKFhmxZWYJlSnreEi6dIfllC8_tKnOCofVOJZNSMY2ousT1h7v7Sr17XYDeJrd98pJqEcA0OVKYbAQKYvptpLgIsfM7ve5fqOmwDjlJUZSN1fPUDMucDs/s1600/adoration.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
I was reading Psalms 78 today and I was in absolute wonder of what an awesome God we serve! Unregenerate man cannot fully understand the wonder and power of God. Proverbs 1:7 states, <b><i>“The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge…”</i></b> Psalms 111:10 also states, <b><i>“The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom; prudent are all who live by it. Your praise endures forever.”</i></b><br />
<br />
Without being born again and without the Holy Spirit, man is incapable of truly understanding the hidden things of God. Our God is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow…for God never changes! This is the same God that split the Red Sea piling up the waters rigid as walls. This is the same God that spread a table in the desert and rained manna and meat upon the people like dust!<br />
<br />
We must worship God in spirit and truth. God is able to take worship out of the hands of men and put it in the hands of the Holy Spirit. It is impossible to truly worship God without the impartation of the Holy Spirit. It is the operation of the Spirit of God within us that enables us to worship God acceptably through the Person of the Lord Jesus Christ, who is the physical manifestation of God. So worship originates with God and comes back to us and is reflected from us, as a mirror. This is the only worship that is pleasing to God.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Have you recently studied, and/or experienced anything that brought you into the awe-inspiring presence of God?</b></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6003819591244397731.post-68433651032857142162016-09-03T11:49:00.000-05:002019-01-18T12:47:36.784-06:00Spiritual Soap<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Always remember: <i><b>"there is no heaven with a little corner of hell in it."</b></i> It is God's desire that we be pure, holy, and right; HE will not allow us escape for one minute the scrutiny of the Holy Spirit. When we sin, the Holy Spirit convicts us and urges us to repent and become clean again. Now if we cast off this conviction and chose to remain in our own filth, the inevitable process begins to work and we end up in our own spiritual prison. It is during these times when it feels like God is a million miles away! It is during these times we may ask <i><b>"Does God really love and care about me?"</b></i><br />
<i><b><br /></b></i>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXb6hhINgwIwvPlqWJPmUZ3l5k11FQX4iINn8JbLE1FFJ1EKqf8H_PGnLrzk1I8MAcYE-UBgJhmaM__7AHh-jmVOZ4UEl1q6N9hZLOASvqYyGJ3kQgyatvBBl3f4uvuCGuden0Sr0gyjk/s1600/spiritual_soap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXb6hhINgwIwvPlqWJPmUZ3l5k11FQX4iINn8JbLE1FFJ1EKqf8H_PGnLrzk1I8MAcYE-UBgJhmaM__7AHh-jmVOZ4UEl1q6N9hZLOASvqYyGJ3kQgyatvBBl3f4uvuCGuden0Sr0gyjk/s320/spiritual_soap.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Seen from God's side, it is a glorious ministry of love. For God is going to bring us out pure, spotless, and undefiled. The Lord loves us so much that HE will tax the limits of the universe in order to help us take the right road...And the moment we realize that the Holy Spirit is convicting us and our current disposition...the sooner our position with God will be drastically improved.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Do you ever wonder why there are times when God does not feel close?</b> Maybe it is time for some spiritual soap?<br />
<br />
<b>Are there times when God seems like HE is far away?</b><br />
<b>What do you do in those times?</b><br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6003819591244397731.post-40991425349928599252016-03-13T23:11:00.000-05:002016-03-13T23:11:00.454-05:00Amputation<div class="MsoNormal">
My mother is dying. She’s been dying for 9 years, it’s just
more evident recently. There is a lot
written on grief and many times if I see an article about it, I can’t help but
click and read it. If I don’t have the time
for the reading or for my own emotions evoked by such reading, I send myself
the link so I’ll read it later. I rarely
pass over such articles. I’m sure this
says some about me, but I’ll leave the psycho-analyzing up to my husband. <o:p></o:p></div>
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One such article from The Guardian particularly drew me
because it wasn’t just on grief, but on the pain of losing mothers. The article resonated, though there were a
few aspects I disagree with most likely because I have a different world view
than the author (more on that later). I
also grimace a little at an article that makes losing a parent seem like the epitome
of grief. I’m not one to compare and compete for burdens, we all are living
very different lives, and we can’t ask others to understand a perspective they
haven’t lived. But I have watched a
handful of people lose a spouse, and from observing that grief, I am thankful
for having not walked it. <o:p></o:p></div>
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One such line from the <a href="https://www.blogger.com/://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2016/mar/03/we-dont-lose-our-mothers-reality-more-violent-that-that">article </a>that spoke to my personal perspective
is, "We have not “lost” our mothers. We say that to be polite, but in
truth, we have become un-mothered, like Marie Antoinette was un-headed or that
wilderness hiker who sawed off his arm was un-handed. It feels violent. It
feels raw and fundamental, a pain that reaches all the way down to your
ligaments and bones. Our mothers were our first firmament, literally, our first
homes."<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyReEhDDvanoX1ZEIuyKe4Zg4Qmb5J3PmRGIN-Yn7Xijf4PhlDb2NU2J3oM9tNTmuDKbFWGPFO3LbabXZytVoEoYmYI-vwmHepfZO23Pteav9iyGTqDCyoo1RVSgv7LFk-myI1FIHcG1zL/s1600/the-guillotine-large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyReEhDDvanoX1ZEIuyKe4Zg4Qmb5J3PmRGIN-Yn7Xijf4PhlDb2NU2J3oM9tNTmuDKbFWGPFO3LbabXZytVoEoYmYI-vwmHepfZO23Pteav9iyGTqDCyoo1RVSgv7LFk-myI1FIHcG1zL/s320/the-guillotine-large.jpg" width="246" /></a>I have felt this amputated unmothering. It is raw and violent, but with Alzheimer's
it's prolonged and continual, like losing your hand multiple times through the years.
