tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-28542278695824864862024-03-21T21:32:01.403-04:00Wild and Precious LifeKimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087307874165404494noreply@blogger.comBlogger77125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2854227869582486486.post-22466585489496992052015-07-21T15:30:00.000-04:002015-07-21T15:54:37.694-04:00Declan Finn: a birth story.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It's been 7 weeks since our lives and souls were rocked to the core by the arrival of our first son, Declan Finn. It has honestly taken me this long just to reflect on and process the transformative experience of bringing a brand new human onto this planet enough to put it down on paper. Plus, there's been a good deal of sleep deprivation around here lately, and I'm now seizing a spare moment while the little man sleeps in his swing. <i>(Sidebar: this has actually been written over the course of SEVERAL stolen nap moments over the last few weeks. Newborn life, am I right? It's also unedited and unfiltered. I wanted to really capture my first impressions and feelings about the birth, so I didn't reread or pick this one apart.)</i><br />
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My due date was May 31st, so as that day approached and eventually passed, everyone at work basically expected my water to break at my desk at any moment. Still I soldiered on, and on Tuesday, June 2nd, I tied up the very last of my I'll-be-gone-all-summer loose ends at the office, and made a facetious note on our shared calendar that I had a doctor's appointment the next day "IF I'M STILL HERE."<br />
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I wouldn't be.<br />
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That night, I had dinner with my mom (who had come up from Florida on the due date) and aunt, went to the chiropractor, and turned in early with the hubby because we were both particularly worn out that day. It's a good thing we did!<br />
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Around 2am, I woke up to contractions. I had been having them on and off all week long, but these felt like a whole different animal. I stayed comfy and timed them in bed for about an hour, catching short naps in between. They were 5 minutes apart and 45-60 seconds long from the very start, so at 3am I decided to wake Braden. "Hey babe, I think things are really happening!" He jumped right up and asked if there was anything he could do for me. I told him we should try to keep resting while we still could, so we stayed in bed while I timed contractions between brief snoozes. After a while, I couldn't sleep anymore, and he wanted to get the bags packed and loaded into the car, so we got up, showered, and had a snack. I took a long bath (and shaved my legs, of course), sat on my birth ball, and stayed very zen. Even though the contractions were as close as 2-3 minutes apart, they were still very manageable. I thought, "I could do this all day!" We called my mom at about 7am to let her know that this was it. She said "I will be there as fast as legally allowable!!" And my doula, who ended up being stuck in Edisto beach because of a huge storm. I also texted all the ladies at work to let them know that they would not be seeing me today (!), and all my best girlfriends to get the prayers rolling. We decided to take a walk by the river to keep things moving, and in the parking lot of the park, we ran into an ambulance. The driver put her head out the window and yelled "I hope you're not too close to having that baby!" I told her that actually, I was in labor right now! The back of the ambulance swung open and one of the EMTs shouted with a huge grin "Do you need help?? We can give you a ride!" We about died laughing. It was a beautiful morning, overcast and not smoking hot yet. It was wonderful to be outside by the water in the peaceful "calm before the storm," literally & figuratively, as a huge. flood-causing thunderstorm was actually brewing that day. We walked (waddled) for a while, and I paused to lean on benches or trees during contractions. Some were only a minute apart at this point, but still easy to breathe through. Once again, I thought to myself that this labor thing was a breeze. (Don't worry, those thoughts would not last the rest of the day.)<br />
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After we got back home, I hopped back into the tub for a while. Mom arrived shortly thereafter, and she & Braden started loading the car with our hospital bags (and my pillows. And comforter. And yoga mat. And birth ball. Etc. Packing light isn't really my jam for huge life events.) Braden made me a green smoothie, and I sipped it on the birth ball while watching the Daily Show. I called the midwives around 10am, and after hearing that my contractions had been so close together for so long, they encouraged me to head on to the hospital ASAP. We hit the road around 11am, with towels under me to protect the new Prius's clean seats (just in case.) I had to really start breathing through contractions on the road, but we listened to music and luckily the ride to the hospital was short and traffic was light. We broke the rules and went in through the main entrance rather than the ER (because, ew) and made our way to labor & delivery. To my surprise, they don't admit you right away. You go to something of a pregnant lady "holding area" where you're monitored and checked to make sure the ball is actually rolling before they put you in a room. The first two nurses I met I actually knew via Daybreak, so that was pretty cool. They hooked me up to a monitor and found I was only 2 cm dilated, so they wanted me to go walk for a while to see if I would progress further. To which I responded, "Ok great. I'll just head home and be back in an hour." Well. Apparently that wasn't an option. Not only did I have to stay in the hospital, but I couldn't leave the 2nd floor! This threw me off a little bit, but we rolled with it. We proceeded to pace the halls of L&D for about an hour and a half, pausing to lean on the walls during contractions while Braden pushed on my lower back. (I didn't know this yet, but Declan was posterior, so I was in for some major back labor.) Things were starting to get painful rather than just uncomfortable, and I got a little teary wanting to go ahead and get admitted so I could settle into my labor room and get this show on the road. Luckily, when they checked me again I was nearly 4 cm and moving along nicely. The nurse said "You get to stay and have a baby!"<br />
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We moved to our big, comfy labor & delivery room at 1pm. I got changed into the nightgown I brought from home and started to settle in. We met our amazing nurse Pam, who was with us through the whole process, and found out that one of my favorite midwives, Debbie, was the one on call that day. We put on my birth playlist. I took a hot shower. I spent alot of time on the birth ball, and on all-fours on the bed to relieve some of the back pain. Braden and I used a bunch of the moves from our birth partner yoga class and they were hugely helpful with my back labor. I didn't get an IV, so it was great to freely drink as much water as I wanted to. I had also been nibbling on healthy snacks right up until I was officially admitted, so it was nice to not be starving.<br />
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I'm a very cerebral person, always in my head. Labor and birth have a fascinating way of pulling you completely OUT of your head and planting you firmly and irrevocably in your body. I had no concept of time, how much was passing, and I wasn't able to consider anything but the present moment. Up until then, my labor had been totally manageable and easy to handle. But soon the contractions were right on top of each other, my hands started shaking, and I started to wonder if I could really do this. For the very first time, I felt a little bit of fear. Many of the books I read to prepare for birth preached that labor doesn't have to be painful at all. Some insisted that birth can even be an orgasmic experience. Bless them, but clearly those hippies were smoking something stronger than I've ever experienced when they wrote all that. In the words of John Green, "pain demands to be felt." My mom, who knows her stuff, had an inkling that I was approaching transition. Sure enough, she was right. In a detached way, the fact that I could produce such sensations was utterly fascinating. In a more attached way, it was like experiencing lightning surging through my body, bringing my baby closer to us with every spectacularly powerful movement. It was like being a human thunderstorm: furious, untamable, and nothing to be done but ride it out.<br />
