tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20902415030600345222024-03-19T09:05:48.192-04:00Just Wright HereThe journey of our lifeUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger111125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090241503060034522.post-71468916802253897642018-12-19T22:41:00.001-05:002018-12-19T22:45:38.678-05:00MiloI'm siting in my living room, the one with an open wall to the kitchen, the other half is a faux brick painted the same muted beige yellow as all the walls in the house. There is a large bay window where I watch the birds peck away to the death of small worms and grubs.<br />
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This room, it's awkwardly rectangular. Just this past fall I finally placed the off white couch center to the window and a thick runner at the foot of the couch. Because I hate the affect that hard floors have on bare feet- picking up and tagging along until they discard on a surface. I absolutely hate the feeling of sediment, no matter how recently I swept, crumbling off onto the couch... or worse, between the bed sheets where I have a nightly ritual of obsessively wiping away any mysterious crumbs in my bed.<br />
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Back in my living room, where I sit in my second-hand blue armchair that actually fits my 5 foot 3 inch frame with silver buttons all down the sides... I remember him.<br />
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This room is near empty and I can't help but feel a pull to minimize more, release more. I hate clutter, and yet every day, it finds me. The simple act of living, having two school aged children (how did that happen so fast) and birthdays and holidays and just life... all these ordinary days build up into wrappers and trimmings discarded on my beautiful coffee table.<br />
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I've never loved a piece of furniture like I do that coffee table. And yet, I dared to sell it. Thankfully, my sister on the other side of the continent persuaded me to keep it. And another friend whispered words of keeping it, letting it be the one piece that I choose to store when we move overseas in 2020. The one piece that feels elegant, clean and the detail of the woodworking puts me in awe. Because I'm the daughter of a carpenter and I find these small details to be worthy of a swoon, a mason jar of simple $4 white flowers and getting on my knees, crouching down to wipe away the dust and dirt that seeps into the toes of my beloved three footed coffee table.<br />
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While our mostly re-purposed, hand made and educational decor still stands in place on these walls we have called home for 19 months, our tiny Charlie Brown tree is still strung with illuminating lights, while the runner is still rolled out, awkwardly in the middle of the room with discarded shoes next to it and a strewn Woody the Cowboy at one end. In this mostly furniture-less room stacked with soon-to-be-filled boxes as we pack our final things tomorrow, I think of him.<br />
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I remember visiting their apartment this month ten years ago and his wife saying that he once said he would like a room with nothing but a chair in it.<br />
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Imagine that. A whole room in a house, with just a chair.<br />
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I know, right? It sounded silly at first, but as I have mulled over this thought, I actually really liked it.<br />
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So as we move, again, for the 7th time in 10 years, I think, what about a room with just a chair in it? Well, we went from living in a nearly 200 year old house that was 2,000 sf to an RV, to a 1,000sf 2 bedroom ranch, now we are heading to a 800sf 2 bedroom second floor apartment. Clearly, the last three homes mentioned don't allow for a room with just a chair in it.<br />
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But in moments like tonight, I want to remember him. Milo. His name was Milo and he died three years ago with his grandfather in Oregon when their plane spontaneously combusted.<br />
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I've never met a more adoring couple. And to my nearly 22 year old self, about to be married, I looked up to them and wanted to be so much like them. As they moved across the country, we inherited most of our newly-wed apartment furniture from them.<br />
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Two and a half years ago, when we made our big move, I re-homed those pieces of furniture and told them about Milo again. How he wanted a room with just a chair, how he was one of the most content and peacefully joyful people I had met, and how he adored his wife with such a love that made me want to be a better wife for my soon-to-be husband.<br />
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When I move, when furniture is placed and I struggle with trying to make due with what we have and save up for a rug that I later purchase on clearance at Target, I think of him. Because his life was a good one. A happy, welcoming, peaceful and loving one. And I learned about making a house a home from watching him and his wife. To keep it simple, make it cozy, open the doors and let the broken people in, so that they might find rest.<br />
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Thanks Milo.<br />
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Ten years later, I'm still learning from you.<br />
Three years in heaven and I still don't understand why God chose to take you when and how He did.<br />
Today, I want a house that is a home, no matter the location or size. All are welcome here.<br />
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<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/6fvSfrt6fUE" width="560"></iframe>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090241503060034522.post-22845387213045847182018-11-28T22:54:00.000-05:002018-11-28T22:54:22.009-05:00When pictures don't tell you the story<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
We just returned from a 24 day trip that took the kids and I from North Carolina up to New Hampshire and then over to Colorado where we met up with my husband. Neither trips were planned and I actually booked our flights to Boston on a steal of a deal,one way. I was hoping to score a good deal with a flex return flight home. At the time, I didn't know we were going to Colorado and within a few days it worked out best to just fly to Colorado from Boston. Easy peasy (said no Mom traveling with two kids carry-on only, through senseless security "lines" that are empty but you still have to zig zag the whole way somehow pulling 3 suitcases and wearing an overstuffed backpack... and forgetting your license at the check in kiosk. Turn around, go back.) Anyway...</div>
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I know that opening sentence might sound like a wildly fun adventure, and yes fun was had, but these two trips were <i>not </i>planned even a month in advance and while both were very much necessary, my body and soul longed for rhythms of home life. </div>
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If you've followed our journey these last several months, you have heard about the crazy upheaval of our "ordinary" or anything that resembled a "routine" or "rhythm." And that is just how this roller coaster of life goes. You rarely get warnings. </div>
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Nobody told me that my husband was going to be severely injured and unable to fulfill his contracts doing professional bike shows for the rest of 2018. (Because that's his job. For real. He does bike tricks and public speaking and I have a huge crush on him.) </div>
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Nobody gave this homeschooling Mom a heads up that she would have to find work almost overnight.</div>
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I didn't even really know what a brain aneurysm was when my Dad called in September and within two hours I was flying to see my Mom. </div>
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No, I didn't get a note in the mail, a text or an insurance policy that made up for our major loss of income while my husband recovered. But I did get this one thing, this one little bit that I could hold onto when we found out my husbands recovery would be 6-9 months. This one little bit that I could hold onto while I spent a week at Mass General Hospital with my Mom hooked up to dozens of machines in the Nero ICU.</div>
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<b><i>I had such an overwhelming sense of peace and hope and I knew beyond any doubts and fears I was carrying that the peace and hope filling me was from the Lord. </i></b></div>
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Isaiah 46:4 washed over me on repeat-</div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">"I have made you. I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you." </span></i></div>
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Maybe that sounds weird to you. That's okay, I don't really know how to explain it right now. I'm still processing this crazy train I've been on. I will probably be chewing on all that I've learned, saw, felt, experienced these last several months for a very long time. Because that's how I process things and it's a lot to unpack. But I don't want to forget in the weeks and months to come, that in the midst of the hardest moments with the least certainty and lack of security, my hope and peace came from the Lord. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM7BTx7c8t82Tv78_QoW5KXTN0KGHuKQ6yRmdAJgmEZK21-KcwD4mGAIuRGqryUQTLhBEObqekwBcVGyJvcvG0JklkvXLh5Q3h3NHNzBeBldipe5J9OTjnuGoM-POfNnwhMnUhc7XWmi0/s1600/IMG_6702.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM7BTx7c8t82Tv78_QoW5KXTN0KGHuKQ6yRmdAJgmEZK21-KcwD4mGAIuRGqryUQTLhBEObqekwBcVGyJvcvG0JklkvXLh5Q3h3NHNzBeBldipe5J9OTjnuGoM-POfNnwhMnUhc7XWmi0/s640/IMG_6702.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And we shall call the boy Billy. Because he is a Billy-goat!</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUH6qdJCk6I7yRcYTzHJ2m_G3tMoeb-xVWEEnOEge586b_gA-cPRkMqqeIzimgMCbzhf-gCV2D-10PX5y-NCrBqnSuKMZW0nvCK2p6LuVgSy62AFXHByQ3O631SNx2DTuyXM-QTQohbN8/s1600/IMG_6703.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUH6qdJCk6I7yRcYTzHJ2m_G3tMoeb-xVWEEnOEge586b_gA-cPRkMqqeIzimgMCbzhf-gCV2D-10PX5y-NCrBqnSuKMZW0nvCK2p6LuVgSy62AFXHByQ3O631SNx2DTuyXM-QTQohbN8/s640/IMG_6703.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKxw-PcHmJ6RSmFSS-dOwJ6uo8n8jDQxr2nIJY-O_c8QR4dUCpm0mT8moNDkR2FvN2j-0yYzFycld2wYyYiSL_GHBsfjnmv_t4QygwqbkHhlbfJy19N2BkpX89r3tDin2A4gCHkgEsUPc/s1600/IMG_6705.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKxw-PcHmJ6RSmFSS-dOwJ6uo8n8jDQxr2nIJY-O_c8QR4dUCpm0mT8moNDkR2FvN2j-0yYzFycld2wYyYiSL_GHBsfjnmv_t4QygwqbkHhlbfJy19N2BkpX89r3tDin2A4gCHkgEsUPc/s640/IMG_6705.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Do you see my monkey girl up there!?</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiickhPY7qmgP9CZqlZcaZV6JVorSctm08nXW6u9Na6Y579cjv3u4wlfL1GLLBxCrphj9HtA-tXAhF2mc13x1x9LcH-iopooY6e6FtlbPpJU8oM4ji4cLIMOSHn6UvKkOhbsQjwyUMwGa4/s1600/IMG_6721.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiickhPY7qmgP9CZqlZcaZV6JVorSctm08nXW6u9Na6Y579cjv3u4wlfL1GLLBxCrphj9HtA-tXAhF2mc13x1x9LcH-iopooY6e6FtlbPpJU8oM4ji4cLIMOSHn6UvKkOhbsQjwyUMwGa4/s640/IMG_6721.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPvNXlwSjCdRGUKai9setCkoz3OvL1a7SFKIhR3-CxEI-E8aTJu71I349OQWg4hxaDtTkzsOC3p-npIaUWQPXt7NSKBCRrQ9NNHBXTQmAIn5ia5HvZ86PizCIaFrbz8udeqLdxYVEVQ8w/s1600/IMG_6727.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPvNXlwSjCdRGUKai9setCkoz3OvL1a7SFKIhR3-CxEI-E8aTJu71I349OQWg4hxaDtTkzsOC3p-npIaUWQPXt7NSKBCRrQ9NNHBXTQmAIn5ia5HvZ86PizCIaFrbz8udeqLdxYVEVQ8w/s640/IMG_6727.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Abby in her self declared "beast mode" </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu7vF5-inZ0Nx_ehwIFvXlF0x6n1Zm9WQySooVIUtGC8LMbySUMQmMA3MZ22PeY4XdRsWZoogA6hWXWB9t2sVfHZzXv6fuYaYBrvgPha0pH1E7zxuwNCHoDc7wFovIQ2yVkPe5neGhTeY/s1600/IMG_6732.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu7vF5-inZ0Nx_ehwIFvXlF0x6n1Zm9WQySooVIUtGC8LMbySUMQmMA3MZ22PeY4XdRsWZoogA6hWXWB9t2sVfHZzXv6fuYaYBrvgPha0pH1E7zxuwNCHoDc7wFovIQ2yVkPe5neGhTeY/s640/IMG_6732.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She's on top of the world, hey!</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5VWM0P3BkAletir9ysFkxp9HHnM4DWFRJScjQ8QWplgJu0m1sPR4uIjaDh1V444sSy8N-TALA5C2D5Kb09PNqma736oQ046MVBQHVUHYQWwIcrvH_uG3GxZhY4Uv5LurtaR_jnsjnE78/s1600/IMG_6735.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5VWM0P3BkAletir9ysFkxp9HHnM4DWFRJScjQ8QWplgJu0m1sPR4uIjaDh1V444sSy8N-TALA5C2D5Kb09PNqma736oQ046MVBQHVUHYQWwIcrvH_uG3GxZhY4Uv5LurtaR_jnsjnE78/s640/IMG_6735.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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Garden of the gods was incredible. </div>
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We went just before the sun went over Pikes Peak and it took my breathe away.</div>
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Literally.</div>
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Abby and I were filled with zeal as we ran up some of these wondrous rocks. On my way down it all hit at once. Sadly, the contents of my last meal needed to be scrubbed off of the side of the minivan. And it didn't get better for a long while. </div>
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Colorado, I love you.</div>
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But can you maybe not be so "mile high" and maybe lower the altitude?</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090241503060034522.post-40916483023954032542018-10-16T07:21:00.000-04:002018-10-16T07:21:02.389-04:00We're Going on a Bear HuntI remember watching my little Abby marching around the library during story time as the librarian read the book <i><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Were-Going-Classic-Board-Books/dp/0689815816/ref=pd_sim_14_1?_encoding=UTF8&pd_rd_i=0689815816&pd_rd_r=15f665ba-d123-11e8-b42b-1db580407759&pd_rd_w=P6EMw&pd_rd_wg=V9iFq&pf_rd_i=desktop-dp-sims&pf_rd_m=ATVPDKIKX0DER&pf_rd_p=18bb0b78-4200-49b9-ac91-f141d61a1780&pf_rd_r=41G91E41C3RQVP7WK7ZM&pf_rd_s=desktop-dp-sims&pf_rd_t=40701&psc=1&refRID=41G91E41C3RQVP7WK7ZM">We're Going on a Bear Hunt </a></i><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">{If you want to listen/ watch it read, it's on <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kL36gMrHJaI">YouTube</a>. <a href="http://a.co/d/9mYQjL4">Amazon</a> also has an animation}</span></div>
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I don't think that Michael Rosen (the British author) could have anticipated how profound his little book would be. It's a fairly common book to gift young kids and to be read/ sung with motions at story times. Yet, here I am at thirty one years old singing it to myself when I feel my anxieties rise and depression is looming. </div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">"We can't go over it. </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">We can't go under it. </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">Oh no! </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">We've got to go through it!"</span></i></div>
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This season of life, this next big challenge, the heartache, the pain and suffering, the uncertainty, the hardship- we have to go through it. </div>
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It's the only way out of it.</div>
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I have a friend whose six year old son is dying of cancer. They celebrated Christmas this weekend with him... in the middle of October. Because he won't live to see this coming Christmas.</div>
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My sister, on the other side of the continent, is doing life as a single Mom with three kids while her husband is deployed... again.</div>
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My Mom is suffering the aftermath of having a brain bleed four weeks ago. We learned yesterday that she is one of only 20% to survive or have permanent damage from what she endured. She will recover completely, but it's going to take months.</div>
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One of the sweetest women I know just delivered her full term stillborn daughter.</div>
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My friend in New Hampshire is pregnant with her fourth son and just found out that she has stage 4 breast cancer. She is my age.</div>
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This month marks three years since my friend lost her husband in a spontaneous plane combustion. My eyes still sting every time I think of them. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
When the news hits me, I don't know what to say, or think. One thing I have learned the last few years is that we each process pain, suffering, and hardship differently. It is no competition of whose pain is greater, who is stronger or weaker. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Being away from my parents during this delicate time as my Mom recovers from her brain aneurysm is harder than I would have ever imagined. There are so many little and big things running through my head as I process that emergency flight during the hurricane, my week in Boston with her at the hospital, coming home and having to be a Mom to my kids when all I wanted was to just be a daughter to my parents during this critical time. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I've been learning a lot about my own strengths and my weaknesses these last four weeks. Traumatic experiences will do that. They allow you to flex your strong muscles and they reveal your deeply weak and vulnerable parts. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
As my friend Ashley wrote recently (the one losing her son) I found myself agreeing with her bold statement. I can't say that I hate this season of life, but rather, I'm thankful for it. Not in the moment or all the time, but overall, I'm truly grateful to go through this. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
My weak and vulnerable parts being revealed are being strengthened and getting some nurturing that they need. So maybe when the next crisis arises (and you know it will, because our world is so broken) maybe I'll be stronger then. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I'm learning new and helpful things on this journey through people in my life, resources and seeing a counselor. I like to think of counseling as learning how to use the tools in my tool belt. Maybe I didn't know I was capable of processing something differently, looking at it from a different perspective. Maybe I need to scrape away the way I've grown to react or handle hard things, heal, and grow. Maybe I need to learn to rhythms, practice until it becomes a habit, second nature.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I just don't want to be the same person I was six months ago when this roller coaster of our life took off. I don't want to just survive the ride while throwing up on the person behind me. I want to find the joy in it and help the person next to me thrive in their wild ride as well. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Over and over again, my soul has cried out these last several months. From one crazy unexpected turn after another, I have felt every bit of this journey. Songs like <i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VlTtWQRNock">Though You Slay Me</a> </i>have been sung through gritted teeth as hard parts of my heart have been ripped away, to make those areas soft and new.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
While in the hospital with my Mom four weeks ago, I sang the song <i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GfVd5x9W1Xc">So Will I</a>. </i>A friend who knows much physical pain and is an avid prayer warrior/ cheerleader of our family called it <i>"Defiant worship- the ultimate testimony of faith during times of stress and hardship." </i>Sometimes, I don't have the words to pray, the tears to cry, or the thoughts to gather, I just need to play worship music and let them wash over me.<br />
<br />
Maybe you need to hear these ramblings of mine. To know you're not alone. To know it's okay to say you're not okay. To get help. To cry out to the God who made you. To feel the moments you'd rather ignore or stuff deep down inside... they will come out by the way. I know.<br />
<br />
One way that I have been encouraged these last four weeks is watching my Mom cling to hope and joy in Jesus like I've never seen her do before. As I said to someone who asked recently, "she's <i>joyful</i>. I mean, she's in a world of pain, but she's <i>joyful</i>." While we were in the hospital she took every opportunity to share about Jesus with the medical staff. As I sat there in shock, staring at my Mom hooked up to machines and holding my breathe while the chorus of "are we out of the woods yet?" rang in my head. Meanwhile, in the midst of my Mom writhing in pain, she would say, "I'm clinging to Romans 8:28! If all this pain and suffering helps lead someone to Jesus, then it is worth it!"<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">Romans 8:28</span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: start;">And we know that for those who love God all things work together </span></i><i style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="background-color: white; text-align: start;">for good,</span><span style="background-color: white; text-align: start;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; text-align: start;">for </span><span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-ESV-28129B" data-link="(<a href="#cen-ESV-28129B" title="See cross-reference B">B</a>)" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; text-align: start; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></span><span style="background-color: white; text-align: start;">those who are called according to his purpose.</span></i></span></div>
<br />