It's slow at first. Though you're aware
of how much worse it can, and will get, you can't force yourself at the time to
be thankful for small gifts, you can't postpone your grief for worse days. The
first time your mother forgets your name, it tears at your soul. It's hard to be thankful for the sound of her
voice when her voice is asking who you are.<o:p></o:p></div>
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When my mom couldn't
find my name in her jumbled mind, the pain was acute, like the unmothering
referred to above. And yet, today, I would be thrilled to be called anything by
her, as her relative silence cuts just as deep, creates just as much empty
space now as her frustrated utterances did a few short years ago. Losing
someone to Alzheimer's is slow torture, akin to having your hand removed,
replaced surgically, and removed again and again. She disappeared slowly at
first, when shock prevents you from grabbing hold of what you still have, until
suddenly she's almost gone. And yet she's still here, so you're not allowed in The
Grieving Children’s Club. She still needs care and love; she just lacks the
ability to give it back. I don't bemoan this lack of reciprocation; she gave us
so much love and care while she was still herself that I could not possibly
repay what I've been given. I just miss sitting in the warmth of my mother's
love. <o:p></o:p></div>
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My biggest fear is that in all this losing, and grieving,
and caring; in the time it took Alzheimer's to erase my mom, that it is also
erasing my own memories of a healthy mother, a pre-Alzheimer's mom. I was 24
when she was diagnosed; so much of my life and who I am has been decided and
molded in these last 9 years and not the 24 pre-diagnosis years, which fuels my
fear. What if ultimately the thing amputated is not a metaphor about losing my
mother, but that my mother is amputated from me completely? That losing her has
molded me more than being loved by her?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVyorPwsQkxuTrcSQ7rJQiAowYPwzMTDJ1UIEcLyakyXfMooraYqiv2v4nFrQwEbRO9vqiF6dEey3A_Ao1fF2flpKwv9MRcntlmGH2Vi0a0YTighr8oESwOjrJPpXicT3FJdYeaUSk0dD7/s1600/27hoursimage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVyorPwsQkxuTrcSQ7rJQiAowYPwzMTDJ1UIEcLyakyXfMooraYqiv2v4nFrQwEbRO9vqiF6dEey3A_Ao1fF2flpKwv9MRcntlmGH2Vi0a0YTighr8oESwOjrJPpXicT3FJdYeaUSk0dD7/s320/27hoursimage.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I have uttered these fears of forgetting my mother- that
Alzheimer’s was stealing both her memories and mine to others who have lost
parents and have been comforted with the assurance that the memories come
back. But, if I let myself, I dwell on
this and I wonder if there is any of my mother in me. If I have forgotten so much of her that I am
like a daughter raised without a mother.
This then leads me to think about myself as mother, the years we’ve
longed after a baby and children who aren’t mine who I’ve failed. Then I start to think fears that I refuse to
put in writing. Because this, my friends is a dangerous thought train to board.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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See, while the article was insightful and true, it lacked
something we all need. Here’s where the
differing world views come into play. As
a Christian, I’m supposed to be set apart.
I’m supposed to be part of a peculiar nation; I’m supposed to have
freedom and peace. Never, was it
promised that Christians wouldn’t experience loss, wouldn’t grieve the loss of
a mother…. Or spouse, or sister, or child. We ache for peace is a fallen world as much as
anyone. What should be different? The difference
is that peace is ours for the taking. The freedom from fear is given to us from
Christ. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Philippians 4:6-7 tells us so. </div>
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<span style="color: #4c1130;"><span class="text"><span style="background: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Do not be anxious</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="text"><i style="box-sizing: border-box;"><span style="background: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">or</span></i></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="text"><span style="background: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">worried
about anything, but in everything [every circumstance and situation] by prayer
and petition with thanksgiving, continue to make your [specific] requests known
to God.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="text"><b><sup style="box-sizing: border-box;"><span style="background: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 9pt; line-height: 107%;"><span id="en-AMP-29450" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box;">7 </span></span></sup></b></span><span class="text"><span style="background: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And the
peace of God [that peace which reassures the heart, that peace] which
transcends all understanding, [that peace which] stands guard over your hearts
and your minds in Christ Jesus [is yours].</span></span></span><o:p></o:p></div>
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There are many more passages about faith, about peace, about
a God who is with us through the storms, a God who holds us through life’s
torments. Christ is there, but as in
every relationship, we must also do our part.