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At 5:45pm, my water broke, which is when stuff got<i> really</i> real. I was completely within myself, unaware of much of anything beyond the raging storm in my body. Nurse Pam got very close to my face and told me very gently that everything was okay, but that there was fresh meconium in the water, and I would need to be monitored continuously from here on out to make sure the baby wasn't in distress. This meant my movements would be limited to the bed from now on. Up until now, I hadn't even considered the possibility of pain medicine. My birth plan specifically said, "no pain meds." I hadn't even researched any of it in advance, because it was not even an option in my mind. But now I started to entertain the idea. I didn't want an epidural; I wanted to stay fully engaged with what was happening in my body. To stay an active participant in the process. Actually, let me clarify with a confession that my hippie earth-momma self is pretty embarrassed to share: I WANTED an epidural. Like, alot. The idea of escaping the pain completely was very seductive at that moment. But I really didn't want to be immobile, catheterized, and unable to really feel and participate in the pushing process when the time came. Plus needles in my spine give me with willies. Between contractions, I said to my nurse, "I don't want to sound like a chicken, but tell me about what pain meds are options for me right now." After talking to her, to Braden, and to my doula over the phone, I decided to try one dose of the most mild, side-effect free medication they could offer me. It honestly didn't take away any of the pain of the contractions, but it did allow me to take a breath and rest just a bit between them, which with exhaustion closing in, I really think my body needed at that moment.<br />
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Soon, very soon, I felt the overwhelming urge to push. It wasn't even an urge; my body just started pushing completely on its own accord. It was a fascinating phenomenon. I had the nurse check me quickly, as I knew there was no way I could hold back if for some reason I wasn't fully dilated yet. But hallelujah, I was 10 cm and ready to roll! Because he was posterior, I had to push in what they usually tell you is the worst position to be in: mostly on my back. Because of the meconium in the water, the special care nursery people flooded into the room, and we got this party started. Pushing was amazing, because I really felt like I was doing something to bring our little man into the world. There was a tremendous feeling of relief between each push/contraction, and the pain completely faded from my mind. It was like being an amazon warrior, calling forth every last bit of strength and endurance that was left in me, and finding reserves I never knew I had. I made alot of noise, but my husband tells me it wasn't like cries of pain, but the shouts of someone forging through a battle. We reached a moment when they told me to look in the mirror because his head was in view. That moment was transformative. I saw him, yelled "YES!", and apparently my whole face just lit up. Braden tells me it was incredible to see the transformation of my face. With fresh adrenaline, I gave the final pushes every last bit of my energy. Pushing out the head took all of my strength, and then the rest of him shot right out like a rush of water. It was 7:01pm, just 20 minutes after I started pushing. Then everything happened so fast. Braden caught the baby and put this big, chubby, beautiful boy on my chest. I don't know what I said, or if I said anything at all, but I held my little man tight for a few moments before they took him to be suctioned by the special care nurses. I felt profound relief, joy, and also just a sense of being utterly present. I didn't cry, which even for a constant weeper like myself is normal for my huge life events (I didn't cry at my wedding either.) I need to process to cry, and when I'm completely in the moment, my tear ducts need time to catch up. No one tells you this, but those minutes immediately after birth are totally overwhelming emotionally and physically. Suddenly people are pushing on your stomach, you're delivering the placenta, being stitched up and poked and prodded (I had a relatively minor tear), all while your baby is crying and being poked at himself and it seems like 10 people are in the room (apparently the cord was wrapped twice around his neck as well.) They told me from across the room that he was 10lbs 5oz (WOW!) and 21 inches long. When they brought him back and put him in my arms, Braden and I just stared at him in awe. Braden had tears running down his face as he told me how amazing I did. We both just couldn't believe that he was really here; after all this time, Declan Finn, our little buddy who had been flipping and kicking us for months, who we had been dreaming of, was finally earth-side. Our lives would never be the same.<br />
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Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087307874165404494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2854227869582486486.post-16017548115831307362013-07-05T23:36:00.002-04:002013-07-05T23:36:30.365-04:00Anxious? Here's what I know about you...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Got anxiety?<br />
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Panic attacks?<br />
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Maybe a little OCD sprinkled in for good measure?<br />
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Yep, me too.<br />
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These are things I've struggled with for most of my life, but I didn't quite know what they were until about a decade ago. (For a little background on where I'm coming from, read<a href="http://www.amazonianginger.blogspot.com/2012/01/fear-not.html" target="_blank"> <b>this post.</b></a>) For the last several years, most of my "issues" have remained manageable and mostly under control, but only because I've learned alot about myself and how to treat this crazy, wonderful brain that God has given me.<br />
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If you struggle with some combination of these problems like I do, here are some things I know about you:<br />
First, you're NOT CRAZY. I repeat, YOU ARE NOT CRAZY.<br />
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(Best thing I ever heard during the worst of it - "Crazy people don't wonder if they're crazy." WORD.)<br />
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You are, however, pretty smart. You're probably creative and imaginative. You're empathetic, and truly care about other people. You might be a little bit of an introvert, and spend alot of time in your own head. And sometimes, you might feel very alone. But I'm here to tell you that you are not alone. The world isn't ending. And it's going to be ok.<br />
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I wanted to take a minute to share some strategies that have worked for me over the years to help me conquer these issues in my own life. <span style="font-size: x-small;">(Note: thus far, I have not managed my problems with any prescription medication, though I'm certainly not opposed to it when needed.) </span><br />
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<b>1. Get out of your head!</b> Spending too much time in my cerebral universe can be exhausting, so I find that getting physical brings me enormous relief. Going for a run, dancing, snagging my hubby for some lovin', or just getting outside and MOVING makes a world of difference. Plus, exercise gives you all sorts of happy neurochemicals that can really lift the mood.<br />
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<b>2. Be careful what you put in your head</b>. I have to be extremely cautious about what I watch, read, and see. Your brain has an entrance, but NO EXIT, so you better put a filter on what you allow in there. Plenty of my past panic attacks have been triggered by something I saw on TV or in a movie. Now, I don't even own a TV, and I'm VERY careful about what kind of media I ingest. I have to conciously choose to invest my time in positive media, and not give any quarter to the negative, scary, or disturbing.<br />