And can I tell you some really good news? It has. Last week, after sharing deep, hard parts of this journey and my Mom's story, a friend of mine who has been seeking Jesus but struggling to give her life to Him finally made that choice. She told me Sunday morning, and again I was stunned, struggling for words. How good is our God that He would literally draw someone to Himself from this suffering my Mom is going through. How <i>good</i> is He that someone would choose salvation in Jesus Christ after two years of seeking and use this story of suffering and praising Him through it all. What joy in the pain to know that God is using this to bring glory to Himself.<br />
<br />
So, yes. Yes, I still choose to worship. Yes, I still choose to praise Him. HE will go through it with me. I can't go over it. I can't go under it. I have to go through it. And by God's grace, I don't have to journey alone.<br />
<br />
<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 border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="572" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxa6m-GaIRtoycrGcFZe8j5_4KVliu3B3QA0p-uEQ7yXx-Rs2VdAGehD6HBDZbqVrF20nDvDHJHTgNXOn1Lrln_Gyi1k2awChfQ5HXgSOpUUlv4tm7W9zIWR8EQ44SlIRtlPtlWI66ZQA/s640/Romans8_iphone_paper-572x1024.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="356" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blog.lifeway.com/womenallaccess/2015/04/01/win-a-seamless-vip-kit/?emid=Women-eblast-Seamless-04012015#.VRxwd1PF-uM">Source</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090241503060034522.post-50886845317892133082018-08-20T23:27:00.000-04:002018-08-20T23:27:25.579-04:00Butterflies, Bees, Bookbinding & Buoyancy<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Butterflies + </i><i>Bees + </i><i>Bookbinding + </i><i>Buoyancy</i></div>
<div>
<br />
<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/AVvXsEhYmFY7JVboKhoSEZL9r9SD3MEsZc0PTg0r-8mJHvW7HkktFgpX_cDekTiTsxsPRHd7DV_Qf7ePh0mJE7muysjCbEAogHvycy6liIj_N0pVvWpPrhunsla2mw-IHw9gOTH8xoDmRp3wlqI/s1600/IMG_4867.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYmFY7JVboKhoSEZL9r9SD3MEsZc0PTg0r-8mJHvW7HkktFgpX_cDekTiTsxsPRHd7DV_Qf7ePh0mJE7muysjCbEAogHvycy6liIj_N0pVvWpPrhunsla2mw-IHw9gOTH8xoDmRp3wlqI/s640/IMG_4867.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.lifeandscience.org/magic-wings">Museum of Life and Science- Magic Wings Butterfly House</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<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/AVvXsEg1Vs1Uo8M4GF289luPt-zbqWo4K1VwjBAMoIZMme2roijOKo6AGcsNV-o3oeiUOBvLlMB4YNxYxzWQwzAoh2NWL1k42btnXZSG7jlm2R0pzGwLUx8XUh85GIwKJ7voPm753_P6MFmtVgs/s1600/IMG_4939.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1Vs1Uo8M4GF289luPt-zbqWo4K1VwjBAMoIZMme2roijOKo6AGcsNV-o3oeiUOBvLlMB4YNxYxzWQwzAoh2NWL1k42btnXZSG7jlm2R0pzGwLUx8XUh85GIwKJ7voPm753_P6MFmtVgs/s640/IMG_4939.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://beehealth.bayer.us/what-is-bayer-doing/bayer-bee-care-center/tour-form">Bayer Bee Care Center</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<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/AVvXsEggCpvTJP7exlDE-wIM-H0_SNhCZGrj2WqkqsBOYwe2gvtoxT3PGUpEPqZXPsisArzlx9lYrbsebJvPDWuy0KsvLR64QYr0ue9FV0W0_Y8sCjeH2gsKUJkpvmbGhBrt1VraGVOkMc7RGGE/s1600/IMG_5295.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggCpvTJP7exlDE-wIM-H0_SNhCZGrj2WqkqsBOYwe2gvtoxT3PGUpEPqZXPsisArzlx9lYrbsebJvPDWuy0KsvLR64QYr0ue9FV0W0_Y8sCjeH2gsKUJkpvmbGhBrt1VraGVOkMc7RGGE/s640/IMG_5295.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://bee-downtown.com/hive-location-3/">Burt's Bees hive observation- Bee Downtown Durham</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />I didn't mean for our summer study elements to all start with the letter "B" </div>
<div>
<br />
I'm heading into my third year of homeschooling, first year of homeschooling two kids at once, and these past two years have looked so different. Each kid is different. Seasons of our lives change, and homeschooling allows that to be "okay" in our family. </div>
<div>
<br />
Ever since I was a little girl (growing up all my education in public school, mind you) I imagined homeschooling... my dozen adopted children in the African jungle. No joke. I clung to this idea for about half my life.<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
My oldest went to full day public school in a small town for her Kindergarten year. My youngest went to a private Christian preschool 3 half days a week.<br />
Both of those situations worked for us.<br />
I don't have a map to our lives telling us what it will look like in the years to come, but right now, I'm treating these moments like they just might be our last.<br />
I need to view it that way because when I started out homeschooling our oldest child for preschool, I hated it. Honestly, I resented her. I was consumed with dreading the next too many years that I would be "stuck" homeschooling her. We were in a really tough spot with her and homeschooling was <i>not </i>a good fit for us at that time. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
One night, I remember getting a babysitter and driving home from a Kindergarten interest meeting. I have never had my stubborn head so quickly turned like it did that night. I called my husband afterward and told him with full certainty that sending our daughter to Kindergarten was the absolute best thing we could do for her. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And you know what? I was so right.</div>
<div>
I was right that I couldn't handle homeschooling her then. </div>
<div>
I was right that we BOTH needed a break from each other.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And I was wrong.</div>
<div>
I was wrong to say that I would only home school.</div>
<div>
I was wrong to say that home schooling is always what it best. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I could never have anticipated what that school year would bring- </div>
<div>
<br />
<ul>
<li>Caring for a premature baby before the sun came up while her Mom went to the methadone clinic. </li>
<li>Advocating and preparing a room in our home for children we had hoped to rescue from a desperate situation. And you know that my Mom heart was already imagining them as "mine."</li>
<li>Loosing two people I care about suddenly and one quite tragically. It was my first time having to deal with loss through death.</li>
<li>Finding out we suddenly needed to find a new 501c3 to partner our ministry with... and losing half of our month support in the process.</li>
<li>Opening our home to a single Mom and her special needs son for several weeks, and my son not getting along with him.</li>
</ul>
</div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
...That was all before Christmas during my daughters Kindergarten year.</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It continued with our entire septic system needing to be replaced. We had drilled a new well just a year and a half before that. Our mortgage doubled because of these two major expenses. </div>
<div>
Finishing remolding our 200 (yes- TWO HUNDRED) year old house consumed our Spring.</div>
<div>
My friend lost her battle to cancer, orphaning her 8 year old son. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
That school year brought more grief and heartache, wave after wave, than ever before. And I couldn't imagine going through all of that if I had my oldest daughter home with me. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Early mornings in the fall were spent holding a tiny precious babe that I desperately wanted but knew I could not keep. The winter brought long gloomy days and a feeling of shock. The Spring reminded me of new life and in the isolation of a locked bathroom door, I would weep over loss. When we closed on our house, driving in our RV west to kick off a summer of touring, I wept bitter tears for all the heartache that house held the past year. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Cheers to you parents, for parenting. </div>
<div>
For those of you who keep on keeping on, even in the thick of it.</div>
<div>
To the single Mom's.</div>
<div>
To the parents who are separated or divorced.</div>
<div>
To the adoptive and foster parents. </div>
<div>
To the parents in full-time ministry</div>
<div>
To the entrepreneurs.</div>
<div>
To the parents who are also students.<br />
To the parent whose spouse is deployed.<br />
To the working parent.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This isn't easy and it doesn't look like what we imagined it would, does it?<br />
I didn't expect to be working outside the home and homeschooling my kids in this next season. I didn't expect our summer to be so... uncertain, this place of waiting we are in while my husband recovers from surgery and we take next steps forward in our life, in a very different direction.<br />
<br />
But in the midst of these changing seasons, my own insecurities, loss and slow progress, I think about those bees and butterflies we learned about this summer.<br />
In the Bible, Matthew 6:25-34, Jesus points out how great the Father's care is- that even the birds and the grass are tended to by Him.<br />
<br />
Sometimes... sometimes I need to remember to stop trying so hard. I can be desperate to have something to show for my hard work, evidence to prove my worth. As a Mom, a teacher, a provider, in ministry. It is in my weakest and most vulnerable of times that I need to remember His great love for <i>me</i> and if I truly believe with all of my heart that He is the God of the Universe, then why am I trying so hard? Every day, He provides. Each breath I breathe, these moments I store up in my heart, every bit of money and possession we own, all food and clothing. It is all provision and a gift from my Heavenly Father. We have witnessed this in very tangible ways, and too quickly I forget. Every gift comes from Him.<br />
<br />
I want to delight in this more regularly, remembering it when I see the bees and butterflies. I want to find joy in the mystery of it all, like my 5 year old son grasping bits of the concept of buoyancy and the fascination my daughter found in learning how books were first made and bound. I want to be like those books. The process of cutting, pressing, gluing, stitching. Every step I can feel. But the end result? A story worth being written, opened, and shared.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090241503060034522.post-59224184525802127352018-07-24T18:55:00.000-04:002018-07-24T18:55:04.585-04:00Waiting Room<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiZO1u06f8whE-R5NGKWDlW-5dzMuuxWdsy6zf5eBGu5i8bsbJNr-P5qDm3U5t1nL8uENe5XdNR5zY8c8NgwjtRRS_g0CB9Gct_Sj1_pZs_VV6jX6o0Oc3Wqgqf5YD_-PgJM_mhkPO4oM/s1600/IMG_4582.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiZO1u06f8whE-R5NGKWDlW-5dzMuuxWdsy6zf5eBGu5i8bsbJNr-P5qDm3U5t1nL8uENe5XdNR5zY8c8NgwjtRRS_g0CB9Gct_Sj1_pZs_VV6jX6o0Oc3Wqgqf5YD_-PgJM_mhkPO4oM/s640/IMG_4582.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
She called it "the waiting room"<br />
and a dozen scenes unfolded in my mind.<br />
<br />
anticipation of a birth,<br />
a loved one in surgery,<br />
urgent care with a fever,<br />
the ER with labored breathing...<br />
<br />
Familiar feelings creep in,<br />
the numbness,<br />
ticking of the clock,<br />
blaring TV talk show,<br />
icy blasts of air conditioning,<br />
piles of magazines looking back at me.<br />
<br />
Our time in the waiting room stretches us, weakens us, grows us, strengthens us.<br />
<br />
In the waiting room, we wait.<br />
And we don't have anything to report.<br />
<br />
"Thank you for checking in."<br />
"Your prayers are appreciated."<br />
"Nothing new to report."<br />
"I'll let you know when I know."<br />
<br />
The ache and stress of one more comment,<br />
"Please, stop."<br />
My heart can't bare it.<br />
It feels like too much.<br />
The weight of words are weighed by the ounce.<br />
<br />
How are you? Never felt so personal.<br />
Surviving. Thriving.<br />
Getting by. Soaring.<br />
I'm not sure what next week will bring.<br />
We have enough for today.<br />
<br />
It's today.<br />
Not tomorrow.<br />
But I keep going there.<br />
Next week.<br />
Next month.<br />
Soon, it's the holiday season.<br />
<br />
I need to be here.<br />
Plan for there.<br />
<br />
But we planned for here, for now.<br />
This is all so... unexpected.<br />
We planned again, in the thick of it.<br />
And I have nothing more to tell you.<br />
<br />
Because we are in the waiting room.<br />
And so is she with her husband who left.<br />
And they are too, with their foster kids.<br />
And he is too while he awaits the notice.<br />
They are waiting for the adoption placement.<br />
She is trying to get by as a single Mom.<br />
He doesn't understand the rejection.<br />
And they just want the courts to make a decision already.<br />
And she still hasn't come home.<br />
She is using again...<br />
<br />
I'm in this waiting room and while I wait,<br />
I hear the moans and the aches of those around me.<br />
They are waiting too,<br />
for very different reasons.<br />
We may never have met before,<br />
but it's this waiting room that brought us here.<br />
<br />
So, while I take a deep breath, I'll hand you my tissue.<br />
I'll let my own tears stream as I rub your back and you weep,.<br />
<br />
You, neighbor in the waiting room, scraped up enough pennies to get me a coffee.<br />
You, neighbor, gave me a ride.<br />
You brought me a meal.<br />
You sent sons to mow my lawn.<br />
<br />
In your brokenness, you have loved me well.<br />
In my brokenness, I have learned love.<br />
<br />
You expect no Thank You note.<br />
I don't need you to know my name.<br />
In this waiting room, together, we wait.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090241503060034522.post-58031237256677769112018-05-25T09:50:00.000-04:002018-05-25T09:50:04.694-04:00So will I<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjla3aojdrBlM-4a11YG34CZUxvBo35X5g_23YT1IN6gUgL-T_ROrZ_RNJzd6fg_YOZwGUy7aWeNIv7SgXD-V0RVCNfImaMxiCZsNYNCejD49gPvueMOqBqGC-s2dd9RbURg5pUDml__1g/s1600/IMG-4605.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjla3aojdrBlM-4a11YG34CZUxvBo35X5g_23YT1IN6gUgL-T_ROrZ_RNJzd6fg_YOZwGUy7aWeNIv7SgXD-V0RVCNfImaMxiCZsNYNCejD49gPvueMOqBqGC-s2dd9RbURg5pUDml__1g/s640/IMG-4605.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
There are times when I become acutely aware of my own selfishness. Parenting often brings those "teachable" moments out of me.<br />
<br />
Last Thursday, I was reluctant to bring my daughter to her pottery class. My husband had been home for 24 hour post-op and I knew it was safe to leave him. I was physically and emotionally exhausted and just didn't want to go anywhere. To magnify my reluctance in bringing her, she was not trying her best in this new class.<br />
<br />
I walked into the downtown city library, right next to the arts center, returning books and checking out the DVD selection for my laid up husband. While I perused the vast, but hopelessly dull shelves of DVD's, a group of three people sat down at the table behind me.<br />
<br />
My ears tuned in when I heard the blend of feminine but masculine voices talking in hesitation. <i>"So, what can I expect when I go to jail?... Are the doors bars, or are they solid?... Do we have to stay in our rooms the whole day, or is there a common room to read or watch TV.. Oh, it's not like what I've seen on TV at all..." </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I could hear the other person hesitate as they answered the questions from their own experience. Concluding with <i>"But you get 3 meals a day and a clean bed to sleep in."</i>Trying to sound optimistic.<br />
<br />
I turned around to see the two people talking to be men, dressed as women, wigs, false lashes and all. Oh, the ache in my heart!<br />
<br />
My head was spinning from all that had happened that week. <i>"But you have hope..." </i>I felt the Lord whisper to my heart. The ache magnified. The conversation I just overheard sounded grim, yet here I am, just a few feet away, and I have <i>hope</i>.<br />
<br />
I moved farther away, trying to clear my thoughts and the ache leading me to them. As I looked through the selection on the shelves more, I felt a nudge on the right side of my leg. I looked down to see nothing, but feeling the pressure just the same. I looked to my left, where they sat gathered at the table, just looking down and not saying anything.<br />
<br />
I knew what I needed to do, but I felt so inadequate. My head has been spinning and I don't know if I can even form a coherent sentence. I have nothing to say to them. <i>"They are loved!" </i>The ache in me pushed me toward them and suddenly, I stood next to the table with three pairs of eyes lined in heavy makeup peering at me. Before I knew what I was doing I blurted out, "Hi, my name is Karissa. I'm kind of going through a lot right now in my own life, and I don't know fully what you are going through, but I felt certain that I needed to come over here and just say hello and to tell you that you are loved. I wish I had more to say, but my head is spinning right now and I felt like you needed to know that you are loved."<br />
<br />
I didn't know what to do next. I felt so unprepared. They looked at me with sweet smiles. I was not expecting that. No eye brows raised. No laughing at me. No yelling. I cleared my throat, "what are your names?" I had no energy or emotion to continue talking, but I wanted to do something that was personal, restored their dignity and reflected their individual humanity. <i>"I know my people by name..." </i>my soul heard a whisper.<br />
<br />
"I'm Rachel." One responded proudly.<br />
"I'm Selah." Another replied.<br />
"Hmm, <i>Selah</i> doesn't that mean praise?" I asked<br />
"Yes" she responded proudly.<br />
"How appropriate." I smiled. "Praise."<br />
<br />
"It's very nice to meet you. Have a good day." I smiled and walked away. Because if this wasn't awkward and unusual enough, let's end on introductions... This is a true story.<br />
<br />
As I walked away I overheard one of them say, "That was so sweet of her coming over here." Another responded with "Yeah, I really needed to hear that today."<br />
<br />
I felt so empty, I had nothing left to give. Of all times, the Lord was prompting me to be an extension of His love. To simply obey His leading and walk in faith. It was uncomfortable but the only thing I had to lose was my own pride. In my weakness, I still know that I am deeply loved by my Heavenly Father. That is such a gift of grace to cling to during this time! I did nothing to deserve His great love for me. So when I had nothing left to give, no wise words or energy to even think a clear thought, the one thing I could articulate was <i>You are loved! </i>And I pray that the Holy Spirit will work where I left off, in my own weakness.<br />
<br />
Several minutes later, I threw open my yoga mat in the far corner of the park seperating the library from the arts center. The day before, as I sat in the waiting room while my husband underwent surgery to have his achilles tendon reattached, I poured over Isaiah 43. While I stretched out on my mat, taking in my peaceful, joyful surroundings, words from Isaiah 43:1-13 filled me and these words from a song became my song of worship, right there on my yoga mat in the downtown city park, while my daughter was in pottery class.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">If the stars were made to worship so will I</span></i></span></div>
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"></span></span></i><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">If the mountains bow in reverence so will I</span></span></i></div>
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</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><div style="text-align: center;">
If the oceans roar Your greatness so will I</div>
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For if everything exists to lift You high so will I</div>
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If the wind goes where You send it so will I</div>
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If the rocks cry out in silence so will I</div>
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If the sum of all our praises still falls shy</div>
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Then we’ll sing again a hundred billion times</div>
</span></span></i><br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090241503060034522.post-5660268480703302642018-05-15T22:59:00.000-04:002018-05-15T22:59:13.663-04:00Remember<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; text-align: left;">"When did I forget that you've always been the king of the world?</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: left;" /><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; text-align: left;">I try to take life back right out of the hands of the king of the world</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: left;" /><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; text-align: left;">How could I make you so small</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: left;" /><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; text-align: left;">When you're the one who holds it all</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: left;" /><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; text-align: left;">When did I forget that you've always been the king of the world"</span></div>