We must turn to Him for the comfort, we must seek Him. I’m not always great at that-as you can tell
from my previous <a href="http://www.3-foldcord.com/2016/02/perpetual-prodigal.html">post</a>. I’m not going to
claim that Jesus makes me stop missing my mother’s love- it still hurts to lose
her- but I’d rather walk through that pain with Christ strengthened me than
attempting to walk through it on my own.
<o:p></o:p></div>
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But this God that stands guard over our hearts and minds;
this Christ who died to provide us with salvation? Surely He can salvage
memories from the ashes of my mother’s illness.
He raised the dead, I’m confident he can heal my metaphorical
amputation. <o:p></o:p></div>
Carla@3-foldcord.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12219075398294807437noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6003819591244397731.post-85458671357220869382016-02-28T20:40:00.000-06:002019-01-18T12:46:41.844-06:00Perpetual Prodigal<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<i>**Author’s note: I started writing this almost 4 months,
which just solidifies my role as a perpetual prodigal daughter, I can’t even commit
to writing a post about my lack of commitment. </i><o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpxxCmnT57VpX-XuKDow360nKsjMQ3qmb-ddGO74_TdklAYwSJMyjUkuT4xPceFK0h53UBvKo-md1OEEwdUZ96S3MNJaCEP9KzsONaOmN8NF7rhxiUAdzDwuDzdbrEOuVYc9OGFuXP-w23/s1600/prodigal+daughter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpxxCmnT57VpX-XuKDow360nKsjMQ3qmb-ddGO74_TdklAYwSJMyjUkuT4xPceFK0h53UBvKo-md1OEEwdUZ96S3MNJaCEP9KzsONaOmN8NF7rhxiUAdzDwuDzdbrEOuVYc9OGFuXP-w23/s320/prodigal+daughter.jpg" width="320" /></a>Recently I was standing in my kitchen on a lazy Saturday
morning making pancakes. And I suddenly
had this vivid recollection of a time I was 17 and gave a talk about faith for
a freshman retreat. I stood up in front
of a bunch of 14 years old and I spoke of the trials I had faced, the testing
of my faith, and the ultimate comfort of leaning on Christ. I really thought I was something, inspiring
these younger kids with my tumultuous teen years and deep, wisdom-filled
faith. I laughed out loud at the memory. I had no idea. What I thought was a trial and the most
difficult times of my life, seem trivial now.
And I have a hard time recollecting anything of my faith that was not
based on either feelings or what I had been taught in 13 years of Catholic
school and 4 years of youth group and teen Jesus conferences.</div>
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I’ve always been a bit arrogant, so it’s no surprise I
thought I had my shit together. It
didn’t help that I had peers tell me I was an “inspiration”. I still have a tendency to be over
confident. But now, 15 years later, I no
longer feel like an inspiration, and while I am confident in my Biblical
knowledge, I often feel like a perpetual prodigal daughter, making the same
mistakes over and over again. <a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a><o:p></o:p></div>
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I need Jesus like I need oxygen, and yet I find myself in
long periods of suffocation, holding my breath, refusing the life-giving supply
I’m freely given. I’ve been a stubborn
child wanting to <i>feel</i> Him, to feel
Jesus’ arms wrap around and rescue me from the storms of this life. But when He doesn’t provide escape in my time
I start to doubt His plan and His timing. </div>
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I’ve been inconsistent, much like my 17 year old self. I’ve spent weeks and sometimes months in
prayer and study, only to be easily distracted by Netflix and the resounding
sound of my own lamenting. In my
distraction I spend even longer weeks and months muddling along, grasping at
only the least of what He offers. I’ve spent so many cycles seeking forgiveness
and grace only to subsequently squander my inheritance over and over
again. Seriously, I annoy myself. I can’t imagine how frustrated my Heavenly
father is with me. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIgRyJW8U4iw8eeO-Sqak5cCCy7IigF-yx9pYABTfIQEN05NkQns8pKPjf2YxcRJ1_o0alimSYHeytf0GZC2mUrMjrkiCd7lp45-bIgJWdOdQaUZF5D6UmhEx0Jg-e-C0egNAfTeK7WdJs/s1600/netflix+que.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIgRyJW8U4iw8eeO-Sqak5cCCy7IigF-yx9pYABTfIQEN05NkQns8pKPjf2YxcRJ1_o0alimSYHeytf0GZC2mUrMjrkiCd7lp45-bIgJWdOdQaUZF5D6UmhEx0Jg-e-C0egNAfTeK7WdJs/s400/netflix+que.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This isn't my Netflix queue....but I'm guilty of a few these,. </td></tr>
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And yet. There is He
is, waiting for me with open arms, waiting to throw me a party and remind me
how much I am loved. The enemy tries, and
many times succeeds, in convincing me that I have to fight my way back into the
Lord’s grace, that I have to spend X hours in study and Y hours in prayer
before I can fully receive grace. But
the grace is always there, and like the footprints on the beach, God has been
with me this whole time. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I haven’t felt Him there.