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<b>3. Focus on the positive, but in a tangible way</b>. It's much easier said than done to "just stop worrying about it" - HA! But what you CAN do is redirect your focus onto the things in your life that you love and are thankful for in a way that's a little more concrete. Write out a list of things and people you're thankful for, or draw it in a picture, or put it in a song. Create something beautiful. Or just call your mom and say, "Hey mom, I love you!" Vocalizing your thankfullness for other people is always a good idea.<br />
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<b>4. Don't give your thoughts/fears too much credit. </b>You're not the king of everything. Just because you think it, doesn't mean it must be so.<b> </b>As a worry-wort, sometimes I feel like if I can just think of every possible worst-case-scenario, then maybe, since I've thought of it, it can't take me by surprise. But just because I've thought of it, doesn't mean it's going to happen. When thoughts and fears that freak you out come your way, acknowledge them, but then try to let them float on by, as if they're passing you by like a drifting log in a river. You're on the shore. You don't need to wade in and gather up every passing stick and strap it to your back, you know?? Your thoughts and feelings are just that: thoughts and feelings. They do not dictate reality.<br />
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<b>5. Realize that you can struggle with issues like these and still have faith</b>. I have chronic anxiety. And I love Jesus. These are not mutually exclusive concepts. Which might be very obvious to<b> <i>you</i></b>, but during the worst of my stuggles, I was told on multiple occasions by a variety of religious folk that "if I just had enough faith" I would be cured. Fixed. Healed. Which is, frankly, absolute bollox. God is not my personal genie or vending machine, doling out good things I think I deserve on command. And Jesus never promised an easy, flawless, perfectly-healed life. He <b style="font-style: italic;">does, </b>however, promise grace, love, hope and peace. And I can have all of those things with an anxiety disorder. Or cancer. Or HIV. Or whatever. Now I'm not saying that the Bible tells us to live in fear, because it doesn't. But the Bible does say that in this world there will be troubles and pain, but that Jesus has conquered the world.<i> John 14:27 - Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.</i><br />
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If this post has struck a chord with you, please know that more than anything, you are not alone. You are among friends, and good company at that! Do you have some strategies that have worked for you? I'd love to hear about them in the comments!<br />
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Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087307874165404494noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2854227869582486486.post-53451834727200761542012-10-14T13:04:00.001-04:002012-10-15T14:37:29.232-04:00Pearls<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><i><b><i><b><i>She is far more precious than jewels and her value is far above rubies or pearls. Proverbs 31:10</i></b></i></b></i></b></div>
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It's been 2 weeks since I flew home from Strip-Church training in Miami, and honestly I'm still reeling from all the knowledge, emotion, and information that was packed into my brain-case over 48 very intense hours. I've been wanting to write about the experience since I got back, but I really needed to give myself some time to process it all before I tried to put it down on paper! </div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">I arrived at the hotel around 1:00am that Thursday night, nervous and excited and so pumped-up that it was hard to fall asleep! (Luckily, I had the most comfy hotel bed in history, so that helped.) When I woke up Friday morning, I was greeted by a spectacular view of the Atlantic ocean. It felt <i>so</i> good to be back in sweet-home-south-Florida!</span></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">I had a couple of hours to spare before training began, so put on my swim-suit, grabbed some coffee and my Bible, and headed down to the beach, where I read, swam, prayed, and floated around with a gaggle of Russian tourists. (Can you think of a better way to start the day??) </span></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">As I got ready to go downstairs for our first training session, my heart pounded in my chest. I couldn't believe I was actually here! Soon, I would meet Harmony Dust, the founder of Treasures, and the woman who's book was the first thing I read after God told me to start a ministry to women in the sex industry. Soon, I would see the faces behind Strip-Church and XXXChurch, missionaries who are on the front-lines of this industry. I couldn't wait to meet them all! When I reached to conference room, it was filled to the brim with beautiful ladies from all over the world. Immediately, I was warmly welcomed into a sea of incredible gals, each with a story, each with a passion, each with a heart to reach hurting women. I was instantly blown away by these women, and am now honored to call many of them friends. We dove right in with both feet, kicking off the weekend by assembling over 900 gift bags to go out that very night. </span><span style="font-weight: bold; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBIf8JkHj3n_ZfNOab76G5LGUiSxuZ4oODoHZUd_zjn5QXLF0lghCV6uZlSBppQ6pUYkAIcqZnpz0U5fMegAmJCMdl4BrMjuIZHHNFv8EiB1nnl7E2ZJ3zsSKMge_psgKO_A1o6Aud5AI/s1600/bags.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a></i></span></div>
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The training was being hosted by Strip Church's Miami division, BeLoved, so I assumed that we would be visiting clubs that they had already been doing ministry in. You know, break the rookies in easy. </div>
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I assumed wrong. </div>
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Every one of the 20 clubs on that evening's agenda had <i>never, ever </i>been reached before. (Talk about intimidating!) But the very full day of training was designed to send us into each those clubs calm(ish), equipped, and empowered. After a jam-packed day of learning, growing, and sharing, it was time to prepare for outreach. And suddenly I felt sick as a dog. Out of the blue, for absolutely no reason, I was so nauseous I could hardly move. So instead of going out to dinner with the girls, I retreated back to my room, crawled into bed, and ordered a $20 fruit plate and Pellegrino from room service. I laid there for 2 hours, crying and praying desperately to feel better and FAST. We were about to go on outreach! This was easily the worst possible timing in the universe for stomach problems. I got my husband, my mom, and my best friend praying too. When 7pm rolled around, I shakily got dressed and headed downstairs. Apparently, I looked a little green once I reached the meeting room, and the amazing sisters in Christ that I had just met a few hours before laid their hands on me and prayed earnestly for my healing. How grateful I was for those precious women! After they prayed, I felt infinitely better, and didn't have another stitch of trouble for the rest of the night. PTL!!</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My friends and prayer-warriors!</td></tr>
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As the sun set, we all prayed and worshiped in one voice, anticipating the night ahead. Nervous and excited, we filled 3 vans and each headed on a different route of Miami strip clubs. One of the big things we had learned in training that day is that just getting the gifts in the door is the WIN. We were told not to expect to set foot in many (or even <i>any</i>) of these clubs, as this is really a seed-sowing, relationship-building ministry. By nature, this kind of outreach requires a major time-investment and consistency, and since this was the very first time that any of these clubs had been visited, we knew we were out to water hard ground. </div>