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<span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; text-align: left;"><span style="color: black; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; text-align: center;">-<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4K7kplxNM48">King of the World by Natalie Grant</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Remember that time, just eight years ago when I carried you through terrifying and unexpected times?</i></span></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-90af2b40-66df-2893-222e-02951960d4ad" style="font-weight: normal;"><i><br /></i></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Remember when I held you during your husbands unemployment, days before your precious firstborn came into this world, ringing in your one year anniversary of marriage?</i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Remember when I stayed that long week in the hospital with you as you feared for your two week old babe?</i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Remember when I had the nurses make you laugh, and sent those friends to bring you food?</i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Remember how I provided a job for your husband, just in time to be discharged from the hospital?</i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Remember how a church you didn’t even attend brought you meals? I sent strangers to feed you.</i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Remember that day months later, you wept and asked me where I was? Minutes later, I sent someone knocking at your door with a box full of groceries and $100 in cash? </i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Remember when I asked people to pay your rent for two months? </i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Remember when you felt embarrassed and ashamed taking too long at checkout using WIC and I sent someone to tell you how thankful they were for WIC getting them through their hard time?</i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Remember when you felt low, weary and anxiety followed you into sleepless nights and I sent words to encourage you and get the help you needed?</i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Remember when you felt shame for going on antidepressants in the midst of learning to be your daughters health advocate, and in the midst of that I surprised you by asking you to take in a 4 year old boy?</i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Remember how inadequate you felt and how brilliantly I provided for you in the short 24 hours notice before that precious boy came to live with you? </i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Remember how challenging that season was and how in the midst of it I made you feel whole and you felt immeasurable joy?</i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Remember how we would spend three mornings a week together while the 4 year old was in preschool and your babe was napping, sitting on the front porch, just the two of us?</i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Remember how I grew you during that time and I shaped new faith inside of you, to trust me more?</i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Remember all of these things and know that I have not changed. </i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Remember that I love you.</i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Remember that I will radically provide for you.</i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Remember the birds who sing outside your window and know, I sent them to sing a song of praise.</i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Remember that I care deeply about all that you endure and I am here, feeling each ache and baring your pain.</i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Remember, you are not alone and I will never leave you.</i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Remember to tell others this too, because so many around you are suffering and I see them too.</i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Remember to praise me in this storm.</i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Remember that I am faithful, unwavering.</i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Remember, I am the King of this world. </i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Remember that you are my daughter, my beloved.</i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Remember that you are the daughter of the One True Living King. </i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Remember that I’ve got this.</i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>Now rest. </i></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090241503060034522.post-39360803082993598262018-02-10T08:39:00.003-05:002018-02-10T08:39:48.975-05:00The Best MuseumsWhen people ask why we picked North Carolina to relocate to, I have been known to answer with "The museums! There are so many incredible museums!"<br />
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I know, it sounds silly. And you probably think I'm joking. But I'm not. Then again, you asked <i>me</i> why we picked North Carolina, had you asked my husband I suppose he would have given you a more serious answer.<br />
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During our brief season of living in Dover, New Hampshire, we lived walking distance from the Children's Museum. It made sense to buy a membership and it was worth e.v.e.r.y. penny. Fast forward a few months to us being on the road full time in our RV and we had used our museum membership in several states and at nearly a dozen museums!<br />
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The school year 2016-2017 was named "The year of the museums" in our family... (okay, obviously I'm the only one who called it that.)<br />
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This year, as Timehop reminds me of the adventures, I have a longing in me to explore ALL the museums that I can again. Recently, I realized that I hadn't blogged about those experiences/ adventures from last year. And apparently, if I haven't blogged about them, were they even that meaningful? ( <span style="font-size: x-small;">I'm just kidding. </span>)<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Last year was one for the books.</span></div>
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We lived in an RV, relocated, settled in to a new community and learned to rest. It was a good good year. But I hardly wrote about it because for me, during that season, resting meant very little internet access, watching the three Night at the Museum movies on repeat (the irony, I know!), doing a dozen puzzles, crocheting my heart out and learning to just <i>be present. </i><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">We went over a year and a half without regular streaming internet. </span></div>
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And it was glorious. </div>
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I read/ listened to more books during those 18 months than I had in the last decade. </div>
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And now that we have had internet for the last few months I realize something- we weren't really missing anything. </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This is your warning blog post!</span></div>
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I will be sharing about some of my favorite museums that we have ventured to, I will try not to totally history geek out on you when I write about Williamsburg #swoon.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I don't want to go to Disney, I just want to go back to Williamsburg!!!</span></div>
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I would love to hear of some of your favorite museums!</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090241503060034522.post-7911071455982040372018-02-04T16:14:00.003-05:002018-02-04T16:14:31.748-05:00When your husband has to go to Hilton Head Island for work...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
My husband does a professional <a href="http://www.bikestuntshow.com/">bicycle stunt show</a> and it has taken us to some pretty cool places. In January, he attended a convention (January= fair convention month. Most of his events are booked at these.) on Hilton Head Island, South Carolina, so we decided to make a family trip out of it! </div>
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On our way, we spent our first two nights visiting dear friends and their foster kids near Charleston, South Carolina. The next two nights we used <a href="http://www.airbnb.com/c/karissaw83">Airbnb</a> to stay near Hilton Head Island, allowing us easy access to both Hilton Head and Savannah.</div>
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Yes, it was January. </div>
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Yes, it was cold. </div>
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But really, we are native New Englander's... so it really wasn't that bad.</div>
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We had a blast checking out the Island, gathering nearly 30 sand dollars (and releasing them), digging our feet in the cool sand, and ending the brisk night doing a dance by the fire at the convention resort. </div>
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<span style="color: #0b5394;"><b><u>A few tips on how we made exploring Hilton Head Island affordable- </u></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #0b5394;">(Note, we just explored one day)</span></div>
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<span style="color: #0b5394;">- Airbnb is where it is at! </span></div>
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<span style="color: #0b5394;">We stayed two nights at $60 a night but we had $60 in <a href="http://www.airbnb.com/c/karissaw83">Airbnb </a>credit from referrals. The resort that the convention was at was about $110 per night, so we saved $160 in lodging. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #0b5394;">- We checked out a local <a href="https://www.lidl.com/">Lidl </a>grocery store and bought snacks and food for the day of exploring and the long drive.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #0b5394;">- I searched out "kid friendly things to do" on Google!</span></div>
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<span style="color: #0b5394;">- We visited a free animal farm called <a href="http://www.lawtonstables.com/">Lawton Stables</a>. It was beautiful, fun and had nice restrooms. We bought a bag of feed to give to the animals and it was a blast! </span></div>
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<span style="color: #0b5394;">You pay $6 CASH to get onto this part of the Island. It was located within Sea Pines Plantation- basically the main busy road suddenly comes to a toll, so be ready. It's a 5,000+ acre gated community. (As a former Full Time RVer heads up! No RV's!)</span></div>
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It was rather fun to have the beach to ourselves! All the palm trees, alligator (ahhh!), birds and plants made it feel like a totally different world. Exploring Savannah the next day really made it a nice break away as a family. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Melt my heart! He wrote his name in the sand by himself!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He wanting to bring some sand home to play with.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Visiting <a href="http://www.lawtonstables.com/">Lawton Stables</a></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This sweet horse! His head was SO big!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our Airbnb had sand toys that we could use!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4LDrP7p5t2vHM1T_LRrBjYWrOuNp8yLm-qBBcOIOcObfbpM4PrVDwbT61Ho8Y49jfxIsE100zJGKTODf8T5CXxryYA9mIZ-sDsBeUHOJEVxrvVH3dTCG6DTrp2XqGtgq_boJ55Y0czHw/s1600/IMG_2633.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4LDrP7p5t2vHM1T_LRrBjYWrOuNp8yLm-qBBcOIOcObfbpM4PrVDwbT61Ho8Y49jfxIsE100zJGKTODf8T5CXxryYA9mIZ-sDsBeUHOJEVxrvVH3dTCG6DTrp2XqGtgq_boJ55Y0czHw/s640/IMG_2633.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hiking a trail that honestly wasn't that exciting. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiEepDSWLqUskHZLrTJjXbEMQOdd-BD1NHGBN3vbQkX2zTG3R-pimlBlA_QCq6-f6R26ru-ffSgCJKqN6S-DuePq_CqY7wULTTrVi7pw4xjUV0hWruuu0T8EnqG2NU2edLaPYMkIFyCLY/s1600/0CE94AE5-62D3-4A8D-8B6D-E9438E73E3AA.mov" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiEepDSWLqUskHZLrTJjXbEMQOdd-BD1NHGBN3vbQkX2zTG3R-pimlBlA_QCq6-f6R26ru-ffSgCJKqN6S-DuePq_CqY7wULTTrVi7pw4xjUV0hWruuu0T8EnqG2NU2edLaPYMkIFyCLY/s640/0CE94AE5-62D3-4A8D-8B6D-E9438E73E3AA.mov" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My fire dancing children.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIDA7fpLzwg6M_JS3fnVNw2wfmh0udRdCrTGf_COBzEhcnoImQtgXxqxCLGOqQd9fvvnSc1K2NkSwaQ8gfV_fuf8uWmIILy9eqYAZgLhqXajPqASjG9yVGc2ZOm716wr9gFe6N-p7rd7A/s1600/IMG_2641.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIDA7fpLzwg6M_JS3fnVNw2wfmh0udRdCrTGf_COBzEhcnoImQtgXxqxCLGOqQd9fvvnSc1K2NkSwaQ8gfV_fuf8uWmIILy9eqYAZgLhqXajPqASjG9yVGc2ZOm716wr9gFe6N-p7rd7A/s640/IMG_2641.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the end of a long day outside exploring, we did school work in the resort lobby waiting for Daddy to finish up.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLdo9F74itmUJ6bcjodbwtgshVjoicGpefAkvZlivt9Csy9VH_MbFa04mO-GAzRsF1-QtmMkbCYd-1AoahqRnbCyzbnak8HQ6RbECpA5ZnUzHRQARWuKMpUUXkmv49BD7fqSr8o52hyphenhyphenK8/s1600/IMG_2643.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLdo9F74itmUJ6bcjodbwtgshVjoicGpefAkvZlivt9Csy9VH_MbFa04mO-GAzRsF1-QtmMkbCYd-1AoahqRnbCyzbnak8HQ6RbECpA5ZnUzHRQARWuKMpUUXkmv49BD7fqSr8o52hyphenhyphenK8/s640/IMG_2643.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm kind of obsessed with how stinking cute they are when they sleep together! (<a href="http://www.airbnb.com/c/karissaw83">Airbnb </a>travel for the win!)</td></tr>
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<span id="goog_1891708515"></span><span id="goog_1891708516"></span><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090241503060034522.post-27293858364910866362018-01-11T20:10:00.002-05:002018-01-11T20:10:32.861-05:00Beauty for Ashes NepalI had been in the country for less than 24 hours when I was asked, "would you mind leading morning devotions with our women at Beauty for Ashes?" I came prepared with a few talks, knowing that as a guest I would be asked on occasion to "share a word."<br />
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Those words that I had prepared, in faith, weeks before were so uniquely applicable that morning, for those women, and my own heart on day 5 in the country. This is the heart of the business-<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">"We believe poverty is one of the main problems that fuels human trafficking in the world today. To combat this problem, we employ women who are marginalized and those escaping exploitative situations. Our goal is to not only produce stylish and quality wholesale products for you to enjoy, but also to change the lives of the women who make these products by providing a work environment that is Christ-centered and family-oriented."</span></i></h4>
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Meeting the artisans of this company was one of the most memorable experiences. I was able to purchase Christmas gifts for family and friends back home in their show room. Below I'll share a few of my favorite items that I bought!</div>
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<b>Go follow <a href="https://beautyforashesnepal.com/pages/who-we-are">Beauty for Ashes</a> on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/beautyforashesnepal/" target="_blank">Facebook</a> and <a href="https://www.instagram.com/beautyforashesnepal/" target="_blank">Instagram</a></b></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I wasn't able to capture pictures inside the building but I did snap this one. I had 30 minutes to spare and asked for a project to work on. They had me roll a heaping pile of saris into bundles to be re-purposed.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgId6xlMMR3j6pUkX2-LdOyHHxNNYkI8ORJopkfWIojXBL7HOoN-JKhbHtUVu5xBgRPaQUoA8YQELL0biR9xfP9T5Wvlq4r2t45QGQ68DSkmnKdLa_ZnD4e76sN7gVSJ5kVIR15DJnQN8U/s1600/IMG_2091.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgId6xlMMR3j6pUkX2-LdOyHHxNNYkI8ORJopkfWIojXBL7HOoN-JKhbHtUVu5xBgRPaQUoA8YQELL0biR9xfP9T5Wvlq4r2t45QGQ68DSkmnKdLa_ZnD4e76sN7gVSJ5kVIR15DJnQN8U/s640/IMG_2091.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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My absolute favorite accessory has been these headbands made of re-purposed saris. I bought a few, to give as gifts. I should have bought more! I don't want to part with any of them! </div>
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Grab yours at <a href="https://tradeforfreedom.com/product/sari-headband/">Trade for Freedom. </a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWmKQQlN6Q2qxI7vz_lnEtGTr4RGWSoVd_ULcGyLj65IjCFvG54kdDL3JPNR5w3Ueerdb3oQy9dAk4SUe1VkGDFnPpal_bUnBwCLNBZUFHs9FtJcjiEJ5e88uS1TGHMAf96sulPuQkfdc/s1600/C0233a.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="696" data-original-width="696" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWmKQQlN6Q2qxI7vz_lnEtGTr4RGWSoVd_ULcGyLj65IjCFvG54kdDL3JPNR5w3Ueerdb3oQy9dAk4SUe1VkGDFnPpal_bUnBwCLNBZUFHs9FtJcjiEJ5e88uS1TGHMAf96sulPuQkfdc/s320/C0233a.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I don't have any good photos of me wearing my pair, so I pulled these from the <a href="https://latitudestore.com/collections/beauty-for-ashes-nepal/products/luna-silver-earrings">Latitudes</a> website.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPaF35muK9Naw8RNDk5ftxOfP9_TOO76RG_60Tt6uz7-KUQ2aEwAg_PnXBDLVKiP-2tZxN6g_Ad2wJIy2i4JXm3HUMUIibmT-bFIwtPr9kWvyeycwlXRbDtA31o_zo-NcM6xjWA_j52No/s1600/B0112-600x600.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPaF35muK9Naw8RNDk5ftxOfP9_TOO76RG_60Tt6uz7-KUQ2aEwAg_PnXBDLVKiP-2tZxN6g_Ad2wJIy2i4JXm3HUMUIibmT-bFIwtPr9kWvyeycwlXRbDtA31o_zo-NcM6xjWA_j52No/s320/B0112-600x600.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I bought each of my nieces a <a href="https://tradeforfreedom.com/product/surrender-bracelet/">Surrender Bracelet </a>crafted with re-purposed sari material.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXyxEo989weq9tpJEZf8SatS3DS4JbFCqTUxt2PAI9kCRQmaZ38oNeowC2UOGc_H2aKaYCT_cwXsiOTKnmzx7WWUReMVzaDHKwEq4vFU04NNc1UTJVmbcXYyFWtRfD9VuV1jeEagQGWSg/s1600/lunaearring_1024x1024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXyxEo989weq9tpJEZf8SatS3DS4JbFCqTUxt2PAI9kCRQmaZ38oNeowC2UOGc_H2aKaYCT_cwXsiOTKnmzx7WWUReMVzaDHKwEq4vFU04NNc1UTJVmbcXYyFWtRfD9VuV1jeEagQGWSg/s320/lunaearring_1024x1024.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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It was hard to wait until Christmas to gift these precious <a href="https://tradeforfreedom.com/product/silver-collection-elephant-earrings/">Elephant Earrings </a>to Abigail.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVE3F0MiO4uIq9ay9d_hSIvjKVm35Of8CLape47no3T5v1_d8KgaigUKxdteE2IqAB545f6h8TS1LHGbHgQwDxIr3S7aVmfMQL2OdCHKfQgnUA7Ud_zHe8pou5GkK68mS1ARlpJiNbJ2o/s1600/studs_1024x1024.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVE3F0MiO4uIq9ay9d_hSIvjKVm35Of8CLape47no3T5v1_d8KgaigUKxdteE2IqAB545f6h8TS1LHGbHgQwDxIr3S7aVmfMQL2OdCHKfQgnUA7Ud_zHe8pou5GkK68mS1ARlpJiNbJ2o/s320/studs_1024x1024.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I got three pairs (1 gold, 2 silver) of these beautiful <a href="https://tradeforfreedom.com/product/gold-collection-turquoise-wrapped-post-earrings-new/">Turquise Wrapped Post </a>earrings for my Mom and two of my sisters as Christmas gifts.</div>
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Go to these two shops online to find a web store where you can purchase items made at <a href="https://beautyforashesnepal.com/">Beauty from Ashes Nepal.</a></div>
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<a href="https://tradeforfreedom.com/">Trade for Freedom</a></div>
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<a href="https://latitudestore.com/collections/beauty-for-ashes-nepal">Latitudes</a></div>
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If you are looking for a fair trade business to co-brand with or create custom pieces, <a href="https://beautyforashesnepal.com/pages/cobranding-custom-design">connect with Beauty for Ashes Nepal</a></div>
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They work with Love Justice to create these beautiful bracelets <a href="https://store.lovejustice.ngo/collections/jewelry/products/love-justice-metal-and-leather-bracelet">Love Justice bracelet</a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>{I was not paid or gifted in any way to write about this business, or any other business that I visited in Nepal.}</i></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090241503060034522.post-74500568596168412282018-01-11T11:22:00.004-05:002018-01-11T11:25:52.023-05:00The White Yak<table 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/AVvXsEg-O8XzrP305O09DugsMvEbSK87eL7Z4mPuHpWEdM4_JI9xiZji5YXHuTHCOS7442jP2AtLOCL-buCDUfL2KmrV0-dxH6hh0KKNhx8wJP6hqFLjpmOqkMMqvT1grrjOz8iaHWnjGXHucws/s1600/IMG_2110.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-O8XzrP305O09DugsMvEbSK87eL7Z4mPuHpWEdM4_JI9xiZji5YXHuTHCOS7442jP2AtLOCL-buCDUfL2KmrV0-dxH6hh0KKNhx8wJP6hqFLjpmOqkMMqvT1grrjOz8iaHWnjGXHucws/s640/IMG_2110.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How stunning is this shop sign?!</td></tr>
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I was delighted to have a personal tour of The White Yak while I was in Kathmandu, just a short walk from the famous Boudha Stupa in the northeast corner of the Kathmandu Valley. </div>
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Before traveling, I had viewed the inventory online, familiarizing myself with the product. I met one of the business owners who showed me into their showroom and explained the varying pieces. I had seen the striped fabric running down the middle of each bag in pictures, but I had no idea what it meant. The woman showing me around referred to it as the "pangden" design. I shook my head. <i>What does that mean? </i></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-align: center;">"The<b> </b></span><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-align: center;">pangdens</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; text-align: center;"> are designed, handwoven, and worn by the women of each Himalayan ethnic group. Each pangden possesses distinct characteristics to communicate the woman's marital status and place of origin."</span></i></span></div>
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I'm a visual learner and love pictures, maps, and lots of details. They did a beauitful job on their website giving credit to each artisan, sharing facts and history. Their are five artisan stories, here are three of them to check out-</div>
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<a href="https://www.thewhiteyaknepal.com/pages/mustang">Learn about the Mustang Pangden.</a></div>