I haven’t felt His presence or heard His voice in such a long time. I’ve become too accustomed to the sound of my
own voice to listen to His. My faith has
faltered too many times and I feel God is calling me to have faith stronger than
that arrogant 17 year old. To believe in His presence, even though I can’t feel
it. To trust in His plan even though my
emotions try to tell me there is no plan.
To turn to Him and to rely on Him through the silence. To stop eating the scraps thrown to the pigs,
but to grow up and grab ahold of the glory waiting for me. Even if I don’t feel
like it. <o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Carla@3-foldcord.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12219075398294807437noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6003819591244397731.post-9445316935907858242015-11-07T20:46:00.000-06:002015-11-07T20:53:31.304-06:00I am not My Mountain<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTQktdu8Uk0aHd8oW8kgptOv9A-3D_TbbmdFIvLEFANFzQn7aYIFS5Y9oewyW-sWHZaPis4s8KRxHRIeMpwArodOyl-sXKkGqhnHd2Ag6e5q65vseHjTXvpZW4jvFUHW9LR2zCZcd-pt0a/s1600/Black-Mountain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTQktdu8Uk0aHd8oW8kgptOv9A-3D_TbbmdFIvLEFANFzQn7aYIFS5Y9oewyW-sWHZaPis4s8KRxHRIeMpwArodOyl-sXKkGqhnHd2Ag6e5q65vseHjTXvpZW4jvFUHW9LR2zCZcd-pt0a/s320/Black-Mountain.jpg" width="320" /></a>Recently in the online infertility support group I’m a part
of, there was a thread asking everyone to introduce ourselves. The specifics were, how long have you been
married, where you live, how long have you been trying to conceive, and what
your diagnosis is. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I am blessed by this group.
It is a group of Christian women, struggling to conceive, but believing
in the power of God. I joined in the
last 4 weeks and I look forward to getting to know these women who understand
the desire to hold a child and the weariness that comes with waiting. So I
really like the idea of knowing more about the lives of the women I was praying
for and who are praying for me. But I
worry, when waiting for a miracle; we are giving too much power to medical
diagnosis. I’m not saying cancer patients
shouldn’t seek treatment or that diabetics should throw out their insulin; don’t
get me wrong. But I am saying, when God
whispers the promise of children to you and your loved ones, why not believe
that promise by living it; speaking it? Why not put your faith in God’s word
and not a test. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Proverbs 18 tells us the power of the tongue, that words are dainty morsels that go down into the body to be remembered. Jesus told his disciples (and I am His
disciple), that they can speak to a mountain telling it to move, and by their
faith, it will move. Faith comes by
hearing (Romans 10:17), and I want people to hear and have faith in the
children that God has promised us. I can’t
speak to the mountains in my life and then claim them as truth. I can’t believe
that I can move mountains in the name of Jesus and give those same mountains
power by claiming them as my identity.
My identity is in Christ. I am a
blood bought child of the living God. I am a wife. I am (currently) a South
Dakotan. And, I am a mother to a child(ren) I have not met yet. I am not infertile. I am not childless. I am not a test result or a diagnosis. I am not my mountain.</div>
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As Christians, we all accept that if we believe in Christ as
our Savior, we must acknowledge and confess our belief to activate our salvation
(Romans 10:8-10). It does not seem silly
that our salvation depends upon a confession.
Why should it then seem silly to confess an unseen promise? If we are
indeed more than conquerors, shouldn’t we confess that as such? I refuse to
confess what the world and the enemy wants me to believe. It is for this reason; I did answer part of
the question. Some time ago, Mark had
requested we not go through testing, because if you go far enough down the
rabbit hole, you will eventually find something. I agreed for some time, but I got lazy in my
faith and as announcements of other pregnancies rolled in and children who were
conceived since we’ve been trying had birthdays, I fell into depression and
desperation and I asked that we move forward with testing and treatment, and Mark,
who didn’t like seeing his wife cry all the time, agreed. I hesitate on how much more I tell you. Words are powerful. We eventually stumbled upon one not great
result, and I regret lamenting it to the handful of people who know about it. I regret letting my fear take over my faith
and giving one inclusive test power. As
I already stated. We are not infertile. God has promised us children. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I write this less for the women in my support group and people
across the interwebs. I write it more for the people who we know in real
life. This is for the friends and family
who avoid the topic and me and my husband all together. This is for those of you who are afraid of
our pain and tears; those who would rather text than call. I know we make you uncomfortable. While we fully believe that God is bringing
us children, the waiting is still painful, especially for me. I know my pain isn’t easy for you; it’s
pretty difficult for me. I’m not asking
you to stop avoiding me, I’m not asking you to finally call and to actually ask
how I’m doing in the waiting. I have to
let that go; God also calls me to not hold on to resentment. I know you’re all praying for us. But I’m not sure you’re praying
correctly. So I’m asking you to
stop. If you are simply praying that I can
handle childlessness, that we can find a way to deal, I want you to stop. We have a way to deal; His name is Jesus, and
He has promised us an abundant life, a life with children. If you are praying for us, simply pray that
God not tarry in sending the babies He has planned for us. Thank Him for our children, thank Him for