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<b>Our van visited 6 clubs that night, and we were able to personally go inside 5 of those clubs and hand-deliver the gifts to the girls. </b>WOW! 3 of the clubs even let us back into the dressing rooms, an amazing place to interact with the girls without the distraction of customers, loud music, and general chaos. And their reactions were <i>so beautiful</i>. Many of the girls just couldn't believe we were giving them something for free, with no strings attached. Their faces lit up when we handed them the gifts, and many of them thanked us profusely. Incredibly, even the bouncers and managers we talked with that night were super nice and receptive to our visit. One nattily-dressed manager at an extremely upscale club asked us "What is this all about?" And when we told him that we just wanted the girls to know that they're loved, his face broke into a huge grin. "Right on!" he said, and ushered us onto the floor. We were able to put gifts in the hands of about 50 girls at that club alone.</div>
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At one club, we couldn't help but notice the face of the girl half-heartedly twirling on stage. She was completely exposed, and her expression so clearly told the story that she would rather be anywhere but here. She noticed us as we walked through the club handing out gifts, and her face became eager, not wanting to miss out just because she was on-stage. One of our group purposely made eye-contact with the girl, smiled at her warmly, and set a gift on the edge of the stage just for her. I pray it brightened her night just a little, and reminded her that there really are people out there who care.</div>
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That night, our van alone gave out close to 300 gifts, and visited every kind of club you could imagine. From places so sketchy, you wouldn't be caught dead on that block after dark, to places where I couldn't afford a single car in the parking lot. Each place filled with women who Jesus loves. In total, our group gave out 900 gifts in 20 Miami clubs in 1 night! </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Me with Treasures founder Harmony Dust! </td></tr>
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The next day dawned early, and armed with copious amounts of coffee, we met again in the ocean-front conference room to rehash, reflect, and share our stories from the night before. It was an inspiring time. The rest of the day was filled with the nuts-and-bolts of running a ministry, and when it ended all too soon, I felt so completely empowered and equipped to return to SC and hit the ground running. It was a life-changing weekend, and the hand of God was all over every second of it!</div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVGjmacxFVw4xLruKa7RHoTFBxJTk_NjTp87MQ4cJ0yCunfgWgcVfGpki2hbltDEw97NkX-DnNI1bapKt-Hcg1WX-GlC0lQrLBICyAqhuskZnxR0wCBavP_4imgcUN_LFuQsS7o37zcqg/s1600/stripchurchgirls.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVGjmacxFVw4xLruKa7RHoTFBxJTk_NjTp87MQ4cJ0yCunfgWgcVfGpki2hbltDEw97NkX-DnNI1bapKt-Hcg1WX-GlC0lQrLBICyAqhuskZnxR0wCBavP_4imgcUN_LFuQsS7o37zcqg/s400/stripchurchgirls.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Incredible women of God from all over the world!</td></tr>
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And that bring me to what God is doing now. Since I returned home from Strip-Church training, I have joined the network and started an official Strip-Church chapter in Columbia, SC: <b>Pearls</b>. <a href="http://columbia.stripchurch.com/" target="_blank">Click here </a>to check out our website! Why Pearls? Because a genuine pearl is rare, beautiful, and extraordinarily valuable. A pearl is also the only precious gem in nature that is created through struggle. A pearl can only occur when its vessel has been wounded, and the vessel has to create something exceptionally beautiful to heal the pain. I want women to know that they are pearls - precious, valuable, a treasure, and made even more beautiful by the story that brought them here today.</div>
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I'm now in the process of assembling a team of passionate women who want to show the love of Jesus in some very dark places. If you are interested in being a part of the <b>Pearls</b> team in any way, whether through prayer, care, outreach, or financial support, I encourage you to mark your calendar for <b>Saturday, November 3rd</b>. I'll be hosting a volunteer training & interest meeting, and I would love to see you there. Interested? Shoot me an e-mail at <a href="mailto:stripchurchcolumbia@gmail.com" target="_blank">stripchurchcolumbia@gmail.com,</a> and I'll send you all the details. Last night, we did our first local outreach since returning from training, and I can't wait to tell you all about it! Stay tuned...</div>
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Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087307874165404494noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2854227869582486486.post-84643164146392250422012-09-25T09:39:00.003-04:002012-09-25T09:39:41.698-04:00Recommended Reading: Unleash! <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU2OlQNIPffiAxwBhS_AE4Nk4rk5m_U5R-yrWNbMrI7RTC1icPHhMMWWZjsGnDaK7UGaxqxJEx6obfHR2EF5k8r-72lxiFfnoYOyN6_8p59_702jnRS4SMhyphenhyphenJQywxSWHRPTSWSmiIRKtE/s1600/reading.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU2OlQNIPffiAxwBhS_AE4Nk4rk5m_U5R-yrWNbMrI7RTC1icPHhMMWWZjsGnDaK7UGaxqxJEx6obfHR2EF5k8r-72lxiFfnoYOyN6_8p59_702jnRS4SMhyphenhyphenJQywxSWHRPTSWSmiIRKtE/s400/reading.jpg" width="332" /></a></div>
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<b><a href="http://unleashbook.com/" target="_blank">Unleash! By Pastor Perry Noble</a></b></div>
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So before I say anything, go ahead and click that link and watch the book trailer.</div>
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Don't worry, I'll wait.</div>
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Are ya back? </div>
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Are you <i><b>excited </b></i>about this book yet? </div>
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Cause I sure was! Sometimes, (ok, OFTEN), Christian books can be kinda, well, "churchy." And highfalutin. And <i>"just have enough faith and everything will be perfect"</i>- centered festivals of fairy-dust and rainbows.</div>
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This is <i>NOT</i> one of those books!</div>
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Pastor Perry Noble is REAL, honest, and shoots from the hip. He is just a flawed, normal, and exceptionally down-to-earth guy who wants to see people embrace the love of Jesus in their lives. Which is one of the many reasons that I am proud to call him my pastor. This book has challenged me, encouraged me, and made me want to be <b><i>brave</i></b> in the face of the call God has put on my life. This book has helped me to understand the love of God in new ways, and it has helped me learn to trust God more deeply, even when everything SUCKS. Cause life is going to suck sometimes. But our circumstances do not change the character of God. </div>
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<b>On tragedy:</b> "David's response to tragedy is an example for all of us: he got up, punched the lion in the mouth, and took his sheep back! He refused to let tragedy identify him and instead chose to walk in the triumph God gave him." ~Unleash!</div>
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<b>On trust: </b>"Whenever I place her [my 5 year old daughter] in a situation where she has to take a step of faith and trust me, I want her to be confident thats she's jumping into the arms of a daddy who wants nothing but the best for her. Why in the world would we think anything less of our Heavenly Father?" ~Unleash!</div>
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<b>On God's love:</b> "God wants to hear us laugh. God is not after our begrudging submission. He is after our Joy." ~Unleash!</div>
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"His love is not based on our performance but rather on our position as His children." ~Unleash!</div>
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<b>On obedience:</b> "If people crucified Jesus for following God's plan for His life, then you and I can't expect obedience to be a day at a theme park." ~Unleash!</div>