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<a href="https://www.thewhiteyaknepal.com/pages/lohmi">Learn about the Lhomi Pangden.</a></div>
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<a href="https://www.thewhiteyaknepal.com/pages/niyma-sangmo">Learn about the Kyirong Pangden.</a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrOXw0rbKPWpHuNxq53Kp38fEtq2TWquIzDIVtE2TgJdp2FDW0vHG_LCgxQd91LOI0xFzZYPQc54d1EtamSNBQ2TPkoeDDh3kjo9a-w9n2PkmhPsfPQBFYNcTUSsV0ZCwS5zLmwkD1utE/s1600/IMG_2111.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrOXw0rbKPWpHuNxq53Kp38fEtq2TWquIzDIVtE2TgJdp2FDW0vHG_LCgxQd91LOI0xFzZYPQc54d1EtamSNBQ2TPkoeDDh3kjo9a-w9n2PkmhPsfPQBFYNcTUSsV0ZCwS5zLmwkD1utE/s640/IMG_2111.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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I shared in my last post <a href="https://justwrighthere.blogspot.com/2018/01/journey-to-tibetan-refugee-camp.html">Journey to a Tibetan refugee camp</a> about the shame I felt at my own ignorance regarding Tibetan refugees. Well, I decided I could either wallow and hide in that, gaining nothing, or I could humble myself and be like a sponge, soaking in all I could in my last two days in <a href="https://justwrighthere.blogspot.com/2018/01/tourism-in-nepal-boudha-stupa.html">Boudha</a>. This was as beautiful way to wrap up my second to last day in Nepal, being surrounded by completely new/ foreign concepts (to me) about this incredible people group. </div>
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Discover more of <a href="https://www.thewhiteyaknepal.com/pages/our-story">The White Yak's story</a></div>
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Follow them on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/thewhiteyak/" target="_blank">Facebook</a> and <a href="https://www.instagram.com/thewhiteyak/" target="_blank">Instagram</a></div>
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You can purchase your own crafted leather piece here in the USA at <a href="https://urbandwellers.biz/product-category/the-white-yak-nepal/" target="_blank">Urban Dwellers</a> and <a href="https://thetwothirteenshop.com/collections/the-white-yak-nepal-totes" target="_blank">The Two Thirteen Shop</a></div>
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<a href="https://thetwothirteenshop.com/collections/pangden-collection-tibetan-apron-collection">Blessed Hope Nepa</a>l also makes a beautiful Pangden line of bracelets and necklaces.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4DRnaW4k-9ZkbIxKyr6HcN3jZ5r0jEP9Kgrc3Nj2L2XTq6_KyiXveEL-U2PVH0WDXJhnENPHjFJEU0GsLmLWlzVUBpUUZwhizuYOVADmi3oUV-dtoAAaegBF2NMUm6phxv-_RpjLUxdw/s1600/Photo_Mar_23_5_54_39_PM_1024x1024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4DRnaW4k-9ZkbIxKyr6HcN3jZ5r0jEP9Kgrc3Nj2L2XTq6_KyiXveEL-U2PVH0WDXJhnENPHjFJEU0GsLmLWlzVUBpUUZwhizuYOVADmi3oUV-dtoAAaegBF2NMUm6phxv-_RpjLUxdw/s640/Photo_Mar_23_5_54_39_PM_1024x1024.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge-kO5dQkTzY1fbRvupOc4lmKJ53oBiTdFcg13rfHtIEydG8cnMQyMP8kvGUFNicMfca0buZTaV4Z5u8sG9Qx7PoqItYU_RxRqWjBtVd6U1_mW8LPSoQio3btKqk_m2s9pcQBIdBdAfHE/s1600/IMG_2114.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge-kO5dQkTzY1fbRvupOc4lmKJ53oBiTdFcg13rfHtIEydG8cnMQyMP8kvGUFNicMfca0buZTaV4Z5u8sG9Qx7PoqItYU_RxRqWjBtVd6U1_mW8LPSoQio3btKqk_m2s9pcQBIdBdAfHE/s640/IMG_2114.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sewing the liner for the Carry All bag</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKS0hTOLam7CoX9EkWTXKjx6Rfi1NNGUdBYZEsOxAGDJ9Iypop7h_BMnCl5IFr4Jx9T4AnJx3M0apCYpfKIu-PJnpWR7W7MzBUf9VgN75x5iNbsCNpOgGaBq21QQ6Qs18AkJ1dXJgCE14/s1600/IMG_2112.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKS0hTOLam7CoX9EkWTXKjx6Rfi1NNGUdBYZEsOxAGDJ9Iypop7h_BMnCl5IFr4Jx9T4AnJx3M0apCYpfKIu-PJnpWR7W7MzBUf9VgN75x5iNbsCNpOgGaBq21QQ6Qs18AkJ1dXJgCE14/s640/IMG_2112.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Putting adhesive on the leather straps before they are sewn on. </td></tr>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090241503060034522.post-40496728967577898822018-01-03T06:37:00.001-05:002018-01-03T06:37:29.194-05:00Journey to a Tibetan refugee camp<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
In my high school freshman Spanish class, there was a transfer student who spoke about <a href="https://freetibet.org/">"Free Tibet" </a>which apparently China had occupied in the 1950's.</div>
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That was the extent of my knowledge of Tibet or Tibetan people at the wise age of 15. Sad, but true. For the next 15 years I never thought to learn more about this. (I don't mean this as lightly as it sounds. I am certainly making up for it with all the research I'm doing now!) </div>
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I went to Nepal to learn and understand Nepali people better. </div>
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Tibetan people occupied no part of my thoughts, heart, or plans. </div>
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That is, until I got to Nepal. </div>
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I spent my first days and my last days in Nepal in a densely Tibetan part of Kathmandu- Boudhanath which is in the northeast part of Kathmandu, famously known for the <a href="http://justwrighthere.blogspot.com/2018/01/tourism-in-nepal-boudha-stupa.html">Boudha Stupa</a>, one of the largest stupas (Buddhist temple) in the country. </div>
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What made this place even more full of wonder was my lack of expectation. Several of my contacts "just so happened" to work with Tibetan people. For me, Boudha is like a different world within an already different world. The clockwise walk around the stupa, people running their hands along the prayer wheels, prayers being chanted in Sanskrit, and so many Buddhist monks walking around in red cloaks. Red was everywhere. </div>
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As always, time went too fast and I met with an average of 3 people each day my first week in Kathmandu. I headed off to Pokhara where I would spend the second part of my time in Nepal. My first morning in Pokhara was spent hiking and watching the breathtaking sunrise over the mountains. It's hard to come back to the States and call what I see on the east coast "mountains." </div>
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After our morning hike, our trekking guide asked if we wanted to stop by the Tibetan refugee camp on our way back. Just a few hours before, one of my hiking buddies talked about his experience doing a Tibetan refugee camp tour. <i>You can visit a Tibetan refugee camp!? </i>Was my initial thought. <i>Wait, there are Tibetan refugee camps? </i>Was my second thought. </div>
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I had knowledge of Bhutanese refugee camps, which is where many of my Nepali friends in the States had come from. Until a year and a half a ago, we lived in a refugee placement city in New Hampshire and I had been involved with the Nepali church there, made up of mostly Bhutanese Nepalese refugees. </div>
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I have been an advocate for Syrian refugees these last few years. </div>
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<i>Refugees</i> are a part of my story for even coming to Nepal. As a child, I was first introduced to refugees. My father is a carpenter and he employed a newly emigrated Ukrainian refugee man. His sandwich was always carefully wrapped in a clean cloth. He was kind and he was honest. </div>
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I love refugees. </div>
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I cannot express to you the shame I felt in my own ignorance, knowing <i>nothing </i>about Tibetan people. Again, Tibetan people were completely foreign to me. This revelation has led to a lot of research over the last few weeks. </div>
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Stepping foot on this compound sparked so much more in me than just my overwhelming joy in seeing the women at work weaving. But here is that part of the story-</div>
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Upon entering the camp I was like a child. Filled with questions that led to more questions. I'm fairly certain that I simply walked around the compound, but in my memory it looks more like dancing. There was mention of a "rug making tour" and the next thing I remember was sitting next to this woman pictured below. </div>
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I'll let you take in the photos. Be sure to catch the video at the very bottom. This precious woman took my hands in her own and insisted on trying to teach me her weaving technique. </div>
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It was surreal. </div>
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I thought I had died and gone to heaven. </div>
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My eyes were so wide. </div>
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I'm not sure if I remembered to breathe. </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Did I mention that I am rather fond of textiles, weaving, handicrafts and <i>mildly</i> obsessed with all things wool???</span></div>
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Sorry, I didn't mean to yell. </div>
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I know nothing about sports and I don't care about celebrities, but if that's your thing, this was like a home run, or Emmy award moment of my life. It kind of felt like a surprise birthday party that actually <i>really surprised </i>me because it's not even my birthday. </div>
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Does that explain why I included 6 (yes <i>six</i>) photos just of the looms and women weaving. I mean c'mon, humor me and just look at them. I haven't felt this excited to show a photo since it was my newborn baby!</div>
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... maybe that was a bit too far. </div>
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I think you get it now, and maybe you're ready to see the pictures. </div>
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*All the swooning and all the hashtags not included*</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0EcnchisIzgUmN_2Ix-DNdAxRA42Te1IUPxAzCubNHsCt2lBfz_7bMgPpRlt9ouhzzl7-MDbuZNyqgZPsq4iVL_XWnGzOLhxED8ZmZ8qacS_2MDfP4ndkE03RRLQl4pGZ76ibGj-RzC8/s1600/IMG_1899.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0EcnchisIzgUmN_2Ix-DNdAxRA42Te1IUPxAzCubNHsCt2lBfz_7bMgPpRlt9ouhzzl7-MDbuZNyqgZPsq4iVL_XWnGzOLhxED8ZmZ8qacS_2MDfP4ndkE03RRLQl4pGZ76ibGj-RzC8/s640/IMG_1899.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7o5mhMQrqp8ekKFbwpBvV5p2iDCtG61JpJOtaLwU-nbuFOdGLPsJFDQC-UxbVheMxg2Y47UyIlEoH2fKv7QQPJv1Cvq7Pt8gSCnQ2sx1pu2PcWTfi851Uje94B6JYm0nouylcE9YT0fw/s1600/IMG_1903.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7o5mhMQrqp8ekKFbwpBvV5p2iDCtG61JpJOtaLwU-nbuFOdGLPsJFDQC-UxbVheMxg2Y47UyIlEoH2fKv7QQPJv1Cvq7Pt8gSCnQ2sx1pu2PcWTfi851Uje94B6JYm0nouylcE9YT0fw/s640/IMG_1903.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0mEQ1-Sqj00aXjwuPDfA1npvrOyaSaKTDRYObEzMFcYEVnMirmDRwi0e8WmUCx_K1JudO4F9LWNz9gnPhpihYNLk9P9IJBie3PTOxPGkqjvN-v6ung23P2_mRRDl0yDulMaKt1l2BASs/s1600/IMG_1905.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0mEQ1-Sqj00aXjwuPDfA1npvrOyaSaKTDRYObEzMFcYEVnMirmDRwi0e8WmUCx_K1JudO4F9LWNz9gnPhpihYNLk9P9IJBie3PTOxPGkqjvN-v6ung23P2_mRRDl0yDulMaKt1l2BASs/s640/IMG_1905.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt195q4uQYFJ6VeW6Qxbp_w5MuGMqkZf93TbN9cijepOoP83SvuBRHkfM3JbdkcuOnB0NgsVX-QAHXTbw0ZujM4QaFkgMp4xbhu8owH1vP5nepu8sQS1TZQJZeaFnulHRoJPJMXOxbwbI/s1600/IMG_1904.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt195q4uQYFJ6VeW6Qxbp_w5MuGMqkZf93TbN9cijepOoP83SvuBRHkfM3JbdkcuOnB0NgsVX-QAHXTbw0ZujM4QaFkgMp4xbhu8owH1vP5nepu8sQS1TZQJZeaFnulHRoJPJMXOxbwbI/s640/IMG_1904.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9SKM776S4KJzNSVQu90pYRPOqs71_XvuHV9U5CxYvyljbDpMbTkeqYSf5FHDSScOFlPST-iHkpiaumbthgc3fYSa3IYUpDYPfb1pWTX_L6GkIhsGK4_VZ3FR3EKPianM4tOzdLtGHwY0/s1600/IMG_1907.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9SKM776S4KJzNSVQu90pYRPOqs71_XvuHV9U5CxYvyljbDpMbTkeqYSf5FHDSScOFlPST-iHkpiaumbthgc3fYSa3IYUpDYPfb1pWTX_L6GkIhsGK4_VZ3FR3EKPianM4tOzdLtGHwY0/s640/IMG_1907.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So much swooning was happening in this moment.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtLb8heKvqCHo1BFKfM7ozZZx8XNP62gX3xD_EzmqHTMmwkgdjFv58oVnR8u1NkBHzvthiDABJCP40yal9D3t-Uly8mRbWHybAJ1zFNpv-660dIDoFgZDRQmo8-zRtmdehDAciElWUiCE/s1600/IMG_1906.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtLb8heKvqCHo1BFKfM7ozZZx8XNP62gX3xD_EzmqHTMmwkgdjFv58oVnR8u1NkBHzvthiDABJCP40yal9D3t-Uly8mRbWHybAJ1zFNpv-660dIDoFgZDRQmo8-zRtmdehDAciElWUiCE/s640/IMG_1906.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWBivZHm4it01PtpOE4NwlbNLD6BB780fFMsvPc1CUiDrwWGdg_hiLGQVXfP05cJNWbfxvyXSCThA-ADpPPAaF2aq6XRLNyXTzPk4_EZn3lAeGxgyR4v9L3DgQlUjhz6xZt_1gOpRFt2A/s1600/IMG_1909.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWBivZHm4it01PtpOE4NwlbNLD6BB780fFMsvPc1CUiDrwWGdg_hiLGQVXfP05cJNWbfxvyXSCThA-ADpPPAaF2aq6XRLNyXTzPk4_EZn3lAeGxgyR4v9L3DgQlUjhz6xZt_1gOpRFt2A/s640/IMG_1909.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I desperately wanted to purchase one of these hand woven rugs. Next time...</td></tr>
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Okay, moving along. If you weren't really into my 6! loom photos, maybe you'll enjoy a glimpse around the Tibetan refugee camp in Pokhara.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXww-C0Lir3ygPbkA8ZMAPYj7A9alGQKUxQLV29fERoEg6yJ_ungusjLex9BAYLLaxJhWnZWsxbFIVOSQ-eArF7RFkFum-ZYoTzF295Nlbs4sqn3z5TNEDkz_0qX0n2wflzBOp5uXhsRY/s1600/IMG_1908.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXww-C0Lir3ygPbkA8ZMAPYj7A9alGQKUxQLV29fERoEg6yJ_ungusjLex9BAYLLaxJhWnZWsxbFIVOSQ-eArF7RFkFum-ZYoTzF295Nlbs4sqn3z5TNEDkz_0qX0n2wflzBOp5uXhsRY/s640/IMG_1908.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mixed in with those puffy clouds are the jagged snowy mountain tops of the Annapurna mountain range. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYooXR4rmRRgVJHMBfO8A5yxQ66rSiWJfuL-v474rEXal4-3VDyeCVccnwE6UbECJYpljhc0r-SDtpgWPtjFmnz598T6gG7Z9qhV3qbvAWIbwuqHcv7B9Fg2QKIPFnwwQWjQv3IqmTwBQ/s1600/IMG_1910.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYooXR4rmRRgVJHMBfO8A5yxQ66rSiWJfuL-v474rEXal4-3VDyeCVccnwE6UbECJYpljhc0r-SDtpgWPtjFmnz598T6gG7Z9qhV3qbvAWIbwuqHcv7B9Fg2QKIPFnwwQWjQv3IqmTwBQ/s640/IMG_1910.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You see five flagged poles. I see the Gospel story colors. I don't think that is a mistake of my eye, but rather the pulling of my heart, a work of the Holy Spirit. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha9hhdkI-A5otxmiiGqOIJgbph_StZlCTUx7SD3WPJI_bPQsAKvOVqt-gjXMJ2pasLr4A3-_d_3Wv-MKp88fULQQiXnXbyRgEifF5_VPjj3ukno6VBsOber2LwDefBSkf7K3MZ3f_Aj3Y/s1600/IMG_1912.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha9hhdkI-A5otxmiiGqOIJgbph_StZlCTUx7SD3WPJI_bPQsAKvOVqt-gjXMJ2pasLr4A3-_d_3Wv-MKp88fULQQiXnXbyRgEifF5_VPjj3ukno6VBsOber2LwDefBSkf7K3MZ3f_Aj3Y/s640/IMG_1912.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes, those are snow topped mountains peeking through clouds. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt4WC49jbDzAUACuOXywcBxHOtmGI1R6JTtNTx7Zzld5P5Qy4f9r-sgPPoRCjpVaS4qk8DyRk5QKdMbYJsXusb_UzKfSyXaHDdD0urUWTwfiCweYNNxIIYYbjBWRElIVYCc8nqAZec1wg/s1600/IMG_1918.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="351" data-original-width="1600" height="140" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt4WC49jbDzAUACuOXywcBxHOtmGI1R6JTtNTx7Zzld5P5Qy4f9r-sgPPoRCjpVaS4qk8DyRk5QKdMbYJsXusb_UzKfSyXaHDdD0urUWTwfiCweYNNxIIYYbjBWRElIVYCc8nqAZec1wg/s640/IMG_1918.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The building to the left, almost in the middle, is where heaven met earth for several minutes as I watched Tibetan women weave rugs. </td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik9J2UMGSBlEwQJiHxVWKEIN2N96Pf0VAkFM16L8vfoopx61NdGolGoOOi7jXy8hyphenhyphenu8nEq2hZBep27UwQ7uZnbbFKg-Oq3VUn609_GXryHIWg9YqqIPn4JRglCBQZwvi1qCPp9vavG0Hg/s1600/IMG_1919.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1600" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik9J2UMGSBlEwQJiHxVWKEIN2N96Pf0VAkFM16L8vfoopx61NdGolGoOOi7jXy8hyphenhyphenu8nEq2hZBep27UwQ7uZnbbFKg-Oq3VUn609_GXryHIWg9YqqIPn4JRglCBQZwvi1qCPp9vavG0Hg/s640/IMG_1919.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitSaWs5cwFT2XwLwAwxjhCcz53yET2luT7JkCcU6V_S09F92oHtjghcAjSex5YiVwq_tcr-okyROQ1n9AsjS2YH00QhkrzWrBJA1VggBVd46xRI7PZ89Ktyt3rJl_O7BSu5a3TonxBYiE/s1600/IMG_1915.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitSaWs5cwFT2XwLwAwxjhCcz53yET2luT7JkCcU6V_S09F92oHtjghcAjSex5YiVwq_tcr-okyROQ1n9AsjS2YH00QhkrzWrBJA1VggBVd46xRI7PZ89Ktyt3rJl_O7BSu5a3TonxBYiE/s640/IMG_1915.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Most people think it is unwise to buy their 5 year old son a tiny scimitar dagger. This sweet man obviously understood that I'm not like most people. Jakob loves his "tiny sword."</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwYA0Bccpq11wruZAHi5M-PeT7loNE5u7aKHMZXFm9KnaYzd_v5MZPiZfTVEmecm0MJzyzaT4rTBVUXR_C2YbjnG9zABL0s-pdTgK33gwqVPeWYV74gM7VmRN8_3r5dITFmHQ0EcgESIk/s1600/IMG_1916.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwYA0Bccpq11wruZAHi5M-PeT7loNE5u7aKHMZXFm9KnaYzd_v5MZPiZfTVEmecm0MJzyzaT4rTBVUXR_C2YbjnG9zABL0s-pdTgK33gwqVPeWYV74gM7VmRN8_3r5dITFmHQ0EcgESIk/s640/IMG_1916.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From what I could see, we were the only tourists on the compound. I was surprised to see this line of merchants just patiently waiting to sell their goods. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB8sylMnKgaBAhsRxy_O2vG_tpI34AGa61qdhR11fKoep74vIANwnOJYn1cGUvhR_ImMf0n6DCuErFS5ZCu18Zrewy80ridF5ZSILkeoA4DCxh6Er1S66v5wGm1c_9dok6qsSyaxMgBV4/s1600/IMG_1901.MOV" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB8sylMnKgaBAhsRxy_O2vG_tpI34AGa61qdhR11fKoep74vIANwnOJYn1cGUvhR_ImMf0n6DCuErFS5ZCu18Zrewy80ridF5ZSILkeoA4DCxh6Er1S66v5wGm1c_9dok6qsSyaxMgBV4/s640/IMG_1901.MOV" width="360" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I kept saying after this experience "my joy is complete!"</td></tr>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090241503060034522.post-3164366426033953622018-01-01T16:33:00.002-05:002018-01-16T19:39:47.542-05:00Tourism in Nepal- Boudha Stupa<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
I had my plans in Kathmandu mapped out, but it wasn't geared toward tourism at all. One mistake I made in planning this trip was not factoring in being a tourist. It seemed selfish to schedule days out embarking on tourist exploration. </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I couldn't have been more wrong. </span></div>
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Being a tourist in a new land is a treasure unlike any other. The first great treasure I explored was the Boudha Stupa where I stayed my first and last few days in Nepal. </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Here are two things I learned about being a tourist in Nepal.</span></div>
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<b>1. Nepal needs your tourism. </b></div>
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I had a really hard time understanding this until a person who runs a business as mission explained it in a very tangible way. I wrote a brief note about it on a Facebook post December 8, 2017</div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">In a developing country like Nepal, I hadn’t understood how critical tourism was for this country until now. In Pokhara, people from all around the world come for the tourism. One major takeaway I learned from someone was this- "we cannot 'save' people here from poverty. One of the greatest ways that Westerns can help a country like Nepal is to come and support their tourism. The tourism industry here opens up jobs for people, allowing them to stay in their own country, provide for their families and relief from poverty." <i>One source said that an average of 1,000 people leave Nepal every day for foreign employment.* </i>This doesn’t include the thousands of people who are trafficked over the open boarder into India. There just aren’t enough jobs for people here which leaves people vulnerable.</span></div>
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Having never been a person of wealth by American standards, I associate tourism with lots of money. Almost all of the traveling we have done as a family these past few years has been for work, so I make the most of the adventure on a very slim budget. Even if that means packing peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, walking farther and van camping to avoid the super high costs of food and travel during peak tourism season here in the States. The United States is super expensive on so many levels. Eating out is a luxury for our family. </div>
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In Nepal, I was thrilled to be able to feed myself for a fraction of the cost it would be in the USA. I loved finding little hole in the wall places that made my food to order, spoke no English, was family run and being able to support their business with my purchase. </div>
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Nepal, is one of the cheapest places to be a tourist. You can find accommodations for $10 USD a night including breakfast and order a cappuccino for less than $2. Of course food and accomidations will very in cost depending on the experience you are looking for. </div>
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<b>2. Nepali people want to share this gift with you.</b></div>
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Nobody wants to receive a gift out of obligation or feel like a burden. When we are given a gift, we want it to be given with joy and anticipation! </div>
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This is the best way that I can describe the overall culture of Nepali people. They want to share their beautiful land with you. They want you to enjoy your time there. They desire to see you fed and happy. They want you to have their best. </div>
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Hospitality is highly important. This is something you will experience in a persons home or at a restaurant. </div>