making miracles happen and providing the babies we can’t yet see. Praise His goodness in making us
fruitful. If you cannot pray like that,
please do not include Mark and I in your prayers. Do not give your doubts power; I’m not. <o:p></o:p></div>
Carla@3-foldcord.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12219075398294807437noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6003819591244397731.post-78669406592245905612015-10-19T05:30:00.000-05:002015-10-23T18:51:39.930-05:00Confessions of a Christian Cracker<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQAF7WzE7-NXq9oJFpby4gJE_lXsw0sM-_4mOVaR5S6L-UDVe3Ul914ZdiRmTVkJQlqbP4GWF7KxhXINfGfkiums_5MYS5o-UMUIgVR5AMQkQysPDUZrhql21_Dq-p4d2IDKfc5tN_urg/s1600/cracker.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQAF7WzE7-NXq9oJFpby4gJE_lXsw0sM-_4mOVaR5S6L-UDVe3Ul914ZdiRmTVkJQlqbP4GWF7KxhXINfGfkiums_5MYS5o-UMUIgVR5AMQkQysPDUZrhql21_Dq-p4d2IDKfc5tN_urg/s1600/cracker.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm Sorry!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As a <span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">Caucasian</span> male-American I pretty much came out of the
womb feeling ashamed. Oppression, racism, misogyny, KKK, The Trail of Tears, etc.,
etc.… appear to be way too much for a white man in America to rise above. </span></div>
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have come to terms with the fact there will never be a
college fund, a month, or a liberation movement in honor of my
race…and I’m perfectly OK with that. I will say that perhaps they could see
fit to give us white males some random Tuesday once every decade for posterity
sake. I would even volunteer to be the face of this movement where people could
come out, tip their hat, shake their fist, or even throw rocks and garbage at
me. I feel it is a small price to pay for the sake of future generations; plus
I’ve always wanted to be a martyr for some sort of cause.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Being ashamed for past atrocities committed by my race, gender,
and nationality, is a bit different than being sorry for my own past
transgressions. Looking back, I probably should have started feeling ashamed of
myself back in the mid-80’s. Most of these transgressions involved my clothing attire, but I
guess back then ignorance was bliss. In my 3rd, 4th, and 5th grade school
pictures, I can be seen wearing the same deep-V velour sweater. And for this
I’m truly sorry and ashamed. I’m also sorry for my hip, casual summer-wear shown in <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC6McfcAlZhtKscFP29cVS6nIaSPD8xSfZUS-LytWqnIV4YrAi9OJRP9f9RqFuSxNY0swD5f8hyphenhyphenh9OoMXTKC130LULKaf2bcWGoEnXSCsG9hwaVTCIaAZYrAb7lP3tRppVylmp-cY078s/s1600/summerwear.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjC6McfcAlZhtKscFP29cVS6nIaSPD8xSfZUS-LytWqnIV4YrAi9OJRP9f9RqFuSxNY0swD5f8hyphenhyphenh9OoMXTKC130LULKaf2bcWGoEnXSCsG9hwaVTCIaAZYrAb7lP3tRppVylmp-cY078s/s200/summerwear.JPG" width="163" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sorry about this too!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
the picture to the right---->(that's my angry sister
with me). I also feel the pangs of shame past like the time I got punched
out at the roller rink, by a disgruntled heavy-set girl, who I apparently
knocked over while skating. In my defense I was wearing skates! I’m also sorry
for parachute pants, shoe skates, and Rick Astley (though I do believe he is
English).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I did not become a Christian until I was in my thirties, and
when that happened it seemed that I inherited a whole bunch of new stuff to be
ashamed about. Over the years I have been very empathetic to those who have
been abused and disenfranchised by so called "Christianity" (because I too was a
victim at an early age). But recently I have come to the point of wondering:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><b>Can
apologies really lead to apologetics?</b> <b>I’m also wondering whether Christians
have given up so much ground apologizing that we no longer have any ground to
stand on?</b></i></span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><i><b><br /></b></i></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6003819591244397731.post-2529100314365799862015-10-02T17:05:00.000-05:002015-10-19T02:59:57.638-05:00False Dilemmas<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF0UdgcYixUfzmSo49TzedMouaehFiHo5VY2L8vTwWxqGlUestwE5LWmdWizBa6kiB0aJDSQxkVbSeLAM3rYZyL8IkQhDiwhH9FgTzZ51H-ifEb3YV3Vqor_IJV4knnTizkKOB7YZFgk4/s1600/Homelessvets.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF0UdgcYixUfzmSo49TzedMouaehFiHo5VY2L8vTwWxqGlUestwE5LWmdWizBa6kiB0aJDSQxkVbSeLAM3rYZyL8IkQhDiwhH9FgTzZ51H-ifEb3YV3Vqor_IJV4knnTizkKOB7YZFgk4/s400/Homelessvets.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I have seen a lot of proselytizing lately, mostly by the
conservative religious right, stating things like: <b><i>“Veterans should come before
migrants!”</i></b> or <b><i>“Veterans needs should come before illegals!”</i></b> As a United States
citizen you would be hard-pressed to disagree; and if you did, you more than
likely will be labeled a liberal kook, or worse yet, an ISIS sympathizer. While
this propaganda machine steamrolls along, and so many angry individuals hitching
their patriotic wagons to it, I wonder if they have ever considered that this
just might be a political trick bag?</span><br />
<a name='more'></a><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>False Dichotomy/Trilemma</b></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">We Americans really do pride ourselves on our black and
white thinking when it comes to issues such as these. In this case it must be
as simple making a choice between Veterans or Immigrants; or Veterans or
Illegals? Or if you want throw them all together and have a nice false trilemma
we could say that we have to choose between Veterans, Immigrants or Illegals?