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"Jesus said that if we are going to be His followers, we have to take up our cross, not our mattress." ~Unleash!</div>
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This book is a breath of fresh air, and if you're ready to take the <b><i>leap</i></b> into the incredible plans that God has for your life, READ IT!</div>
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Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087307874165404494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2854227869582486486.post-89357622608328249512012-09-12T20:48:00.003-04:002012-10-01T13:38:39.814-04:00Showing some love.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I spent last Saturday night hanging out in strip clubs. </div>
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And it was <i>AMAZING.</i></div>
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Let me back this up a bit for you:</div>
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A couple of weeks ago, by God's incredible grace and perfect planning, I learned that one of my after-school program volunteers has been doing her own brand of strip-club outreach in Columbia for a few years now, and she invited me to come along on last weekend's outing with herself and another sister-in-Christ. Bearing freshly-baked cookies, long-stemmed roses, and a message of hope, we headed out in the pouring rain to 3 local strip clubs on a dark and stormy Saturday night. Before even getting out of the car at each club, we joined hands and prayed fervently for God's anointing, protection, and provision. We prayed for open doors, open hearts, and that every girl, bouncer, manager, and owner would come to know the love of Jesus Christ. </div>
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At our first stop, my heart was in my throat and butterflies were doing a what seemed to be a mating dance in my stomach. After being turned away at the door during my first outreach last month, I was fearful about what would happen next. We walked to the door, (a bouncer-free door, might I add), and walked right into the club. The first girl we got to speak to was working the front, collecting cover charges. We handed her a rose and a bag of cookies, and her eyes lit up at the small gifts. We spoke to a bouncer and the manager, and after reassuring them that we weren't selling anything, just giving gifts, they welcomed us into the club with open arms. (I don't think it hurt that we gave them some cookies too.) It was only about 7:00pm, so there weren't a ton of customers in the club yet. We gave roses and cookies to the bartender, and to two more girls who were working the floor. A girl in glowing neon lingerie was flabbergasted that we were just "giving gifts" with no strings attached. She asked us if we were taking donations or anything, but we insisted that we just wanted her to have them because she's special and loved. Her smile lit up the room. The bouncer (already stuffing his face with the cookies we gave him), directed us to the girl's dressing room, where we got meet three more ladies who were getting ready for their shift. When we first walked into the dressing room, the looks the girls gave us were incredulous, but when we started handing them the gifts and telling them that <i>they are loved</i>, they couldn't contain their smiles. They thanked us profusely, told us they loved us, and said that the gifts just brightened their night. We left that club on cloud-nine, blown away by how open they were to our visit! We will definitely be visiting this club on a regular basis, building relationships with those precious women who Jesus loves so much.</div>
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Our second stop was something of a "super-club" - huge, flashy, and part of a big corporate chain. We arrived before dark, and there were already easily over 100 cars in the parking lot. We knew this club would be a particularly tough nut to crack, and we were promptly turned away cold at the door. We weren't event allowed to leave any gifts for the girls. But a very nice bouncer was kind enough to walk the three of us back to our car with a giant umbrella to shelter us from the torrential downpour. I had a good talk with him on the way to the car, and he was kinda stunned that we had come just to bring cookies and flowers to the girls. He even thanked me for wanting to do something so nice. We won't give up - who knows, maybe next time will be easier.</div>
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The third club we hit made me extra nervous, because it was the same one that I got turned away from last month. When we pulled in, there was a bouncer at the door, so I expected it to go very much as before. We prayed in the car again, and by the time we were approaching the front door, something interesting had happened. The bouncer was waaaay across the parking lot, helping someone else to their car with an umbrella. The door was unguarded. So we walked right in. In the front room, we met two sweet girls and gave them roses and cookies. One of them even recognized my friend from past visits she had made to the club! They told us they couldn't let us carry the gifts onto the floor ourselves, but that they would be happy to personally deliver the gifts to girls in the dressing room, and they thanked us for coming. We never once had to deal with a bouncer - praise God! </div>
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Overall, we were able to give gifts to 40 girls at 2 different clubs in 1 night! It was incredible! Thank you to everyone who has been my prayer partner in this - your prayers are coveted, and they were <b><i>felt </i></b>this past weekend! And I still desperately need you help - here's how you can be a part of this:</div>
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1. <a href="http://stripchurch.com/" target="_blank">Strip Church</a> training in Miami is just over 2 weeks away! I'm so excited, but I still need to buy my plane ticket to Miami! The round-trip ticket I need is currently <b><u>$397</u></b> - this is the last expense I need covered for the trip, and I am praying with all my heart that God will provide this last chunk of money SOON!</div>
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2. <b>PRAY.</b> Continue to pray for open doors to these clubs, open hearts for the owners and managers, and the the hearts of the girls would be ready and willing to accept the love of Jesus Christ. Pray for physical and spiritual safety and protection. Pray for God's mighty provision. And pray that we are able to build consistent relationships with these precious women, showing them first-hand the freeing love of Jesus.</div>
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<i><b>John 8:1-11</b></i></div>
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<i>Jesus returned to the Mount of Olives, but early the next morning he was back again at the Temple. A crowd soon gathered, and he sat down and taught them. As he was speaking, the teachers of religious law and the Pharisees brought a woman who had been caught in the act of adultery. They put her in front of the crowd. “Teacher,” they said to Jesus, “this woman was caught in the act of adultery. The law of Moses says to stone her. What do you say?” They were trying to trap him into saying something they could use against him, but Jesus stooped down and wrote in the dust with his finger. They kept demanding an answer, so he stood up again and said, “All right, but let the one who has never sinned throw the first stone!” Then he stooped down again and wrote in the dust. When the accusers heard this, they slipped away one by one, beginning with the oldest, until only Jesus was left in the middle of the crowd with the woman. Then Jesus stood up again and said to the woman, “Where are your accusers? Didn’t even one of them condemn you?” “No, Lord,” she said. And Jesus said, “Neither do I. Go and sin no more.”</i></div>
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Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087307874165404494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2854227869582486486.post-70203959081891571812012-09-03T20:28:00.002-04:002012-10-01T13:30:41.151-04:00Jesus would've hung out at strip clubs - Part 2<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwcUDl5QckVyHCD_5JiGh7phf3wRmyPHiMXEzh0jXGP8nlM1dqnDhH0PYj5fpJ_ll1PU143Z2oBVRz0-cDd9vjs9j40M0D5asE_fV0O0EjjLJ5pQyP3sh64-CXpxRzeE7DSM-pxaabm3M/s1600/strip.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwcUDl5QckVyHCD_5JiGh7phf3wRmyPHiMXEzh0jXGP8nlM1dqnDhH0PYj5fpJ_ll1PU143Z2oBVRz0-cDd9vjs9j40M0D5asE_fV0O0EjjLJ5pQyP3sh64-CXpxRzeE7DSM-pxaabm3M/s320/strip.jpeg" width="233" /></a></div>