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My taxi drivers who spoke English well enough to have a conversation would ask, "How do you like Nepal?" Of course, I would gush my love for the country, the people, the food, the culture. I would tell of my friends back in the States and how I loved Nepal before I even came to the country! With delight and surprise, they would want to hear more. I would laugh and say "sure, I'd like the smog to lift so I can see the mountains though." To which they would boast about the beauty of the mountains on a clear day, sorrowfully express their concern for the dust filled air, but quickly turn it back to wanting to dwell on the things I have experienced and loved. This was with a taxi driver. Whom I had bartered with before agreeing to get into his cab. </div>
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My taxi experiences were some of my favorites. Like the one I waved down on an early morning deserted road. He didn't speak English conversationally, but instead was teaching me vocabuarly words for "bridge" and "dog" and so on. The smell of the waste filled river we drove along made me nearly vomit, but the conversation was too delightful to sour the fun ride. </div>
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Nepal is breathtaking. Nepali people are gorgeous. Their culture makes me heart ache with longing to return. The food, oh the food! I mean, we already eat mostly Asian style food at our house, but there is nothing quite like true Nepali made food. Thankfully, even though I expressed no real restraint or discretion with where I ate, I never got sick!</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Next time...</b></span></div>
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What's on my tourism to-do list for next time I go to Nepal? </div>
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The <a href="https://www.redpandaexpeditions.com/helambu-cultural/">Helambu Cultural Trek </a>with <a href="https://www.redpandaexpeditions.com/">Red Panda Expeditions</a>!</div>
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Check them out on <a href="https://www.facebook.com/redpandaexpeditions/?ref=bookmarks">Facebook </a>and <a href="https://www.instagram.com/redpandaexpeditions/">Instagram</a></div>
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I mean come on! Cultural experience AND trekking. #swoon Why didn't I plan this before! Who wants to join me!?</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih0U0_R1KeN9w58CvtvkKYtLX2NklfODBWoEBlFfWFeoRPT08xd-dKYOrh0rwkfuISlUNBUn81lTLDVF_q0ECwSJ89_zlfpiwsGU4utVq9c_LB7YvctladDCjAg_i6ELe5mmM31gix0Q8/s1600/IMG_1681.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="424" data-original-width="1600" height="169" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih0U0_R1KeN9w58CvtvkKYtLX2NklfODBWoEBlFfWFeoRPT08xd-dKYOrh0rwkfuISlUNBUn81lTLDVF_q0ECwSJ89_zlfpiwsGU4utVq9c_LB7YvctladDCjAg_i6ELe5mmM31gix0Q8/s640/IMG_1681.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My very first morning in Nepal. As stated in the first few sentences, I had no expectations for this. I was blown away.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3ir8saOtKRonpBUwAPt8WALibBNY-efSx-9YSNKISwJhE5Kk3tUb5ELRHytkZde0PXhlC4Zqq0Dsy3rIcdGjekSAOwuHMgutikeifuZXtVwgUe3ATnyzfbn_M-5soRS_Ql1htGJE4_h0/s1600/IMG_1672.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3ir8saOtKRonpBUwAPt8WALibBNY-efSx-9YSNKISwJhE5Kk3tUb5ELRHytkZde0PXhlC4Zqq0Dsy3rIcdGjekSAOwuHMgutikeifuZXtVwgUe3ATnyzfbn_M-5soRS_Ql1htGJE4_h0/s640/IMG_1672.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwtucNeoYbZ9FlCda0A4iNqgfbXR5IM_ZIlKPi0JwoWGugvb-DwAsOg6fqQCStCUQXkB3T3htXg_3KqOKxkpvmM-nwgQoJMGkkwkgrOIoZGwxgfcauSahNIbGy10OKVB8efhl6m50VWEE/s1600/IMG_1676.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwtucNeoYbZ9FlCda0A4iNqgfbXR5IM_ZIlKPi0JwoWGugvb-DwAsOg6fqQCStCUQXkB3T3htXg_3KqOKxkpvmM-nwgQoJMGkkwkgrOIoZGwxgfcauSahNIbGy10OKVB8efhl6m50VWEE/s640/IMG_1676.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2v4n96ZNVFkjW82XJyJ4tVPABu67yJrPIEI7d0Txxv2JmdCMAorah4HaFp6rsZKxC0UMIb2nEu-eKhEbPbOFzDbMLzvTQzXQ3KE4BbIyLicyLqBNxiwzvfbbD0s9UvhoJifHswFCa3Rc/s1600/IMG_1677.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2v4n96ZNVFkjW82XJyJ4tVPABu67yJrPIEI7d0Txxv2JmdCMAorah4HaFp6rsZKxC0UMIb2nEu-eKhEbPbOFzDbMLzvTQzXQ3KE4BbIyLicyLqBNxiwzvfbbD0s9UvhoJifHswFCa3Rc/s640/IMG_1677.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFTlNN6Wuch4dpmP4RP8ahM_rAF8esakQKS4xX6FZhGtASdIptlJ_4nQYNlSgMe-hZqIbopiBsDuj385GrXXup-N5wpbYl-hL8jtZpsvmKIY5iVLhIaEanO3txzNjLp9n9p_JRb7yxvNw/s1600/IMG_1678.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFTlNN6Wuch4dpmP4RP8ahM_rAF8esakQKS4xX6FZhGtASdIptlJ_4nQYNlSgMe-hZqIbopiBsDuj385GrXXup-N5wpbYl-hL8jtZpsvmKIY5iVLhIaEanO3txzNjLp9n9p_JRb7yxvNw/s640/IMG_1678.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the best views in the city from the second floor Himalayan Java coffee shop.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From on top of the stupa</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvfGutbAUArc5WrDx1sLe7WzZm3K6gdAqIRaIKx1v3oanq1x3YWbfx6HSKg5-XOhAiLTKaNv66pYjREFT0PKlKBgMg2FbSHrkUfO-y6OJ11Jnl32Yp0HFa8F15BvaV4S-ohNvtzAMBI0k/s1600/IMG_1684.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvfGutbAUArc5WrDx1sLe7WzZm3K6gdAqIRaIKx1v3oanq1x3YWbfx6HSKg5-XOhAiLTKaNv66pYjREFT0PKlKBgMg2FbSHrkUfO-y6OJ11Jnl32Yp0HFa8F15BvaV4S-ohNvtzAMBI0k/s640/IMG_1684.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From on top of the stupa</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3q3K-XPwndG4wKJdAPSFkTGAdn-fu6_qE00rzw1VF1oDc9yfOIfbr6Vk3r6exgRy67PCYRP7F15MtD5q7xyzAi29jRZds52ppoT0cusMw2763ZxsTOdpzP_IoobA64n7fIGyHcQu-8n8/s1600/IMG_1685-EFFECTS.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3q3K-XPwndG4wKJdAPSFkTGAdn-fu6_qE00rzw1VF1oDc9yfOIfbr6Vk3r6exgRy67PCYRP7F15MtD5q7xyzAi29jRZds52ppoT0cusMw2763ZxsTOdpzP_IoobA64n7fIGyHcQu-8n8/s640/IMG_1685-EFFECTS.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On top of the stupa, looking out to where the people worship.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-LaHvVsG22Mna4P7MAFY-HmnXmBh_2AbnstPggVQGio0TDmPAYSBIlGiPXzo9P9g3WbCuF9INgfVRwdmjc_reOw3wSrN57FQJfSJdYDcOZRDc84QgygPSlqHnvoZNHYyOzbQ9XaYECPs/s640/IMG_1688.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="480" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From on top of the stupa</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMszKAXozByVFr7G5SA67UUhCYm7wB5q8RlkAmAISyu5x2zMn3bf8SnMXWOxO-pX-4EJFpUo13SRgoUV-vzeRhyphenhyphenOtZEeBr8Kt_lxbYUbL8i0-FNAVGdcbUQ2JVNllN7ube0WkYytk5S0g/s1600/IMG_1681.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4hI_5KM8ItUkEifhTC0f847vXdSZ3yfCy1RFOqNjHil6olkqK0TgoIjIIbDga43Ybcy57HESmRkvDJEvs2RHWNGMEVFa5CyNLgAtuNmj1bsNme3En_f3LcC7lX35RhLHOcqa1mydR6Z0/s1600/IMG_1692.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4hI_5KM8ItUkEifhTC0f847vXdSZ3yfCy1RFOqNjHil6olkqK0TgoIjIIbDga43Ybcy57HESmRkvDJEvs2RHWNGMEVFa5CyNLgAtuNmj1bsNme3En_f3LcC7lX35RhLHOcqa1mydR6Z0/s640/IMG_1692.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz-dtHDc5YG-6ahCaZrDX9yi3wPsES6grKgAYOnijZXOiTQ43hyEj96UBrIY38k2FhjJmhSF3FUruq3UHLO24m8Gf9kni48rGk5_vC-5cPguU23FgE8lq8b4NoycArCcRdsleQjTxJWaE/s1600/IMG_1682.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="457" data-original-width="1600" height="182" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz-dtHDc5YG-6ahCaZrDX9yi3wPsES6grKgAYOnijZXOiTQ43hyEj96UBrIY38k2FhjJmhSF3FUruq3UHLO24m8Gf9kni48rGk5_vC-5cPguU23FgE8lq8b4NoycArCcRdsleQjTxJWaE/s640/IMG_1682.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">I apologize for not being able to capture the full striking beauty of this place. All photos were taken on my iPhone, and frankly, even in seeing good quality photos of this area, none can fully capture the wonder of this place.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: x-small;">*As I was flying out of Kathmandu for my international flight, hundreds of very young men wore big smiles and carried folders that contained employment paperwork. They were heading to various countries throughout the middle east to jobs that had been lined up for them. During my time in Nepal, I heard many stories from people who had either gone to other countries for work, or were the spouse of someone who did. Spouses often left their families for 1-2 years at a time, sending money home. The experiences of workers who shared with me varied, including a few horror stories I will never forget. On a good note- I met many Western workers who had moved to Nepal to start businesses so that they can create jobs for Nepali people. I saw many beautiful examples of this at work, creating a positive impact on individuals, families and communities. </span><br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090241503060034522.post-51750819832087076022017-12-31T13:47:00.000-05:002017-12-31T13:47:20.945-05:00Blessed Hope Nepal<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/AVvXsEhCm3HGXZRGRiw8NTgmIqjux0W2R56qi9GuWH8FFfAdQQoxifYT_Dr2OJp5u06XJPOTKqB132k3bK2CX50MSpHhE0raG8C7ZRcJslp7ZNj-MNbstKTljVoCwEuvLxhWhEomDYve0QeGY-E/s1600/IMG_2421.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCm3HGXZRGRiw8NTgmIqjux0W2R56qi9GuWH8FFfAdQQoxifYT_Dr2OJp5u06XJPOTKqB132k3bK2CX50MSpHhE0raG8C7ZRcJslp7ZNj-MNbstKTljVoCwEuvLxhWhEomDYve0QeGY-E/s640/IMG_2421.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With awe and wonder, I run a finger along my own bracelet that I purchased at Blessed Hope Nepal</td></tr>
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<br />Honestly, if I waited until I had "all the right words" to post any of these drafts, they would never be read by you. It is a blend of labor and release to write. I try so hard to be open, honest and raw, yet in these posts that involve personal stories of others, much of what I write gets saved into drafts never to be published. </div>
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It isn't just <i>my</i> story of my time in Nepal. It is the working of stories shared <i>to</i> me <i>by</i> other people that have penetrated my heart and my mind. The joy, hope, pain, uncertainty that workers shared with me are stories I am still processing and learning from two weeks after I have returned to the States. It was such an honor to hear the intimate details, things that won't make it in a newsletter, social media, or blog post. Stories that aren't mine to tell. Pieces of <i>their </i>story that God is using to impact <i>my </i>story. Breaking down walls and healing the dusty places of my own brokenness. </div>
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I walked to a shared google map pin drop location to the meeting place where the artisans of Blessed Hope Nepal meet weekly. Sitting on the carpet of this apartment floor, I drank in the sacred moments while I, a foreigner, just sat back and observed this locally owned and run business. I had been in the country for almost two weeks at this point, and I was flying home the next day. Little did I know that the Lord would use my last two days in Nepal to grip me in a way that I hadn't anticipated. </div>
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Or maybe I knew it was coming. Maybe He was gracious enough to reveal it to me in the last hours, because His timing is perfect. Perhaps in waiting, I was a bit more vulnerable to receive a greater joy and hope to return home with anticipation and endurance for the long road ahead. And I don't mean the long flight. </div>
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"God's timing is so perfect" a dear friend who is currently grieving said these words to me just a few days ago. Through her tear-filled words, I was a bit stunned that she spoke with such hope. That very moment, I experienced a rare glimpse of grace/hope (is there a word that exists to combine the two? In any language? I really want to know.) It was in <i>her</i> weakness that God spoke through her to me- "God's timing is so perfect." That is easier to say when you aren't in the thick of it. And she is in the thick of it. So to me, it came thick with truth. </div>
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As I progress in my own next steps from what God has put on my heart, I have a peace and hope in me that sings "God's timing is so perfect," which gives me the strength to press on. </div>
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Please, take a moment to follow this beautiful shop online. </div>
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Never have I ever valued a bracelet more than I do these ones, and I don't even usually like bracelets! Stock up for birthday gifts. Each one is such a treasure! </div>
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Their photos on Instagram do a much better job capturing not only the product, but the artisans as well.</div>
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<a href="https://blessedhopenepal.com/" target="_blank">Website</a></div>
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<a href="https://www.instagram.com/blessedhopenepal/" target="_blank">Instagram</a></div>
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<a href="https://www.facebook.com/BHNepal" target="_blank">Facebook</a> </div>
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Shop- <a href="https://thetwothirteenshop.com/pages/about-blessed-hope-nepal" target="_blank">The Two Thirteen Shop</a> <a href="https://urbandwellers.biz/product-category/blessed-hope-nepal/" target="_blank">Urban Dwellers</a></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/AVvXsEhGIqT-orRfj5RATbuOWxtNdX818S2qMmypUIMPFCMuEJGuFGJNleAqaR8FUO6zYtCCel1Ab1ekxPJBmWqRZtGYOHrf83RnfYvgtFsUtfdNoO3QD1h01-_QxCqRSMQNyZV1tLz3__g7JYE/s1600/IMG_2101.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1023" data-original-width="1600" height="408" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGIqT-orRfj5RATbuOWxtNdX818S2qMmypUIMPFCMuEJGuFGJNleAqaR8FUO6zYtCCel1Ab1ekxPJBmWqRZtGYOHrf83RnfYvgtFsUtfdNoO3QD1h01-_QxCqRSMQNyZV1tLz3__g7JYE/s640/IMG_2101.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One by one, the artisans come and meet with the two owners. In their native tongue, they talk and bring what they made throughout the past week for a quality control check (right bowl) and collect the bags of beads to create the inventory needed for the following week (left bowl). </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMLd43_pSQy10666rpUbavvZIadqo7E-heF38Rifpar3w4jiCBnmANYSJDkCqVFmCyfoI0S9ivc2u4EtXAwqc34C2lhkE4c14KzE9LLp-bgy1DFnavyiv3cWE6cEY2NfWNr8okiQqIisI/s1600/IMG_2102.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="429" data-original-width="1600" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMLd43_pSQy10666rpUbavvZIadqo7E-heF38Rifpar3w4jiCBnmANYSJDkCqVFmCyfoI0S9ivc2u4EtXAwqc34C2lhkE4c14KzE9LLp-bgy1DFnavyiv3cWE6cEY2NfWNr8okiQqIisI/s640/IMG_2102.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sharing in milk tea during their devotions, in a language I don't know, felt a bit like I was sitting on holy ground. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyVOWJRmGDNGqOJv9NdgFRLdiEzAhoZ4y-fnLxhc22KwOtdlSyhtctxhL3aA_enb0-ZyU1l6aEcDbbdPu5g463jPr8nYkbcf-17V1Ou0_88UgTVgQ5FBQADiS3arvQGqnWpwtKVpRd_Rg/s1600/IMG_2104.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyVOWJRmGDNGqOJv9NdgFRLdiEzAhoZ4y-fnLxhc22KwOtdlSyhtctxhL3aA_enb0-ZyU1l6aEcDbbdPu5g463jPr8nYkbcf-17V1Ou0_88UgTVgQ5FBQADiS3arvQGqnWpwtKVpRd_Rg/s640/IMG_2104.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I included her face in this photo, only because I asked her first. I watched in fascination as this beautiful Tibetan woman crocheted a string of beads to create the beautiful bracelet you can see being woven. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh15vApkVOsGe6kxaAaQGBTcDbo27k16eH9MKCWNN6C4dQpbit6G_ew5jr_3OU-y9Y-OR_63mYfaihekILkMwUQahdGr1GoBlR01WpRuY-Zo38jFRU2Sr1qlxkXFj23Bp6o2bAVf3G7zCc/s1600/IMG_2107.MOV" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh15vApkVOsGe6kxaAaQGBTcDbo27k16eH9MKCWNN6C4dQpbit6G_ew5jr_3OU-y9Y-OR_63mYfaihekILkMwUQahdGr1GoBlR01WpRuY-Zo38jFRU2Sr1qlxkXFj23Bp6o2bAVf3G7zCc/s640/IMG_2107.MOV" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I have watched this on repeat. </td></tr>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090241503060034522.post-1738404440722959472017-12-26T11:56:00.003-05:002017-12-26T11:56:35.934-05:00Dinadi- Know your knitter<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSEyo0OwWwp5vJztwQQsXLgaM3b4X6YgAhrO0bnf_qiPe7k9Wb0AtVgytqvveV0G5g3iOCc9NyFvPemqIMoaSfZCHO47QqefJ88OoxEZ4enjwn5bYN-QdW0szCga2vDCbak7rQF-hHw_Q/s1600/IMG_1668.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSEyo0OwWwp5vJztwQQsXLgaM3b4X6YgAhrO0bnf_qiPe7k9Wb0AtVgytqvveV0G5g3iOCc9NyFvPemqIMoaSfZCHO47QqefJ88OoxEZ4enjwn5bYN-QdW0szCga2vDCbak7rQF-hHw_Q/s640/IMG_1668.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">How fun and festive is this! I had the joy of shopping at their Open House. </td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>"Dinadi is a social business in Nepal that ethically hand crafts knitted and crocheted products while changing lives through dignified jobs."</i></b></span></div>
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Just a few weeks before I left for Nepal, I stumbled upon this business via Instagram. Yup, Instagram. I sent the info@ address an e-mail explaining my trip and my hope to come meet them in person and learn the behind the scenes story. I was surprised when I received a timely response! I mean honestly, it sounds a little creepy to send a business an email that essentially says "I found you online. I'd like to meet you in person... half way around the world." But those of you who know me... well, you probably aren't too surprised. We had mutual friends, I confirmed with them and went with my gut.<br />
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Less than 24 hours after I had arrived in the country, I hailed a taxi and negotiated on a price to take me to the shop. It was a whirlwind. The taxi driver made a big circle 30 minutes into our drive and declared that he was lost. I handed him my phone as I called a coffee shop that neighbored Dinadi and asked for directions.<br />
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Upon arriving at the shop for their Open House, I didn't know what to expect. I adored their website, Instagram, Facebook, product style. In person I LOVED their product, store layout and decor, the owners, and learning more of the inside story on this 1 1/2 year old business.<br />
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A tagline from their website reads-<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>"We believe in jobs that empower, not exploit."</i></b></span></div>
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I was so impressed by Dinadi's classy business style and products that reflect excellence. When I learned that this product isn't in any stores on the East Coast of the USA, my thought was <i>"this needs to change!"</i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKCkFBugJ4PHhJSxz5kH0BWy1QKB8BcrnVk2ey2jTNfd6FrdjJc8Bu4spZ62ISkbmz35Vukl_iBiO0RMrzsTIZneSiIIhReOKgQLRv7ffHsO9nYHhUREjoujYPq8RuFaK-Lmf6IbC9iOA/s1600/IMG_1667.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKCkFBugJ4PHhJSxz5kH0BWy1QKB8BcrnVk2ey2jTNfd6FrdjJc8Bu4spZ62ISkbmz35Vukl_iBiO0RMrzsTIZneSiIIhReOKgQLRv7ffHsO9nYHhUREjoujYPq8RuFaK-Lmf6IbC9iOA/s640/IMG_1667.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I LOVE their display! If you find yourself in Kathmandu, stop by their store, tell them Karissa says hi! </td></tr>
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You see, the greater the demand for a product means an increase in production, which increases employment, and in this business model,<b> that means more lives being changed, impacted for <i>good </i>and dignity being restored to women as they join the team at Dinadi. </b></div>
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How beautiful is that?</div>
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Dinadi didn't pay me to write anything about them. I personally gain nothing from you too becoming enthralled with the beautiful products that they create and the business model they follow. I would love to see Dinadi gain more <a href="https://www.dinadi.com/wholesale/">wholesale </a>accounts. Let's spread the word!<br />
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">Each purchase we make in our every day living</span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"> and gift buying supports something. </span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">What will you choose to support?</span></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAF8ktl3zt0afeHGis_fLyrt_JtqksLkujENt67ZD7zHU8cEkzUkpCxNPjSRNRnuqFYSzgPTd6lCyyZZCLVa67JHp7M7qlRcXRo6vNmjcB1kVCI2BBFqThmL9_7Zv-mld-nrlTOgFF5nw/s1600/IMG_1666.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAF8ktl3zt0afeHGis_fLyrt_JtqksLkujENt67ZD7zHU8cEkzUkpCxNPjSRNRnuqFYSzgPTd6lCyyZZCLVa67JHp7M7qlRcXRo6vNmjcB1kVCI2BBFqThmL9_7Zv-mld-nrlTOgFF5nw/s640/IMG_1666.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I adored so many things about the tasteful decor in this second floor store, above a coffee shop. Seeing photos of the artisans pinned up made me stop and linger over each photo. Thanks to Dinadi, <a href="https://www.dinadi.com/about-us/our-team/">these women</a> have trusted employer with unparalleled <a href="https://www.dinadi.com/impact/people-impact/">benefits!</a><br />
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Follow Dinadi here-<br />
<a href="https://www.facebook.com/DinadiNepal/" target="_blank"><i>Facebook</i></a><br />
<i><a href="https://www.instagram.com/dinadinepal/" target="_blank">Instagram</a> </i><br />
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These are three links to my favorite pages on their website-<br />
<a href="https://www.dinadi.com/about-us/our-team/" target="_blank"><i>Our Team</i></a><br />
<a href="https://www.dinadi.com/impact/people-impact/" target="_blank"><i>People Impact</i></a><br />