Please tell me that we have risen above these either or/s scenarios? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguap6buPGEOaalhGaz_YclnC5Yu4RW3siVZsSYz4AYVYG7oVJrUepSJhh_z4UAf2au2_1ad-v6xRXWuAmF8_KrJMctl-h4_dXPYvihbRKg7yZolrj4X5sVqqJfYJOIM7EJEnl8OPDaJR0/s1600/homelessvets3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguap6buPGEOaalhGaz_YclnC5Yu4RW3siVZsSYz4AYVYG7oVJrUepSJhh_z4UAf2au2_1ad-v6xRXWuAmF8_KrJMctl-h4_dXPYvihbRKg7yZolrj4X5sVqqJfYJOIM7EJEnl8OPDaJR0/s320/homelessvets3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>A Hard Truth</b></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; text-align: left;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Having worked with a great number of homeless Veterans, in both a professional and a volunteer capacity over the last two decades, I will let you in on a little known secret: Not all homeless Veterans want help (especially from the government). I spoke with hundreds of Vets who basically told me that the wars our government sent them to broke them- and they really don’t want anything more from it! Others told me that being homeless was their last bastion of freedom. They understood that they were not capable of entering the workforce, nor did they have any desire to. Also, many of these veterans associated getting help with a loss of individual freedom; they feared being forced to take medication and being reduced to a simple diagnosis or a number. Funny how a lot of vets felt reduced to being a serial number, or a mere “Government Issue”, during times of war. </span><br />
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<b style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif; font-size: x-large;">The Christian Dilemma</b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">In closing, I wish to speak to those who identify as a
Christian…and by Christian I mean “follower of Jesus Christ”- as opposed to those
who pray at the altar of Nationalism or use the phrase </span><i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">“pull yourself up by your bootstraps”</i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> on a daily basis. To the followers of Christ I would just ask
that we take some time and consider the hurting, whether they be foreign or
domestic, and try to see them through the eyes of Jesus Christ. The wonderful
thing about Jesus is that HIS power and grace has no boarders! HE is also able
to produce supernatural surplus where there are extreme deficits; and HIS
perfect love is able to cast out all fear.<b> Have you met HIM lately? </b> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So what are your thoughts? And be brutally honest. </span><br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6003819591244397731.post-47947228650351289632015-07-11T16:36:00.000-05:002015-07-13T17:32:14.766-05:00The False Road<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfVH-EV1j6GDrcsYQTL5BApZMe4SWGOKhrMa8mAlrsOCFRQXhEWO0FWdC61GrhJAs4nIf6gtHvA-0CrAtMLrt3NUFIxaDUnCMb2HsFMm-HgTAF9FO8dL-fRHwR9UK4Pzn5UNIrhi9QS88/s1600/false+road.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfVH-EV1j6GDrcsYQTL5BApZMe4SWGOKhrMa8mAlrsOCFRQXhEWO0FWdC61GrhJAs4nIf6gtHvA-0CrAtMLrt3NUFIxaDUnCMb2HsFMm-HgTAF9FO8dL-fRHwR9UK4Pzn5UNIrhi9QS88/s1600/false+road.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">God originally created
the <b>Soul</b> in its own nature: perfect purity, perfect calm, perfect
silence. It is a vitrtual well spring gushing from the very veins of the Heavenly
Father Himself. This is what allows mankind to commune with the divine. We hunger for
it. But we often go astray.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">This <b>Soul</b> can
never be physically injured, never marred…but it can be defiled. Yet all things
added to it do for a time trouble it; and this is sorrow. Sorrow accrued can
eclipse the loving rays of God and lead to bitterness, deception, and
depression. This yoke is much too heavy for man to bear.</span></div>
<a name='more'></a><o:p></o:p><br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">For many a year, man in
his quest for self-fulfillment has traveled a </span><b style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">False road</b><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">. To quench
his thirst, man has poured salt in ever increasing quantities into the water of
life; to cover the dung heaps of his imagination, he has raised mountains of
distraction wherein wild deadly beasts prowl. To cure his itch, he has flayed
his own skin; to exorcise his mental demons, he has evoked the devil.