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Wow, so much has happened since God spoke to me about starting an outreach to women working as exotic dancers just a few short weeks ago! First of all, it has been confirmed <i>again and again and again</i> that this is what I'm supposed to be doing RIGHT NOW. The people God has put in my path, the provision, and the massive spiritual warfare that has been faced all shout, "YES!" And it's been both exciting and terrifying in almost equal measure :) Here's a re-cap of what's been shakin':<br />
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1. I am officially registered for the <a href="http://stripchurch.com/training.html">Strip Church training</a> in Miami at the end of this month! God has provided the funds for the training itself and for the hotel (PTL!!) I'm still praying that the $350 I need for the airfare comes through soon!<br />
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2. On Friday, July 27th, I did my very first strip club outreach! It didn't go quite as I expected, but it was a great first step, and I know that God had it go just the way that <b style="font-style: italic;">He </b>had planned.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidEAvqQysngcys3xsKz8cxndHeqlAyEKkuuzIMuieuwWQVTBHu9wodzX00PdUo4bfIgGmH1-JB9gPmTOi8cCoNguRDA4WxdKZ850eS9_IDLGTmT6zgH_ySRkYLznlEQ5yMrL02ZvkkWWA/s1600/bags.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidEAvqQysngcys3xsKz8cxndHeqlAyEKkuuzIMuieuwWQVTBHu9wodzX00PdUo4bfIgGmH1-JB9gPmTOi8cCoNguRDA4WxdKZ850eS9_IDLGTmT6zgH_ySRkYLznlEQ5yMrL02ZvkkWWA/s200/bags.jpeg" width="200" /></a></div>
With the help of many friends who so generously donated their hard-earned cash, I was able to assemble <b><u>40</u></b> gift bags for the first outreach. Each bag contained fun stuff like nail polish, lip gloss, lotion, candles, hair accessories, etc., a simple message of hope and encouragement, and an invitation to Newspring church.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy2gJE6ryelj-4gnJ6m0xx0YBCG5TLgXLYt_-voYx5rMrzFAkwwu_CVyePS4n336RLGc-UgXZTas1i8nkXeaz2xMS5B9bg9e0aCzSpM6IBNikicd6tt-qFwE1BJF6EB0hHyfDxFWvPi0o/s1600/goodies.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy2gJE6ryelj-4gnJ6m0xx0YBCG5TLgXLYt_-voYx5rMrzFAkwwu_CVyePS4n336RLGc-UgXZTas1i8nkXeaz2xMS5B9bg9e0aCzSpM6IBNikicd6tt-qFwE1BJF6EB0hHyfDxFWvPi0o/s200/goodies.jpeg" width="200" /></a>My hubby drove me to the club at about 7:30pm, where I was met by a brave friend who had only just heard about my plan earlier that afternoon! We enthusiastically brought our heavy boxes brimming over with frilly pinkness to the door, only to be stopped cold by two surprisingly nice bouncers. Long story short, they wouldn't let us bring the bags into the club. However, they <b><i>did </i></b>let us leave the bags for the girls to take home if they wanted to. Needless to say, I left the club extremely discouraged that night. But I now realize that the way things went did not take God by surprise. He knew what was going to happen, and it was a part of His perfect plan. I was obedient. I took the steps I knew I needed to take. And even though I didn't get to see the "end of the rainbow" that night, it's ok. I'll get to see the end of the rainbow soon :) Overall, I would say it was a great first night - but the best is yet to come!<br />
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3. God has brought <b><i>so many</i></b> amazing women into my life over the past several weeks who's hearts are also stirred and burdened by this ministry. This, to me, is the most beautiful confirmation. Once I come back from Strip Church training, there will be an incredible team of women just waiting to take this city by storm with me! God has also recently brought a woman into my life who used to be in the industry who has been doing a very similar outreach for a few years here in our community. This coming weekend, I will be accompanying her to a few different clubs, and I'm SO excited to learn and grow and start building relationships with these girls!<br />
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So, wanna get involved? Here's how you can help!<br />
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<b>-PRAY. </b>The spiritual warfare I've felt since beginning this whole thing is unlike anything I've <i><b>ever </b></i>encountered before. Pray for protection, for safety, for peace, for freedom from fear, for open doors into these clubs, for the club owners and managers to have open hearts, and most of all, for these beautiful women who Jesus loves!<br />
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<b>-DONATE.</b> I still need about $350 to buy a round-trip ticket to Miami for the training, and I KNOW that God will provide what I need to get there! And there will be an ongoing need for donations of money and/or items to fill the gift bags - each bag costs about $4 to make. If you'd like to help in any way, here's a PayPal link for making secure donations: <a href="https://www.paypal.com/webapps/mpp/send-money-online">https://www.paypal.com/webapps/mpp/send-money-online</a>. The e-mail address is: shouldve.been.a.supervillian@gmail.com. I don't have a 501c3 yet or anything, but I will match any donation with hugs and cookies :)<br />
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For all of you who have been praying for and supporting this adventure already, I truly thank you from the bottom of my heart. Your prayers have been <b><i>FELT</i></b>, and without the generous donations of a few incredible people, none of this would be possible. I cannot wait to see what happens next! </div>
Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087307874165404494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2854227869582486486.post-18463730568812631732012-07-23T21:27:00.000-04:002012-10-01T13:33:27.081-04:00Jesus would have hung out at strip clubs.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="background-color: white;"><i><b>Give me your eyes for just one second</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><i><b>Give me your eyes so I can see</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><i><b>Everything that I keep missing</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><i><b>Give me your love for humanity </b></i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><i><b>Give me your arms for the broken hearted </b></i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><i><b>Ones that are far beyond my reach. </b></i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><i><b>Give me your heart for the ones forgotten </b></i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><i><b>Give me your eyes so I can see </b></i></span></div>
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<i><b>Matthew 9:10-12 - </b></i><i style="background-color: white;">While Jesus was having dinner at Matthew’s house, many tax collectors and sinners came and ate with him and his disciples. When the Pharisees saw this, they asked his disciples, “Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?” On hearing this, Jesus said, “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick.</i></div>
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Has God ever told you to do something terrifying? Something so outside your comfort-zone that you don't even know where to begin? Yeah. That's where I've been for the last month or so. So let me tell you what I'm talking about. <br />
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Several weeks back, our church announced that we'd be buying a permanent facility in the near future - an old Kmart to be exact. So a few days later, Braden and I were coming back from a kayaking trip and drove by the new building. Which happened to be directly across the street from a local strip club.<br />
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It was at that moment, while I sat muddy and damp in the searing heat of an AC-less truck on a summer day, <span style="background-color: white;">I felt God speak to me </span><span style="background-color: white;">so clearly that it was almost audible: "You need to start a ministry for strippers." </span><br />