<a href="https://www.dinadi.com/impact/nepal-impact/" target="_blank"><i>Nepal Impact</i></a> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaRQ2QX9bDuDnUTxMk3zMLSnZ4RfoY9VRrNZo-jlbzPISDAxZnnYXxYaj7WOAcZQHcppSdeOiABp6eOQwI8QXk80tgtpqMK6ZEaMtFNDE4JJUjHqpJQwQULD2mwKM9rKoUom5bT3CVYtk/s1600/IMG_2347.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaRQ2QX9bDuDnUTxMk3zMLSnZ4RfoY9VRrNZo-jlbzPISDAxZnnYXxYaj7WOAcZQHcppSdeOiABp6eOQwI8QXk80tgtpqMK6ZEaMtFNDE4JJUjHqpJQwQULD2mwKM9rKoUom5bT3CVYtk/s640/IMG_2347.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm sporting the <a href="https://www.dinadi.com/product/marit-headband/">Marit Headband</a> in charcoal grey. Jakob is wearing a hat that I crochet for him before I left for Nepal. I brought a few sets of pom-pom makers to the team at Dinadi. Abby and I had fun trying them out before I left!</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh49v86mWCDkAcNvQ7K6zKbNFiE6PNiQqDH6bin_2B4jQFzDNMMOMCMsQPY7_ThNhUXmL4XorXV7LDsqk59Aq2ShXy22FGFl59EPoWunUTypEvuhigjmTcPZFeZrM3R80KzDcbmbvp2oOU/s1600/IMG_1798.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj356CNvg2R6tgySLkGxEzexNCpdJnC1FrfBXYPMvjus4zeRfkha8xfHbHdouSK9xA-y47mS2l4WiwwttiEl1KSSMl_bfOABX8hzZg8CYMr_HOL6NVyW5M8hN9Bvuz4wy7gQ5j7P46HqQ/s1600/IMG_2339.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj356CNvg2R6tgySLkGxEzexNCpdJnC1FrfBXYPMvjus4zeRfkha8xfHbHdouSK9xA-y47mS2l4WiwwttiEl1KSSMl_bfOABX8hzZg8CYMr_HOL6NVyW5M8hN9Bvuz4wy7gQ5j7P46HqQ/s640/IMG_2339.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Craig is sporting the <a href="https://www.dinadi.com/product/emma-hat/">Emma Hat </a>in pebble grey. Abby is wearing an exclusive style that is not available for retail. </td></tr>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090241503060034522.post-17108863730152373632017-12-20T13:59:00.001-05:002017-12-20T14:07:49.559-05:00Ugly crying in Barnes and Noble<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2ciG2gLJKozQfu8mbjh71jHEXDgvIYyqbQjEOCAVwr4Du8-KfokyuLF7oDzad8-2JCSJWj_evfhQHi2JWnwcKjcI-dAqJ3uhrNi3ncPsCzFCG_XcnaPlIEd7eKmIVxkH-eYYMY_7Db4o/s1600/IMG_2296.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2ciG2gLJKozQfu8mbjh71jHEXDgvIYyqbQjEOCAVwr4Du8-KfokyuLF7oDzad8-2JCSJWj_evfhQHi2JWnwcKjcI-dAqJ3uhrNi3ncPsCzFCG_XcnaPlIEd7eKmIVxkH-eYYMY_7Db4o/s640/IMG_2296.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Today, Malala was my undoing since coming home from Nepal. Abby and I had a date at Barnes and Noble while we had an hour and a half to kill before going back to Jakob's preschool for a party. On a display table near the kids section, I was struck by the cover of this book Malala's Magic Pencil. I was so drawn to pick it up, read it out loud to my 7 year old daughter and soak in each beautifully illustrated page. That is until about half way through the book when I suddenly became undone.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXqTHLg9f9ek_jIt0lmhQrzReG0gOCxXI0iktLvwOeka1Y3alRUvKVlyj5hn-unYMvxgZiWtVMhDCGCjUVTu7UWYtar4qWcBy2LpxtYniieE7OEtAR44EKh5176abXhcEb0rXm_n5z0ts/s1600/71TI5qG-pSL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="852" data-original-width="1521" height="358" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXqTHLg9f9ek_jIt0lmhQrzReG0gOCxXI0iktLvwOeka1Y3alRUvKVlyj5hn-unYMvxgZiWtVMhDCGCjUVTu7UWYtar4qWcBy2LpxtYniieE7OEtAR44EKh5176abXhcEb0rXm_n5z0ts/s640/71TI5qG-pSL.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Please note the hospital gown and bracelet</span><span style="font-size: small;">. The truth and reality- this precious teenager was shot in the head on her school bus. The Taliban raided her school bus one day, in search of her, with hopes of killing her. What came after and how she even survived this attack is nothing short of a miracle. </span></td></tr>
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I have 11 blog posts drafted about my time in Nepal, half of which highlight businesses that I met while I was there. Businesses that opperate on a mission- to employ women who might not otherwise find dignified work. Some employ women who are victims of human trafficking, widows, young women trying to put themselves through school, single Mom's, refugees, and so on.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">"we simply seek to provide work that restores dignity to these women." </span></div>
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You see, anti-human trafficking, "rescue mission" work etc. is all so wonderful... and frankly trendy right now among Westerners. This isn't to say that those things are bad, they are raising awareness and I have seen great work come out of them!<br />
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The big take away for me in my first meeting, less than 24 hours after I had arrived in the country, was realizing that by placing labels like those listed a few sentences above can actually do more harm for these real life women.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">They don't need to be labeled because of their past, <br />their cast, or their life situation. </span></div>
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What these businesses speak into these women is simply this- </div>
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<i>You are not who you were, what has been done to you, what you were born into or what society even labels you as. Let us love you, teach you, equip you, employ you, provide for you, surround you in Truth so that you may know Hope and become a new creation. </i></div>
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~</div>
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You can watch a short <a href="https://youtu.be/jWKYalbPLRY">YouTube</a> video narrated by Malala herself on the importance of sharing her story to young kids.<br />
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You should just buy this book here on <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Malalas-Magic-Pencil-Malala-Yousafzai-ebook/dp/B07281K65Y">Amazon</a>. It is so good.<br />
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This is just the children's story book. I have the 9.5 hour long audiobook "I am Malala" streaming now. And tissues nearby.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090241503060034522.post-86758210441801436642017-11-07T17:19:00.002-05:002017-11-07T17:19:49.328-05:00The night my heart broke at a brothel in Greece<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I was just 19 years old, I learned what modern day human trafficking was. I was in Athens, Greece when I came face to face with beautiful brown-skinned girls who had been sold from west Africa and were now being forced to work in the sex-industry, in a country were prostitution is legal. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">Being “sold” is so much more complicated than that. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Most of the time, the person is led to believe that a debt is owed, but in time they will be able to pay it off, and be free. In human trafficking, this is never the case. I was not prepared for this kind of culture shock. One night, I went out with a local ministry that regularly visited women in brothels, building a relationship with the prostitutes. With a basket in hand, filled with fresh baked goods, steaming coffee and hot chocolate, they would talk with the women about family and recent events. Before I went out that night, I made a video- diary and said that I was scared for how this was going to change my life forever. And it did. </span></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-630eae5a-9879-a22a-8f82-6ee51eeb8e10" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">11 years later, I will now be going to one of the poorest countries in the world, Nepal. I will be visiting several businesses that are working to provide safe, fair-waged, dignified work for women, many of whom have been rescued from trafficking. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Human trafficking is an issue that I have been outspoken about, educated people on and worked to raise awareness. This is </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>not </i>just an issue overseas. This happens all over the United States, and it holds no prejudices based on skin color, religion, or economic class. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">Human trafficking is one of the fastest growing criminal industries in the world. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Even in the beautiful land of Nepal, this is a major issue. I am so excited and terrified for this upcoming trip. My heart is going to break, and I pray that God will use that brokenness, however He desires. And that is an offering I give Him with a trembling hand. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">I am not going to Nepal to change the world in two weeks. </span></span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">These are reasons why I </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">am </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">going-</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So that my compassion may be deeper, my knowledge greater, and that I will learn how to "carry each others burdens."</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I am eager to meet local ministry workers, and foreign ministry workers, to hear their stories, and their heart behind why they are serving the Nepali people. I want to bear their burdens alongside them. I want to hear the things that they won’t post on social media, or send in a newsletter. I want to be a listening ear, an encourager, a prayer warrior, for them to not feel so alone and heavy-burdened.</span></div>
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<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-size: large;">Because of my great love for Nepali people, I pray that I will be a voice on behalf of them.</span></span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Just this fall, the government in Nepal passed a law restricting evangelism and conversion. This closed country has just made it more difficult for Christians workers, and may God be praised because this is a push back due to the rapid growth of Christianity in Nepal. There were no recorded Christians in Nepal back in the 1950’s before it opened it doors to foreigners, but now, it is a nation with one of the fastest Church growths! Please, pray for our brothers and sisters, fellow workers in Nepal, for their safety and courage to proclaim Christ. So that all might know Jesus! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That night in Greece, coming face-to-face with women at the brothels forever changed me. I failed to mention that I was very reluctant to go out with that ministry to the brothels. I had been in Greece for three months, I was tired, and I was just ready to go home in a few days. Little did I know, that in my own weakness, in spite of my exhaustion, God used that experience to change my heart drastically. With that being said, I am equal parts excited and terrified for how God might work in my heart because of the people I will meet in Nepal. </span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090241503060034522.post-17395891136450015332017-10-30T15:18:00.001-04:002017-10-30T15:18:37.790-04:00Becoming a Minimalist Changes EverythingI remember having a conversation with my friend Bre who is <a href="http://roomsforrentblog.com/2017/10/simple-farmhouse-table-makeover/" target="_blank">Interior Design Blogger</a>. I credit her for helping me learn and develop my own sense of home styling. She was the one to encourage me to follow people on <a href="https://www.instagram.com/just.wright.here/" target="_blank">Instagram</a> that filled my feed with things that were appealing to me. It opened a new door in social media for me, using Instagram to almost exclusively fill my feed with things that brought me joy. Beautiful things.<br />
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Currently, my Instagram feed runs with scenic views of outdoor adventures with kids, homeschooling, farms, knitting, yarn, textiles, and coffee. Yup, those are mostly what I see! And I can't think of any of those accounts being linked to a "real life" friend, but rather a hashtag that I followed that led me to something pretty, something that makes me #swoon #wildandfreechildren #waldorf #charlottemason #montessori #wool #naturalfibers #weareknitters #coffeeshop #getoutside<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcyEc4NMU1AKSzZhor03hkxaZkXILyGS4UYQA3Gg6e2pT3kj503ookOSTymAzVv3_dl3eGdAb6rVM4K06p9rsZC2_7a_VjsWdq_jnU2zMPRC-JbMzZvp_N5haJKu-8cqivD49TOtlD6Hc/s1600/IMG_1213.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcyEc4NMU1AKSzZhor03hkxaZkXILyGS4UYQA3Gg6e2pT3kj503ookOSTymAzVv3_dl3eGdAb6rVM4K06p9rsZC2_7a_VjsWdq_jnU2zMPRC-JbMzZvp_N5haJKu-8cqivD49TOtlD6Hc/s640/IMG_1213.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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This is one area of influence that has helped shape my home rhythms.<br />
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Backstory-<br />
I didn't know what I "liked" but rather my home was cluttered with miscellaneous things that the youngest of four kids, and lots of family living nearby, resulted in. Then, we got rid of EVERYTHING, sold our home and moved into an RV. When I say EVERYTHING, here is what I mean- 75% of our clothes, books, kitchen things, keepsakes, toys, 100% of our furniture, 100% of our outdoor toys/ equipment... it all averaged to about 90% of everything we owned. And we still got rid of more during the following year of transition.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">And I haven't missed any of it. </span></div>
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In fact, it was in getting rid of it all, living in a RV, moving into a small two-bedroom, one-bath ranch style home, that I developed my own sense of style. When my brother-in-law came to visit last week, he paid me the best compliment on my home. He said something along the lines of, "you can tell that you guys are used to living very small, because everything has a place and all of your furniture has a purpose." Combine that with a conversation with my sister the next day on the phone, who said that kid stuff was taking over her house and it feels chaotic... like how she always felt when she would come over my house in NH... She has twin girls, nearly 3 years old. That was the most chaotic season of my life. And then, when Abby was that age, Jakob was born. <i>{Insert 5 years of chaos!}</i> I know there were good times in all of that, but it still makes me think panicked thoughts when I think back on that season of life. (Don't worry, I'm working through some of those things)<br />
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All of that to say, our 1,000 square foot house is mostly shades of white, no carpeting (we don't even own a throw rug), it looks like an advertisement out of IKEA (Life goal= ✔) Our dining table is a long folding table with a Wal-Mart flat sheet as a table cloth that I alternate between 3 identical ones. I had them on hand from when I used them as curtains at our old house in Candia, NH. Our chairs are the super lightweight black ones from IKEA that we used in the RV.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOlNHgP_5qVdKXOQpWX5vlLBVMMhTYcaXwccbVZC5k4XSHuV2LbEMODzRpUQIZhLc-gh8upXwJMZfsF3027ZvhFl9PBZeKfQD-bFAxy98kt5h6ggrXczeaggDqg7ofGYyy_WP3lw6t-Gg/s1600/IMG_0935.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOlNHgP_5qVdKXOQpWX5vlLBVMMhTYcaXwccbVZC5k4XSHuV2LbEMODzRpUQIZhLc-gh8upXwJMZfsF3027ZvhFl9PBZeKfQD-bFAxy98kt5h6ggrXczeaggDqg7ofGYyy_WP3lw6t-Gg/s640/IMG_0935.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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We are slowly acquiring, buying, and creating things to fill our home with decor that we love. If you're familiar with the KonMari Method, we are <i>slowly,</i> purposefully, putting things in our home that "Spark Joy." I take pride in striving to live a minimalist lifestyle. Not to make that my identity, but to have something tangible that I am striving to relate to.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">This whole journey of having less has given me more joy in life.</span> </div>
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In the last year, I have discovered many hobbies that I enjoy. I remember babysitting for a very intelligent little boy who asked me, "what are some of your hobbies?" I simply replied, "I like doing puzzles... {insert long pause} and people from other countries. Does that count as a hobby?" I came home and cried because I felt like I had no hobbies. I didn't know how to answer this very simple question- What <i>did </i>I like to do? It sounds rather ridiculous, but in that moment, I was struggling so much with my own identity as a person, outside of my roles as Mom, wife, etc. It was that simple conversation starter question from a 9 year old that got me thinking, "what are my hobbies?"<br />
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What are some things that I'm passionate about? Passions, that weren't so "intense" like human rights issues, which I'm still passionate about. But I've also discovered "simpler" passions, ones that simply bring joy to me- like natural fibers and textiles. The whole process starting with the farmer, sheep shearer, wool processor, fiber spinner, needle worker, finished product, recipient/ buyer/ gift receiver. And when I go overseas in a few weeks, I will be able to see how other people who have this shared passion, have created a sustainable small business, employing local women who might not otherwise have a stable job. How incredible is that?! It might sound super silly to you, but that's okay.<br />
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I'm just a few years into this journey of learning to live more simply, I still have chaos in my life, stresses and worries and dishes in my sink. One thing that I can agree with others on is this-<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Living a minimalist lifestyle changes everything. </span></div>
How I value time, money, food, resources, people, myself, those that I love.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It's a journey. </span></div>
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I am not an expert on any of this. I'm just sharing a window in on some of what I've learned over the last few years. I haven't regretted having less stuff, living in a small home, owning less clothing, keeping my pantry more bare and limited to what we will consume in the next two weeks. This is totally opposite of how I wanted to live before! I <b>never</b> wanted to live in a small house, much less a single story ranch style home, I always wanted an extra bedroom, a bursting pantry, etc. The reason that I wanted a large home was so that we could foster/ adopt and express hospitality. The reason why I never wanted a single story home was because my first born child was a terrible sleeper and I didn't want to creep around the house all the time in fear of waking her. Yet here I am. My kids don't nap anymore, and when Nana and Grandad came to visit a few weeks ago, they got our room and I bunked with the kids while Craig took the couch. Having a guest room might be nice, but in reality, how many nights out of the entire year do we have people come stay overnight with us? And as far as fostering and adopting, this isn't our season. This is a season of resting, <i>abiding, </i>for our family of four.<br />
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I'm soaking in and savoring these moments, from my hammock in the backyard, watching my kids jump on the trampoline. I'm learning to breathe deeply as I practice knitting from the couch, while people I love gather in my living room. I'm taking long baths in our deep soaking tub, after having a small, low-pressure shower in the RV with a tiny hot water tank. I'm whispering praises of thanks as I do laundry in our own home, not having to go to the laundromat or lug it to a friends house. I watch the leaves change color, fall and fill the yard from the window above my kitchen sink. I drink my coffee in bed, crack the blinds and just close my eyes. I say "yes!" when my four-year old son asks to paint at 8 am instead of eating breakfast right away. These are the sweet moments that I want to soak up, savor, remember, create rhythms of in our home. This isn't the all-day, every-day, but I'm learning.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">It's a journey. To live more simply. So I can be more fully present. </span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090241503060034522.post-28945133752486241372017-10-24T20:01:00.004-04:002017-10-24T20:01:31.268-04:00A dog named PiggyWhen I was 15 years old, my middle sister came to visit family in New Hampshire from where she was living in Savannah, Georgia. With her, she surprised us with a little Boston Terrier puppy. She got her name Piggy because her crooked tail, adorable squished face and the snorts that she would make.<br />
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When she was around 8 years old, she was attacked by a dog and nearly died. I found out about Piggy being in the hospital while I was on my break at work, my first day of working at Starbucks. I didn't live at home anymore, and I felt sick for not being there for her.<br />
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Our first year of marriage, I begged Craig to let us bring Piggy home to live with us. At that time, she was living with my sister and my two nephews. She was happy and had a yard to run free in. We lived in a third story apartment.<br />
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It wasn't until Piggy was 12 years old, that she came to live with us. My sister had recently had twins and our kids wanted Piggy, so it worked out well. She was deaf and could no longer see well. The stairs of our 200 year old farmhouse were a challenge for her. She loved to watch our tortoise and rabbit walk around the house when we let them out. The terrier in her never tried to harm them, but it made for a cute small-animal show to watch them.<br />
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As we sold our house, moved into an RV and lived in the RV for several months, Piggy came with us. Training a dog to be on a leash after spending 14 years NOT on a leash never got easier. And she was deaf. So you can imagine the funny/ frustrating stories that we have.<br />
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She ran around in Kansas and Iowa that summer. She sat in my lap, as I was the co-pilot of the motor home. Being deaf and mostly blind, living in a small space was perfect for her. She never lost us and she always knew where a snuggle buddy was. Often, we would find her on Jakob's bottom bunk. The tired little boy would get upset at night when Piggy was being a bed-hog.<br />