Seeking false phantoms inadvertently invokes narcissism, which may indeed
elaborate complexities; are not these the very symptoms of the disease? We need
a physician…But who is qualified?</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">Traversing the <b>false
road</b> will always lead us into the wildernesses and deserts of
disenchantment. But there is good news: God is there! Even if you pitch your
tent 10 yards from hell, God is there. Take comfort in knowing the divine
physician Jesus Christ is waiting to unhitch your burdensome yoke and set you
on the True Road.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><b>*Have you ever found yourself on a false
road? </b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"><b>*How did you know?</b></span><br />
<b style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">*Are you currently bearing any heavy
yokes?</b></div>
<b style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 13.5pt;">*Have you ever thought that your tent was
pitched near hell?</b></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6003819591244397731.post-19489830777130150692015-06-10T23:21:00.001-05:002021-01-18T21:50:42.574-06:00My Own Internal Riots<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU3L1cz55BFtIA8BJzVv-K55VdzjmWNQhRpbM74C6g5rjug3lDVxLt9gYixkJTdR31qxVFX6PcaAauV_qE8iMcCD_YSq5EUDE0huR8vUcXGXjRpArSusiP0yG8-2rIbL8NM0ONt1hhpNUn/s1600/ferguson-fire-celebrate-AP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU3L1cz55BFtIA8BJzVv-K55VdzjmWNQhRpbM74C6g5rjug3lDVxLt9gYixkJTdR31qxVFX6PcaAauV_qE8iMcCD_YSq5EUDE0huR8vUcXGXjRpArSusiP0yG8-2rIbL8NM0ONt1hhpNUn/s320/ferguson-fire-celebrate-AP.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I keep telling myself to write this blog. I’m supposed to
write this blog, this big brave blog that holds me accountable for my own
bullshit. But whenever I get serious
about such accountability, I want to wallow in my own bullshit, I want to roll
around in it and make friends with my own bullshit. Instead of writing this
inspirational post where I call myself out, I just want to write bad poetry
that resembles bad 90s alternative songs.
It would go something like this: You don’t know what it’s like. YOU DON’T
KNOW WHAT ITS LIKE. Or something sappy,
yet smooth like, “I will not be idled with despair….” And yet. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Self awareness is hard;
it’s much easier to just wallow. I will
try my best. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b><span style="background-color: #fce5cd; color: #660000;">Justification</span></b> is a slippery slope. It doesn’t look like
justification at first. It seems
accurate, it feels right, it seems like you’re owed something. Sometime along this path I decided it was ok
to be selfish. I decided that being
angry and jealous and ugly were justified. I decided that protecting my “feelings”
was more important than caring for others.
I decided my lack of a baby, meant that I did not have to feel joy for
my friends and family having babies. I decided it was ok to angry; to avoid
loved ones because I was experiencing emotional isolation like I’ve never felt
before. <o:p></o:p></div>
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My whole life, I’ve been able to relate to others, I’ve been
able to share my experiences, emotions, and thoughts with just about everyone.
I’ve always been open, it’s always been easy for me to make connections with
people I met. Even in my loneliest
moments, I never felt alone. Firstly,
because I’ve always had a strong support system, a close knit group of friends
and family. And if that didn’t work, I
had a savior who understood me, who knew what I was going through. Not many people know what it’s like to have a
mother who is diagnosed with Alzheimer’s at 52, but I had my sisters, and a
dear friend who had lost both parents. And Christ knew what it was like to be
estranged from his father. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I know no one else who had longed for a baby and has failed
to get pregnant. It is something that
has isolated me beyond anything else I’ve ever experienced. So I started searching for blogs and forums
thinking it would ease my pain. Do you
know what I found? People who were
echoing my pain. People who could describe the water I was in. People who said it
was ok to be selfish, people who said it was ok to avoid baby showers and ask
not to be part of your sister’s pregnancy. People who justified my anger, and my
jealousy, and my selfishness. So I went
with it, thinking this was the salve to heal my wounds. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The reality is that I think it was keeping my wounds from
scabbing over. So I picked at them, I kept them open, I became intimate with the
pain and isolation. I justified falling
into the pit of despair and not even trying to find my way out. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I am lucky that I have a husband who reminds me that we are
blessed, a husband that assures me that there is a plan in all of this. I don’t
always want to hear this. But, there are
times I have clarity. That I realize
that it is all too easy to justify bad behavior. The riots in Ferguson and Baltimore have
bothered me, because I understood the emotions, I understood frustration and
the rage, but I did not understand the actions of the people. I understood
being angry and frustrated with the system, but I didn’t understand how that
could justify fire and destruction and their own form of brutality. And
suddenly I realized I was doing the same thing.
I was excusing my anger and jealousy.