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I was stunned. And I had no idea where to begin. But I <i>did</i> know that I needed to step forward in obedience, trusting God to pave the way before me. My heart has <b><i>always</i></b> been for hurting women, which is why I've chosen the work I do at Daybreak. Even from the time that I was a young kid, I would think about and pray for the women working inside strip clubs when I passed by one. So since that day last month, my heart has been burdened to the point of breaking for these girls. These are women who Jesus loves - who Jesus died for. And I just want to help them KNOW how loved, special, and treasured they are by God. That they matter. That they have value. An that they deserve real love, respect, and healing. They might not feel comfortable coming to a church, so I think that the church needs to come to THEM!<br />
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In the past few weeks, I've done alot of research on ministry to the sex industry, and have learned some sobering <a href="http://iamatreasure.com/about-us/statistics/">statistics:</a> </div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">There are more women employed by the sex industry than any other time in history[i].</span></div>
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There are more strip clubs in the United States than any other nation in the world[ii].</div>
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Human trafficking is the second largest global organized crime today, generating approximately 31.6 billion USD each year. Specifically, trafficking for sexual exploitation generates 27.8 billion USD per year[vi]. <span style="background-color: white;">There 1.39 million victims of commercial sexual servitude worldwide [vi].</span></div>
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Research related to women working in various aspect of the sex industry is telling. Such research indicates that women working in the sex industry are faced with higher rates or drug addictions[ix], sexually transmitted diseases[x], violent assaults[xi], and mental health problems[xii] such as Depression and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder than the general population.</div>
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Between 66% to 90% of women in the sex industry were sexually abused as children[xiii]. 70% of interviewees in a study by Silbert and Pines noted that childhood sexual abuse had an influence on their entry into prostitution[xiv].</div>
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Women in the sex industry experience Post Traumatic Stress Disorder at rates equivalent to veterans of combat war[xv].</div>
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89% of women in the sex industry said they wanted to escape, but had no other means for survival [xv].</div>
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73% of women in prostitution have been raped more than five times. vi</div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">70% of females who are trafficked are trafficked into the commercial sex industry[xvi] (This includes Porn, Strip Clubs, and massage parlors in the US) </span><i> (All stats from <a href="http://www.iamatreasure.com/">www.iamatreasure.com</a>) </i></div>
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In my research, I've discovered an incredible ministry called "<a href="http://iamatreasure.com/">Treasures.</a>" Founded by Harmony Dust, a precious woman who's <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Scars-Stilettos-Transformation-Exotic-Dancer/dp/0825463092/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1349112739&sr=1-1&keywords=scars+and+stilletos" target="_blank">book</a> I could not put down, Treasures is a nation-wide organization that does outreach to anyone and everyone working in the sex industry. And if God will provide the funds, I want to attend their training in September to open an official chapter of the ministry here in Columbia, SC. </div>
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I don't know what exactly the ministry will look like yet, but I'm trusting God to lead every step of the way. Some preliminary ideas include bringing scripture-filled gift bags of cosmetics, jewelry, and other fun items to the girls, holding a Bible study for them, bringing them meals and goodies, etc. <br />
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So because of a huge outreach event happening this Sunday at my church, feel like I need to get started THIS WEEK by bringing gift bags and goodies with invitations to Sunday's outreach to some of our local strip clubs. I'm not going to lie - this is both exciting and terrifying for me! </div>
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So this is what I need from YOU, fair reader and friend. And I'mma be BOLD with ya!</div>
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1. PRAYER. I know that ministry of this kind is brutally opposed by the enemy, but I know that our God is greater! Prayer is the only weapon that will stand.</div>
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2. MONEY. Let's get real. I work in non-profit. My husband is a student. I can't afford to fund this ministry. But if God wants it to happen, it will. So here's what I need: </div>
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-Donations to purchase items for gift bags (or brand-new items to fill them with, i.e. nail polish, makeup, lotion, perfume, jewelry, accessories, etc.) </div>
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-Donations to get me to the <a href="http://stripchurch.com/training.html">Strip Church training</a> in Miami this September. Incredibly, the $250 for the training has already been donated! Praise God! But I still need $150 for one night in the hotel, and roughly $250 for the plane ticket (last time I checked.) </div>
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This is big stuff, I know. So I'm just putting it out there. God is bigger than the big stuff! </div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Want to make a donation?</span> <a href="https://www.paypal.com/webapps/mpp/send-money-online">Click here</a> to make a secure donation via PayPal. Just enter the e-mail address: shouldve.been.a.supervillian@gmail.com. <span style="background-color: white;">I'm not a 501c3 or anything, but I can promise you that every single cent donated will go directly into this outreach. </span></div>
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It really all comes down to this statement that I found on <a href="http://www.jesuslovestrippers.net/">www.jesuslovestrippers.net</a>: "Our purpose is to LOVE. It is not to "fix" women or convince them to leave or follow Christ. We show God's powerful and practical love and meet women right where they are at. In the context of real relationships, true love can be seen and experienced."<br />
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So. All that said. Will you join me? </div>
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Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087307874165404494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2854227869582486486.post-72082665198039068002012-07-22T13:40:00.003-04:002012-07-22T13:51:45.590-04:00You had the noodle dream?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEV8OOs-HpapsToND9q8qvjf1bADkGBdn7zlIfip8cz2ZnEHTpMz-j5Ya87PQr5OeD2X_btJ3umagfK7E8XHyWknyjjpWb8b7ys_I4z-GF6h6wF-JbRUQH1rek15L9jqBTEbYqTdI8-fY/s1600/KFP-Duck.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEV8OOs-HpapsToND9q8qvjf1bADkGBdn7zlIfip8cz2ZnEHTpMz-j5Ya87PQr5OeD2X_btJ3umagfK7E8XHyWknyjjpWb8b7ys_I4z-GF6h6wF-JbRUQH1rek15L9jqBTEbYqTdI8-fY/s320/KFP-Duck.jpeg" width="256" /></a></div>
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As Southern cities go, Columbia South Carolina ain't too shabby when it comes to unearthing a sparkling handful of gastronomical gems. While we lack the tourism and flash of Charleston or Savannah, Columbia has its own special brand of river-cloaked historical charm that I've grown to love over the last few years. You won't find restaurants graced with a celebrity face with lines round the block, but if you're willing to dig, you can find some truly divine places in which to savor and imbibe. </div>