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It was hard, challenging and caring for her these last few years brought lots of joy and lots of needed patience. Craig was a great sport about Piggy living with us and even when he made fun of her bulging eyes, I know he loved her... because he loves me, and I loved Piggy.<br />
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I loved her.And I still love her.<br />
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5 months ago, Piggy "retired" back in New Hampshire at my parents house. Free from a leash and no little kids to bother her. It was the home that she had spent the majority of her life in. All that past year, we had to entertain a tentative plan for when Piggy would pass. Some days were scary and we didn't know if we would have to make that call the next day.<br />
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She lived a full 15.5 years and I like to think that her senior years were incredible. Today has been really hard, but I have peace. I am so thankful for my incredible sister in law in Maine who was able to be with Piggy at the end. You will never meet someone who loves dogs more than her. Knowing that Piggy was in tender care to the end is such freedom for my heart.<br />
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How crazy is it that my own kids have memories and love for a dog that I got as a teenager? Abby has taken the news well, and Jakob thinks that Piggy is having a sleepover at Mimi's still. But then again, he lives in an imaginary world much of the time, and I'm okay with that.<br />
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Abby asked hard questions, and I don't have answers. One comfort I could offer her is this, "God cares for everything that He makes. He loves animals. He made them. It brings Him great joy to see us enjoy and love His creation. When we are sad, He grieves with us. He notices the loss and He feels it too, because He is the Creator of it all." It seemed to satisfy her. And now I'll retell myself this when I miss Piggy too.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090241503060034522.post-88599565162889497632017-08-12T11:03:00.002-04:002017-08-12T11:03:42.430-04:00These are OUR friends now...I have known about this beautiful family for many months now.<br />
I have learned about them, prayed for them and been in the loop on updates.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Their precious 3 1/2 year old daughter Abigail was diagnosed with cancer, stage 4 neuroblastoma. </span></div>
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We hadn't even been in NYC for 24 hours when we took the Metro to the Children's Hospital to visit this sweet girl, sitting in a oversized wheelchair and wearing a hospital gown.<br />
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I was overwhelmed by how tiny she was. Her Mom was absolutely stunning and looked to be about my age. Suddenly, this was no longer a friend of a friend, a picture on Facebook and group prayers. All of a sudden, everything in me ached and a strange familiar fighter rose within me. My own Abigail was just 2 years old when she underwent surgery. It had been a constant battle since she was two weeks old. Fighting doctors on how to treat her, searching for answers. Our battle outside of the medical world also consisted of being a 23 year old Mom, a year old newly-wed, a husband who lost his job just 3 days before this wild child was born, severe financial struggles and searching for our place to serve in missions. Never could I have anticipated the depths of depression and level of fight within me during those first 6 months, that continued for the first several years of her life.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXvpbdPFAztL8ehyphenhyphenn-tit53KZQ6TucQZ6dlDwsXOCvnY3lJtOJbvcVArz_RIYiAmpUkM6_ewCY02CxDzHScT9vhTMedWdKxd59jtjuSvxeE776_P6lIIYQx-aFytrSyPVN0Sn92HhKcIE/s1600/IMG_0004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXvpbdPFAztL8ehyphenhyphenn-tit53KZQ6TucQZ6dlDwsXOCvnY3lJtOJbvcVArz_RIYiAmpUkM6_ewCY02CxDzHScT9vhTMedWdKxd59jtjuSvxeE776_P6lIIYQx-aFytrSyPVN0Sn92HhKcIE/s640/IMG_0004.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Visiting Abigail at the hospital a few days after they removed two large tumors from her tiny body.</td></tr>
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We use this expression "my heart goes out to you" when tragedy hits someone and we are helpless to do anything to relieve them. However, when I came face to face with this beautiful Mom and her tiny little girl, I no longer felt my "heart go out to them." Suddenly, the Momma Bear within that I quickly learned to become for my own daughter 7 years ago rose within me. I didn't feel weak with sorrow and helplessness to try to "fix" this situation, but to press on, fight, love hard and support. Those words really are weak compared to what I was experiencing.<br />
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This little one had just had two massive tumors removed from near her spine and near her ribs. When I saw the pictures of their size, I couldn't understand how they fit in that tiny frame of a girl. This precious girl has undergone chemo, radiation, surgery and more time in a hospital than a 3 year old ever should.<br />
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And her parents.<br />
So brave and strong.<br />
They had to move in the midst of this, and Abigail's Mom had to quit her job to care for Abigail.<br />
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The day after Abigail was discharged from her surgery, her parents invited us over for dinner. I heard that her Mom was eager to cook for us, but didn't know how to cook "American." She was relieved to hear that we not only eat Nepali food, but we <i>prefer</i> it. (Because really, after eating Nepali food, why would I crave any other food types?)<br />
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We walked into their studio apartment where we met Abigail's Dad. Craig and I both agreed that we couldn't think of a more joyful and smiling man we had ever met.<br />
<i>Joy</i> was how we described him. His daughter has cancer, just had surgery and they have faced unbelievable hardship in a compact time period. Yet, he is <i>joyful. </i>Suddenly, our current stresses and heartache felt so small. If he could be overwhelmingly joyful, why wasn't I?<br />
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Their home quickly filled with laughter as Abigail's Dad pulled out pieces of paper and began making origami. Our kids became enthralled with origami creations back in January when we learned about it at the Museum of Life and Science in Durham, NC. Little did he know, this was a sure way to our kids hearts! He whipped up an origami camera and our kids got such a thrill out of "taking pictures" with their new toy! He shared a funny story about making origami boats and putting ants aboard. He would place them in a puddle and have ant boat races. Our Abigail thought this was the best thing she had ever heard. I'm fairly certain that she has retold this story about half a dozen times to people since.<br />
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That night, just before I crashed in bed, I couldn't understand it. Their daughter was just discharged from the hospital. Their 3 year old has pretty serious cancer. All that fatigue and stress was enough reason to want to be home and just rest. Yet, they wanted to have us for dinner. Honestly, in a season of pain and suffering, how eager am I to express hospitality?<br />
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I was nervous about how our kids would react to seeing a beautifully bald little girl in the hospital. Our 7 year old was filled with compassion, while our 4 year old boy has since told people about his friend Abi who "broke her leg and was at the doctor" after all, he's 4 and for some reason associates going to the doctor with broken limbs.<br />
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I didn't consider how seeing this girl, meeting her parents and building a relationship with them was going to affect me. I miss them. My heart is filled with an ache when I think of them. My prayers for this family have gone from a polite passive request for God to heal their daughter, to a demanding plea. These aren't just a friend of a friend anymore, they are <i>our</i> friends. <i>Our </i>friends daughter that we are pleading with God to spare her life, and quietly asking God to use this tragedy to further His Kingdom.<br />
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I would love it if you took a moment to check out their <a href="https://www.gofundme.com/helpforabiandfamily" target="_blank">Go Fund Me</a> page and consider making any donation amount to help this family.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Abigails + Abigail + Jakob</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Abigail painting Abigail's nails.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sweet girl only wants to eat when Silvanus feeds her.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1_u-Uw2eBNCpYK6mGF2goxhM7sMpLcP1ROD835X657i-KQG51BoaZ9R0FP5YMuePfkehUCijdPuqrwMTsTbp34ooS-992waatUUkmZ8qBiVkVYoWkb6UirwnzWpH8NLoCjg7StQI2udw/s1600/IMG_0045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1043" data-original-width="1600" height="416" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1_u-Uw2eBNCpYK6mGF2goxhM7sMpLcP1ROD835X657i-KQG51BoaZ9R0FP5YMuePfkehUCijdPuqrwMTsTbp34ooS-992waatUUkmZ8qBiVkVYoWkb6UirwnzWpH8NLoCjg7StQI2udw/s640/IMG_0045.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Abigail's Dad started making orgami. The kids LOVED it!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxSJE2SmloK5hu_ia0mMgJdqM-tQa75T5sS6pqY4cr-f603C7J25DwvDXPbOTOmosVOie7vUVtmFfteKMEi-PBjNhSpEaNq0GKg71w6yl4yNdYBntRPqRhpDq1RezRVXL9H0jR5UHO728/s1600/IMG_0048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxSJE2SmloK5hu_ia0mMgJdqM-tQa75T5sS6pqY4cr-f603C7J25DwvDXPbOTOmosVOie7vUVtmFfteKMEi-PBjNhSpEaNq0GKg71w6yl4yNdYBntRPqRhpDq1RezRVXL9H0jR5UHO728/s640/IMG_0048.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Abigail and Jakob put on a show with their origami camera.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4CNdd4OYumHRbwmy_UzYpWzG1S_rnlsGWACUsPbziYy-KTCmyggONwGrxeZszyd1742R4ALQDXoKnvP_HtA9L00q8h1SpgW1k6Q6vk_ngQyi3TCVhw-Ikmdjj3m6i2XkvLN6UvWgxUaU/s1600/IMG_0047.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4CNdd4OYumHRbwmy_UzYpWzG1S_rnlsGWACUsPbziYy-KTCmyggONwGrxeZszyd1742R4ALQDXoKnvP_HtA9L00q8h1SpgW1k6Q6vk_ngQyi3TCVhw-Ikmdjj3m6i2XkvLN6UvWgxUaU/s640/IMG_0047.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our sweet friends posing for the origami camera.</td></tr>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090241503060034522.post-38834216677381182092017-07-03T09:40:00.001-04:002017-07-03T09:40:42.410-04:00I said Yes! (Part 2){Why did I write this in two parts?<br />
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Because nobody wants to read a long post. </div>
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But there is too much to keep this short.}<br />
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<a href="http://justwrighthere.blogspot.com/2017/06/i-said-yes-part-1.html" target="_blank">Find part 1 here.</a></div>
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A few months ago, I asked my husband if he would go out with me. We were new to the area and couldn't find a sitter, so we all loaded up in the car. I was so awkward and nervous in the car. I was probably scaring my husband, like I had bad news to break to him.<br />
It wasn't bad news.<br />
Just big news.</div>
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I shared how for months now, I knew that God was calling me to go overseas on a short-term trip. But it didn't make sense. We travel full-time nearly half of the year, can barely make ends meet as it is, and I'm a MOM. I can't just ditch my kids and husband to fly around the world... and do what exactly? I still didn't know. But I knew He was pressing me.</div>
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I rambled on about how God had gone from whispering this to making it glaringly obvious. But it still didn't make sense, and Craig was probably going to discourage it... or at least I wanted him to. The excuses kept coming. Craig finally interrupted me and said "Yes. Do it. Go where God is telling you. Without me. Without the kids. Do it!" And he was so excited. I looked at him with shock and disgust. I <i>wanted </i>him to say no. To be the reasoning voice, since he is the level thinker. He said GO. We talked a lot more in depth, about my own heart struggles and growth that he had seen in me. </div>
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But what did this all even mean? I had preconceived opinions on short-term international mission trips. How did this all fit with my own convictions? </div>
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We talked, I reached out to contacts, we continued to pray. I knocked on the doors I thought would make sense to knock on. In a region I had been. I didn't know what exactly was going to happen, but I hoped that it would be some kind of "You're an answer to prayer!" type of thing.<br />
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[Insert a long silence mixed with longing that was not my own and still quite unknown.]</div>
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One day, my dear friend who recently accepted Jesus called me in a crisis. She <i>knew</i> she was supposed to go to Ethiopia with her church. She and I were on the same page as far as why she <i>shouldn't </i>go. I mean, Africa. Everyone goes to Africa. And it would be with her mega-church. She would have to fundraise like $3,000 in 5 weeks or something crazy. All preconceived thoughts and reasoning went out the window as we talked. It ended with "I don't understand why this is a crisis. Obviously God is leading you to Ethiopia." We wrestled with what "calling" and "leading" even meant, since those words are so easily used in American Christian circles. I told her that my mind and my heart were currently conflicted, but it was quite obvious what she was to do next. </div>
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And then it was my turn.<br />
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I got an email from our church missions pastor that afternoon asking if we could talk on the phone the next day. I had emailed him weeks ago. <i>Now </i>he writes back?! Of all days. When my mind and heart conflict so much when it comes to short term missions. Yet this girl who just recently started walking with Jesus, who was crying over not being able to use a hair dryer in Africa just decided she was going to forgo all reasoning and GO. She said YES!</div>
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Within 10 days I had 3 conversations with missions pastors and never before had it been so obvious what I was to do next. I mean, it made sense. Like I said, it was quite obvious. My stomach was already Nepali. Some of my favorite people in the world are from Nepal and two of my favorite American's are getting ready to move their family to Nepal. (Insert shameless plug to the <a href="http://www.millersinnepal.com/" target="_blank">Miller's going to Nepal</a>.) It wasn't the country, or the region I had in my head. I said YES to wherever God was going to send me, but I honestly thought it would be to a place I didn't really desire to go. And Nepal, well, I wouldn't even entertain the thought of going to Nepal because that was impossible. I cannot even tell you why I thought it to be impossible. But seeing how going on any short-term trip overseas was SO not on my radar these last 5 years, like AT ALL.<br />
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It seems like it was the plan all along. Like my babies. All of a sudden, that 9 month long pregnancy, labor and delivery don't seem that long or that big of a deal. But if you told me that at 41 weeks pregnant with Jakob, I would have punched you in the face. Literally. </div>
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At the end of those 10 days, I had said yes to going to Nepal in December for 2 weeks...<br />
but wait, there's more....<br />
and Craig said yes to going to Nepal in March for 2 weeks.<br />
Each of us with clearly laid out purpose and plan. Partnering with the local Nepali Church. Churches our friends planted with Global Mission Nepal!<br />
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When I asked our friend Dan if his secret plan was to get us to fall in love and move to Nepal, his answer surprised me. He said no. He shared that he thinks we would be more effective in short term trips to Nepal. He is from Nepal. He <i>gets</i> the culture and the spiritual climate more than I ever cook. And he was affirming a <i>short term partnership?! </i>This shook all of my preconceived ideas.<br />
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You see, Dan is like the Godfather of Nepali Missions. He's the (not old) wise man who is filled with so much humility, passion, knowledge, love, conviction. After 6 years of knowing his family, I only <i>grow</i> in my respect for each of them. The mission organization that he founded- <a href="http://www.globalmissionnepal.org/" target="_blank">Global Mission Nepal </a>has a goal of planting 100 churches in Nepal by 2020 and they have planted 63! We met in New Hampshire 6 years ago, where he planted the first Nepali Church in NH and served as the Church Planting Catalyst for the North American Mission Board (NAMB-who we were partnered with for 4 years) for Southeast Asian Churches.</div>
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So here we are.<br />
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I'm humbled and amazed and so thankful that God would want me to be part of this. Abigail is already telling everyone "My Mommy is going to Nepal in December to preach the Gospel." I said yes months ago, but it wasn't until recently that I found out exactly what I would do there. What do I have to offer? What is God orchestrating in the midst of my doubt?</div>
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Well, 11 years ago God put a vision on my heart that I penned into a notebook. It was too big for me to do. For <i>me</i> to do.<br />
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But GOD...<br />
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To be continued...<br />
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*Click here if you missed <a href="http://justwrighthere.blogspot.com/2017/06/i-said-yes-part-1.html" target="_blank">Part 1</a>.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090241503060034522.post-87754506797540416152017-06-17T08:40:00.003-04:002017-06-17T08:40:30.607-04:00I said Yes! (Part 1)I said Yes.<br />
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I'm not going to get into the history of it all.<br />
How when I was a little girl I had a heart for the nations and knew that I would be a missionary one day.<br />
Or how I grieved and struggled with bitterness toward God because He didn't bring me overseas in my early 20s like I thought He would.<br />
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Like <i>I </i>thought He would.</div>
Because I am so crazy passionate about people who don't look like me and weren't born in the same country as me. Who speak English not-so-well or with a deliciously thick accent.<br />
Those who have radically different lives, from the way they dress to the foods they eat.<br />
For many years, I'd say that my heart was African. But my stomach is Nepali, Indian, Thai.... you get the point.<br />
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But I said I wasn't going to get into the history of it all. Because to write the history of my heart for the nations is to write the story of my <i>heart.</i> And it isn't so beautiful, flowing with curry and turmeric. It isn't bedazzled with henna and bright paints. It is broken, ashen and covered in sack-cloth.<br />
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This part of the story isn't about the past, it's about the <i>future.</i> And how He turns beauty from ashes. He demands me to rend my heart and not my garment. (Which might sound SO weird to you. But to this Jewish loving history geek, this is PROFOUND in my own heart of repentance)<br />
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So here is the story-<br />
In Luke 5, Jesus is calling the first disciples. You can read that on your own, but what stood out to me, as <i>I have said YES, </i>is in verse 5 when Jesus asked these guys (fishermen) who are done laboring and have caught nothing, to throw out their nets. These guys are done. They worked hard and have nothing to show for it, they are tired, cleaning up and ready to go home. But Jesus...<br />
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Simon wants to point this out to Jesus, not because Jesus is a fool, but I think the writer of this had me in mind. I think the Great Author of this Book was quite intentional in every word, every story.<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">"Master, we toiled all night and took nothing! <br />But at your word, I will let down the nets."</span></i></div>
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Oh God, I have worked so hard. I have done what was good, what was right, what was needed. I have nothing left. I can't do this anymore. I have nothing to sustain me. And yet, you ask something of me that I have tried before and failed. Not for any other reason, or desperation, or pleading on my end, but YOU ask so that YOU might be glorified. I wouldn't otherwise do this, but because you asked. I will. I'm weak and vulnerable. You see it and want to make me whole. Wholly yours. Holy.<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">"But at your word, I will..."</span></i></div>
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It took months, multiple people confirming, curious timing, sleepless nights and walking in faith. I said yes before I knew what I was responding to. I said yes, desperate for the longing to settle into peace. I didn't quite know why this stirring started, or when it began. But it was a solid 5 months of this wrestling to understand, make sense, to see.<br />
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And in the "end" of it all, I shake my head and laugh. Because it was so obvious. I laugh, with tears streaming down my face, but He is so good. Yet, I struggle with amnesia. I forget so quickly.<br />