I was refusing to be happy for those who were joyfully expanding their families. I used my pain to justify my bad behavior;
much like the rioters of Ferguson and Baltimore use their pain to justify
destroying their own cities. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I don’t want to justify the destruction of my own city. My pain does not justify the destruction of relationships. My pain does not justify<span style="color: #741b47;"><b> my own internal
riots</b></span>. You see, these riots prevent me
from turning to my Father, they prevent me from turning to truth. Despair is addicting, and even though I know
the answer, I avoid it. The truth is,
God does have a plan. It is my faith
that is weak, not His plan. The truth is,
I don’t know who this angry woman is. I
don’t recognize the woman fuming with jealousy that stares back at me from the
mirror. This isn’t me. There isn’t much
room for love in the riot of anger, resentment, and envy. I want to be the girl
filled with love for the humans around her again. This does not lessen my desire to carry a
child. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>O God, help me to trust in Your plan. Bring me peace and
joy. </b><o:p></o:p></div>
Carla@3-foldcord.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12219075398294807437noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6003819591244397731.post-87971847963448744652014-12-13T18:29:00.001-06:002014-12-13T18:29:33.131-06:00Toxic Lies<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZv2tuSUGQGhUsAUyvvsziP0-2h3aIJOvM7ZVWqLMk7ax5aHk6QNyvkoH6B0tliG8SxzGxojAOG8VZ1gYJBSaN3KxussGKeYd13n_fr6i2AVAufUjHP_Mf6JbLx_GyqYVMKu-Qddmo32f7/s1600/caution_toxic.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZv2tuSUGQGhUsAUyvvsziP0-2h3aIJOvM7ZVWqLMk7ax5aHk6QNyvkoH6B0tliG8SxzGxojAOG8VZ1gYJBSaN3KxussGKeYd13n_fr6i2AVAufUjHP_Mf6JbLx_GyqYVMKu-Qddmo32f7/s1600/caution_toxic.gif" /></a>There seems to be a growing trend these days to give up on
people. To throw in the towel on our personal relationships and justify it by
calling other people toxic. Everywhere I look on social media, Facebook,
Pinterest, Twitter, memes are posted describing the need to walk away from
toxic people. The memes state that you either need to walk away or let them go. </div>
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But what exactly is the meaning of toxic? How are these people toxic? </div>
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Do we
not live in a fallen world? </div>
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Are we not called to love the broken sinner?</div>
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I
understand how difficult it is to love a broken person who is close to you.
There’s a risk in every relationship you have. Whether it be your mother, your
friend, your spouse, your child, you sibling, your mentor- chances are, every
human you are in a relationship with will hurt you. Eventually people will say
or do something cruel, whether it be due to ignorance, anger, or out and out
cruelty, our relationships contain hurt. We are humans. We make mistakes, we
speak before we think, we put our feet in our own mouths, we lie, we sin. <b> I am thankful that <span style="color: #0b5394;">Christ</span> never labeled me as
<span style="color: #990000;">toxic</span></b>, I am thankful that when he prayed in the garden asking His Father to
take this cup from Him, that God didn't respond by saying Christ didn't have to
die, because humanity was toxic and didn't deserve saving. I’m glad Christ
never walked away, I’m glad he never let me go. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m sure I've pissed some people off. I've been
there. I spent the better part of the year not talking to my family because
they hurt me, and I justified my unforgiveness time and time again. I closed my ears to Christ’s call to love, <b><span style="color: #20124d;">to
forgive 70x7 times</span></b>, because I kept picking at the <b><span style="color: #990000;">scabs</span></b> at my emotional wounds
and I convinced myself that turning my back on my loved ones was what I needed
to do to protect myself. <o:p></o:p></div>
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But, I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.
We don’t believe we’re strong enough to forgive, we don’t believe we can
survive the trials of this life. We forget that Christ is our strength; we
forget that He came to give us life and give it to us abundantly. We justify
<span style="color: #4c1130;">giving up</span> by labeling people as toxic, when they are just like us, broken
humans. So we throw up excuses, we walk away, and post lame memes all over the
internet to <span style="color: #990000;"><b>justify our weakness. </b></span><o:p></o:p></div>
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I don’t know about you but <span style="color: #20124d;"><b>I’m sick of excuses in the guise
of dignity</b></span>. I’m sick of the world broadcasting to me that we’re just supposed
to give up on each other. I’m sick of a world that seeks instant gratification
and momentary peace at the cost of real relationship. I’m sure Jesus wasn't
filled with warm fuzzies for humanity when nails were being driven through his
hands and feet. I’m pretty sure His flesh would have liked to walk away, to let
us go, instead of taking on the sins of the world. We are wholly and mightily loved by the God
of the universe. And what does He command us to do? To love the Lord our God
with all hearts and to love our neighbors as ourselves. He did not<o:p></o:p></div>
say only
love the neighbors who are good to you, He did not say love your neighbors until
they hurt you. He simply said to love. When we call others toxic, when we call
for the <b><span style="color: #134f5c;">excision</span></b> of people from our lives, we seem to forget our own sins, <b>we
seem to suddenly view the rest of the world from a pedestal of sinlessness. </b><br />
<br />
Can
we please stop posturing and pretending like our happiness is the most
important thing? Our world is full of
hurting people, we could use a little love and forgiveness and little less justification.Carla@3-foldcord.comhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12219075398294807437noreply@blogger.com