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All of this goes against my preconceived ideas, my ignorance and my inexperience. But these fears are <i>real</i> because we have support raised and we haven't stopped raising funds to do more. And we have barely made it. I can't express the hurt behind all of that. The mix of gratitute for those who see the need, the vision and give with a happy heart. The pain of rejection and struggling to make ends meet.<br />
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Like Simon, this is my answer "Lord, what you ask is big, too big. I know you are good, and my ideas of how it will turn out just need to be turned over to you. I'm choosing to trust you. So I say yes. I'll go. I'm scared and struggling with doubt. Forgive me for my unbelief. I <i>believe</i> that you will make a way. I'm choosing to say YES. To have hope and walk in faith."<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090241503060034522.post-82904533600482836442017-05-23T14:39:00.002-04:002017-05-23T14:39:22.606-04:00Lessons from Laundry (Pt.1)Living in a first world country, it is easy to take things like clean clothes and the ability to do laundry for granted. The most simple and mundane task of doing laundry has become one of the greatest lessons I learned while living in the RV.<br />
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This past year has stretched me in ways that I would never have foreseen, forcing me to be vulnerable and dependent on others hospitality. As we prepared to move into a house, purchasing a used washer and dryer for our own convenience as laundry is an unavoidable necessity, I am processing how significant this has become.<br />
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These past few months I have dumped large loads of laundry at our campus pastors house. I have been given access to come and do laundry, even when they were out of town. They have 5 kids and somehow manage to not have their laundry room door bursting open.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I've talked about our community here in North Carolina and I don't ever want to take this beautiful, vulnerable season for granted. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">I hope to glean life lessons for years to come from this awkward and stretching season this past year has been. </span></div>
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Recently, I tried to think of all the houses and places we have done laundry at this past year. I didn't keep track of how many times we went to the laundromat or how much it all added up to. I do remember one event, and like my rotten self does best, I remember the worst moment and honestly, I never want to forget it. Not because it was "bad" or sad, or lonely, or embarrassing, or a whole slew of emotions- but because of what I <i>learned</i> from it.<br />
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We parked for two weeks at Falls Lake State Park in Durham, NC. Craig was out of state with our escape vehicle and the kids and I were fighting some kind of bug. It was honestly a really raw and lonely time. I felt like I was failing as a Mom in every way. I was super sick and I pulled a few all-nighters taking care of sick kids those first few days Craig was gone. My physical state was reflecting my mental and emotional state and I truly thought I might lose my mind in the whole mess.<br />
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Using my friends borrowed car while she worked, I spent over $20 at laundromats in just a few days. I even strung a clothesline between the trees at the State Park, with knots and loops that would have made my former Boy Scout husband frown. It was an effort to save money doing laundry. And then my sweet sick kid threw up/ peed the bed (I honestly don't remember which one, or both- action or kid!)<br />
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I was sick, frustrated and my patience was long gone. The timing of the bedding incident was horrible. Not that there is ever a good time for your kids to pee/ vomit the bed, but when you're living in 300+ square feet, the stench overpowers all living space. For real, I'm not trying to be gross, or overly dramatic. My dear friend was moving out of a rough housing situation and came to visit for just a few nights as she moved in to another house. Welcome to my "Tiny House" of sickness. She was heading to a friends house and sent a quick text asking if I could bring a load of laundry because my kid *ahem* you know...<br />
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She was denied.<br />
I was denied.<br />
My kid was denied.<br />
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An awkwardness fell over us when my friend tried to find the words to explain the response she got. It hurt. It didn't make sense. They didn't want their "new" washer getting gross with what needed to be washed.<br />
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Washing machines have the ability to clean some of the nastiest stuff you can imagine. I'll let you think about some of these things-<br />
Bloody sheets, poop stained underwear, peed in pants, vomit, dog and cat fur/ dander, work clothes from dirty job sites, scrubs (with all kinds of bodily fluids), cloth diapers, baby spit up... I could go on.<br />
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It isn't sweet and fresh like the Downy commercial. Sometimes we need to run another cycle because "it" didn't come out the first time. The point is, washing machines are <i>made </i>to take this mess and make it clean. To clean what we would rather not touch, because dear me if I have to get another whiff of whatever was on that blanket! It is dirty and messy. And if you are so privileged to never experience this, well then, bless your heart.<br />
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So, all of this got me thinking, and I just couldn't shake it-<br />
<i>I am too dirty to come to you in my current state, yet you are in seminary and are teaching Bible classes. </i><br />
I'm not mad at this person for denying me use of their washing machine because they didn't want my stuff to dirty up their life, I mean washing machine. However, it lite a fire in me that did make me angry. Because they are Christians, in seminary, serving at a church and teaching Bible classes, but they couldn't reach out to a sister in Christ and serve me in a simple need that I had. I know that sounds desperate, and selfish, but follow me here- if we can't do unto our family in Christ, then how could we ever imagine doing unto "the least of these." Are you following me? I'm totally throwing these people I really don't know under the bus in an effort to express a critical point.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The talk around Christian circles to "love your neighbor" is <i>offensive</i> if you aren't actually loving your neighbor. </span><br />
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But what's even greater- am I going beyond being kind, doing "good", or doing the "right thing", actually stretching myself and sacrificing so others might benefit, even if it costs me. I talked about it some in my last blog post <a href="http://justwrighthere.blogspot.com/2017/05/the-nations-next-door.html" target="_blank">The Nations Next Door</a>.<br />
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Last week, as I did my last load of laundry at our campus pastors house, I thanked my friend <a href="https://bumpsbruisesandgrace.com/" target="_blank">Tiffany</a> for allowing me the use of her washer and dryer these last few months. She simply said "well, of course. I mean, you're right down the road and I have a washer and dryer, you don't. Why wouldn't I?"<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Why wouldn't I.</span><br />
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Sweet friend, if only you knew how profound your action and your heart behind it were to me, like a healing balm. Because in that short sentence, she said it all- <i>Why wouldn't I?</i><br />
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Good grief- if you're still reading this, <i>this</i> is my point- IT IS THE HEART behind our action. Our actions reflect our hearts. Our heart <i>will </i>come out in our actions. And while I don't make a habit of pointing out others faults, my hope is for you to see how a very simple "no" or "yes" can impact someone.<br />
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Without delving into this story on Instagram, I did share a bit about how this whole journey with laundry is moving me to action. Check it out here on <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/BUSx2mEFpS_/?taken-by=just.wright.here" target="_blank">Instagram JustWrightHere</a><br />
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I don't want to forget this story and how it didn't just hurt in the moment, but how it forced me to check my own heart and actions. It illuminated the kindness and hospitality I received each time I did laundry at someones house. We bought a great used washer and dryer for our rental house, and if you ever find yourself in Whitsett, North Carolina and need to do laundry, come on over!<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090241503060034522.post-766900044747349262017-05-16T11:02:00.000-04:002017-05-16T11:10:26.955-04:00The Nations Next Door<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="es1eo" data-offset-key="1dq7a-0-0" style="background-color: white;">
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<span data-offset-key="1dq7a-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">All my life, I thought I would be a missionary overseas. Only over the past 5 years has my heart and eyes been opened to the fact that God has brought the Nations to me- here in the United States of America. Between refugees and immigrants, God has broken down hard walls in my heart that only considered Missions to be "overseas."
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Well, Craig</span><span data-offset-key="1dq7a-2-0" style="font-family: inherit;"> and I ARE domestic missionaries. Right here, to the NATIONS in America. While we are still passionate about going overseas to equip local leaders in effective ministry outreach and discipleship, we are so thankful for the relationships that God has brought into our lives with people who speak English as a Second Language.
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This little video clip touches on something critical at the end- why do we as American Christians and Churches elevate overseas missions over domestic missions? It costs significantly less and is less of a hardship and burden to be a domestic missionary than overseas (</span><i style="font-family: inherit;">this does not mean easy!!</i><span style="font-family: inherit;">) We aren't the only domestic missionaries who struggle with lack of funding and less emotional/ personal support. We are so excited for someone to go on a 2 week trip overseas that costs thousands of dollars, but we don't even consider the domestic missionaries that are forced to work up to two other jobs just to support their family, leaving less time and emotional energy for ministry.
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I don't say this out of pity, or anti-short term mission trips, but just a realty check. It's more exciting for us as the giver to support someone who is going somewhere different- culturally we romanticize it. I say this </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">as </i><span style="font-family: inherit;">a donor, one who actively and regularly supports missionaries and mission trips. Receiving messages from our dear friend Christopher Bwami in Uganda with progress photos of the crops growing because of our financial gift last summer due to the sale of our house is a visual and tangible view on how the money God gave us, and we gifted, is having an impact </span><i style="font-family: inherit;">right now. </i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Literally growing food for life. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">When Jesus said to preach the Gospel to all the Nations, He didn't mean that YOU need to go overseas to accomplish this either. What are you doing in your life to build bridges and breakdown barriers with people from other countries</span><i style="font-family: inherit;"> in your </i><span style="font-family: inherit;">community? They are pretty easy to spot at the store, parks, museums, hospitals and public transportation. Strike up a conversation and don't hold back in building a relationship and sharing Christ with them. They may never have met a true follower of Jesus before and it is OUR calling to share the Giver of Hope. So all might know and receive Jesus Christ as their Savior. Amen?</span></div>
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Get comfortable with being uncomfortable, for the sake of their souls. Learn to eat whatever food is offered, embrace their hospitality, be patient when explaining new cultural concepts, don't use "religious" terms that a. don't translate linguistically/ culturally and b. are completely absent in a non </span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit;">Judaeo</span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit;">/ Christian culture. I don't mean this to sound overwhelming. God isn't placing someone else's salvation upon your shoulders, so you better not screw it up! No! Have grace with yourself in this new territory. Be quick to apologize if you've offended. Be transparent and authentic, showing your own humanness and need for a Savior. Be completely imperfect, so that as you let the Holy Spirit refine you, it shines Christ even more than you ever could have on your own. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: inherit; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I'm here. Let's talk. It is one of my greatest joys and passions to see broken people stumble with grace towards hope, to help encourage and speak Truth alongside them. </span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2090241503060034522.post-727141877094234772017-05-07T15:35:00.002-04:002017-05-07T15:40:37.124-04:00Sacred CompanionsLess than two weeks ago, we were driving from New Hampshire back to North Carolina. Due to hair-pulling traffic and stressful driving on 95 North, we opted the longer route via 81 South taking us through the beautiful highway views of the Shenandoah Valley in Virginia.<br />
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Our seven day trip, four of those days being driving, putting nearly 2,000 miles on our 1997 Ford 15-passenger van hauling a 20 foot trailer, was long and emotionally exhausting. I was so looking forward to returning home. Home. That is what this little area in North Carolina has become to us. Home. Not just because I finally know my way around the local grocery stores, short cuts into Chapel Hill and have officially gone to the Museum of Life and Science in Durham more times than I can remember. I have probably put more miles on my car the last three months exploring this area than I did the last three years living in New Hampshire. Because babies nap, kids don't transition well, and because frankly, I was just struggling. </div>
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Home. I was sad to miss my church on Easter Sunday. To be part of the First Impressions team and get to see those precious faces who stepped out and came to visit our church for the first time. Either by force from a friend or relative because it's a holiday, or because it's a Holy-Day and they are desperate to find something deeper in that day. The day that Christ rose from the grave. Just like the Jewish prophecy predicted. Like He said He would. Because death could not hold Him, He was and <i>is</i> a conqueror. We had a different joyful honor that day, to share Christ at a community outreach in Derry, NH on Easter Sunday, hosted by a church that we have worked with for several years. </div>
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I was a hot mess the day before we left North Carolina for New Hampshire. There are so many stories, burdens, emotions, spiritual warfare, etc. behind why everything in me was fighting going on the trip. But it's rather offensive to tell people in your home state that you are crying about going home. Because it isn't "home." And that doesn't make it a bad thing. </div>
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You see, we have been so despereatly lonely these last few years. Ever since our best-couple-friends moved to South Carolina when Abigail was one, we have struggle so hard to find genuine close (couple) friends who would battle through life with us. I'm not saying this to shame anyone, but relationships are a LOT of work and we are all busy with work, kids and commitments.<br />
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Our lifestyle isn't the norm. We are gone all summer long. New Englanders hibernate in the winter between cold and sickness, and our kids are (finally) at an age where they don't nap and don't have an early bedtime. Abby is no longer struggling with health/ stomach/ kidney/ behavior issues that had cast a gloomy cloud over her first five years of life. If you don't know me really really well, I'm not a horrible Mom who hated her firstborn until two years ago. I totally understand that this sounds terrible, but I'm just giving you a page out of an entire five-year book. Being a parent is the hardest thing I've ever done and it is so lonely and isolating. Starting a brand-new ministry and <a href="https://wwws.nmsi.org/give/craig-karissa-wright#donate" target="_blank">support raising</a> in the least Evangelical (less than 2%, which overseas we call an "unreached people group") and least charitable region of the country was enough to nearly break me... and in some ways, as I reflect now, I can see that it did. </div>
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Moving to North Carolina wasn't our exact plan. This time last year, we didn't know that we would be here. We had to sell our house in Candia, NH (due to replacing our well AND septic which nearly doubled our mortgage) and we knew that it was time for us to relocate regionally to be more centrally located for traveling for<a href="http://www.cwtrials.com/" target="_blank"> Cwtrials</a>/ <a href="http://www.bikestuntshow.com/" target="_blank">Bike Stunt Show</a> and for Craig to be able to train year round. That's a super short version. Lately, I have been repeating the "How did you end up in North Carolina?" question and my two sentence response is very open ended- "We kind of just ended up here. One thing led to another." It sounds super unintentional and vagabond like... and we are a family of four living in a forty foot motor home. BUT, <i>if</i> you want to hear the whole story, it's beautiful and raw and I'm so glad that we handed the paintbrush over to God and let Him work the story of this past year. I really do hope to one day just sit and spill the details into a piece of writing that doesn't hold back, but I'm just not ready yet.<br />
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We came to this area hungry for community and a place to get rooted and grow. We came craving <i>sacred companions</i>. I didn't even know how to word it until recently when I peeled open the first few pages of my personally signed copy of Emily P. Freeman's book <a href="http://emilypfreeman.com/the-books/" target="_blank">Simply Tuesday</a>. It was on the last leg of that long journey, as Craig drove our van and trailer through the Shenandoah Valley, and I positioned my sunglasses and body toward the passenger window, concealing quiet tears that slipped away, betraying my efforts to stuff all I was feeling about recent unexpected news on our trip. I tried to distract myself by scrolling on <a href="https://www.instagram.com/just.wright.here/" target="_blank">Instagram</a> and watching Instagram Stories. I have followed Emily P. Freeman for a few years on Instagram and saw that she would be speaking at a small event not too far from home. There is was again. Home. We were in Virginia driving south to our <i>home. </i>A ray of hope slipped in as I quickly decided that in 3 days, once we were <i>home, </i>I was going to that event!<br />
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The day after the event I went to our Church -<a href="http://www.summitrdu.com/" target="_blank">The Summit Church at Alamance County</a>, where I rapidly took notes like I was in a classroom during a lecture. I served alongside friends, complete strangers just a few months ago. We drove by a large red brick church and Abigail piped in "Mom, if we had gone to that church, we wouldn't have the friends from our small group. If we hadn't moved here, we wouldn't have any of the friends we have met in North Carolina." And it was soon after, while reading Simply Tuesday, my heart found the words to express how these people we have met, these relationships not only <i>I </i>have made, but Craig and <i>both</i> of our children have made- these are our <i>sacred companions</i>.<br />
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They are more than friends. These local shop owners and service providers mean more to us than just that. Our campus staff and their families aren't just people we see on Sunday's making announcements, serving and leading worship. That family in Snow Camp I met at the State Park playground while I was sick and Craig was out of town have become close family friends. Dumping a load of laundry off at our small group leaders house is welcomed and expected. Doing life, sharing our stresses and troubles, helping without asking, putting in a little extra, praying with and for one another, fighting discouragement, checking in and following up- following through. These people who somehow have become part of our lives these last 4 months have become our sacred companions. We store it up in our hearts, we treasure it, we savor the conversations and quiet moments. We do not take this season for granted and are constantly thanking God.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just hanging out at a friends house doing my laundry, while they are out of town.</td></tr>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1