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Braden and I have become unashamed and (mostly) unpretentious<span style="background-color: white;"> foodies, and we pride ourselves on finding/trying the most fabulous & interesting places to eat in any city we visit. So we've decided to start writing down our blissful, full-bellied observations, starting right here in our current home-town.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><u><b>Menkoi Ramen House</b></u></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">When we heard a few days ago that a brand-new ramen restaurant had opened on Gervais, we knew that it simply <i>had </i>to be a part of our weekend agenda. We walked toward the noodle-house with bated breath, praying that this might be a rare exception to "The Vista Rule:" A phenomenon that seems nearly inescapable in this part of Columbia's geography. Dining establishments in the Vista almost exclusively fall into only 3 categories: chain joints, bars, or independent places with decent but grossly overpriced food. The rare exception, (like the sorely missed Peace, Love, & Rocky Roast), tends to quickly fade away, driven into poverty and ruin by the Vista's insanely high operating costs. The Ramen house is located next to Mojitos, where Z-Pizza used to reside. We walked in and were greeted by fabulous smells and a super-friendly staff. The menu is short and straight-forward; 7 different kinds of ramen, and a small handful of other dishes, everything under $8.50. We ordered the spicy ramen and the miso ramen (requesting that it be quite spicy as well.) We wanted to try a rice ball, but they were, apologetically, all out. (Next time.) The food arrived very quickly - two enormous, steaming bowls of noodles and broth. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoasu5TJiHTHOFXl3DvGyC66SRZjBImz93qjUn1JXWy1IZqTq_-xAn2Bi48NYel4F-LF0BVerc34Swb8b40HdVmwTcuMFU2m9Wz5uaxyaNl0jMFVkeCeyeFw5uKLu27B68W6NTpfHWsGc/s1600/ramen.jpg-large" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoasu5TJiHTHOFXl3DvGyC66SRZjBImz93qjUn1JXWy1IZqTq_-xAn2Bi48NYel4F-LF0BVerc34Swb8b40HdVmwTcuMFU2m9Wz5uaxyaNl0jMFVkeCeyeFw5uKLu27B68W6NTpfHWsGc/s400/ramen.jpg-large" width="300" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Loaded with bean sprouts, vegetables, seaweed, and a few tender slices of pork, these noodles were out of this world. The broth was perfectly spicy, (kicky and sinus-clearing without being tongue-numbing), and the flavors were complex, fresh, and vibrant. I devoured my entire bowl and enjoyed each bite more than the last. (BTW, there is no elegant or lady-like way to eat a bowl of noodles with chopsticks. Perhaps skip this place as a first-date destination.) Overall, we were extremely impressed; Menkoi Ramen House has definitely carved out a spot on our permanent rotation. Especially for late-night munchies - they're open until 3am! We can only hope that the swarms of noodle-loving, nocturnal college students that will descend on the city this fall will help keep this place in business, and that "The Vista Rule" will finally be proven wrong. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><a href="http://www.urbanspoon.com/r/117/1690948/restaurant/Menkoi-Ramen-House-Columbia"><img alt="Menkoi Ramen House on Urbanspoon" src="http://www.urbanspoon.com/b/link/1690948/minilink.gif" style="border: none; height: 36px; padding: 0px; width: 130px;" /></a></span></div>
</div>Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087307874165404494noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2854227869582486486.post-33329259842102514092012-07-21T15:45:00.001-04:002012-07-22T13:41:13.091-04:00Adventures in Ireland<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="background-color: white;">Travel is just about my <b><i>favorite thing. </i></b></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">New places, new experiences, new people, and new adventures get my heart pounding in a way that almost nothing else does. I've had the privilege of visiting 8 other countries so far, and I can't wait to add dozens of new stamps to my passport. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">So since I love travel, and I love writing, I thought it might be fun to start putting a handful of my favorite adventures on paper in a series of short(ish) vignettes. And you, my loyal blogger audience of roughly 18 people, will be the first to read them! </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">But where to start? </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">How about the first BIG adventure I ever shared with my hubby - our honeymoon! So sit back, relax, and enjoy the the tall, sometimes ridiculous tale that wove together to become the beauteous memory of our honeymoon trip to Ireland... </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">After a wedding that could not have been more magical and two nights of R&R on the beach, my new husband and I donned our matching "Bride and "Groom" t-shirts and caught a ride to the airport with my fam to board the first leg of our trip to Ireland. Looking back, we were so absurdly young, starry eyed, naive, and high-on-fairy-dust that it was a miracle that we managed to make it through the next two weeks without getting mugged, grifted, or otherwise taken advantage of. Stop 1 - Laguardia International. Our flight from West Palm Beach had been running behind schedule, so when we arrived in NYC, our 35 minute layover was painfully reduced to a mere 15 minutes, and we had to change both terminals <i>and</i> airlines to make our connection. After following all of the appropriate signs, we ended up... outside on the street in New York City. As we stood staring idiotically at a very poorly drawn map of the airport, we were approached by an apparently Caribbean man who asked us where we were going. We told him "Ireland," and he laughed and said, "An Island? Oh good! I'm from an island too! hahaha!" We then told him we needed to get the the American Airlines terminal within the next 10 minutes, and he told us to get on the empty, unmarked bus that was waiting on the curb with him, and he would take us there. Yeah, to this day we're not really sure if this man even worked for the airport, but we were desperate, so onto the bus we hopped. This began an elaborate journey through the city that involved very nearly hitting several yellow cabs and stopping to chat with multiple random strangers along on the side of the road. At this point for me, small seed of panic began to set in. When we finally arrived at the American Airlines terminal, our flight already boarding, we were ushered into a painfully long line of other equally stressed-out international travelers. After realizing that actually waiting in this line would cause us to <i>absolutely</i> miss our flight, I frantically flagged down the first airline employee I could make eye-contact with. We showed him our tickets, and with his own ashen face matching ours, he ran us in front of the line to the counter. (Sidebar: when airline employees panic, you know you're in trouble.) After telling the guy behind the counter to "Work his magic," he handed us back our tickets, and in a deadly serious voice, said "you're going to have to <b><i>run.</i></b>" And run we did. To the security check-point. Where we had to wait in another maddeningly long line to have our bags x-rayed and be felt-up by surly TSA agents. By the time we made it through the metal detectors, we were in a dead sprint in nothing but our socks. We finally reached the plane, shoeless and sweaty, just as they were closing the doors. Success! But before we even had time to savor the sweet relief in our cramped economy seats, an announcement came over the PA system: "Well ladies and gentlemen, it looks like we're 43rd in line for take-off, putting us about two hours behind schedule; so if you need to reschedule your connections, here's the phone number." So we pick up the phone to see if there were any other flights from Chicago to Dublin. There weren't. But we could sleep in O'Hare if we wanted to! (Because all of my most beautiful honeymoon fantasies involved sleeping on a disease-riddled chair in the biggest air-hub in the US.) So we started to pray, and miraculously, not five minutes later, the pilot makes another announcement, "Well everyone, I guess it's your lucky day, we're #3 for take off!"</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">~CHEERS ALL OVER THE PLANE~ </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">And we were on our way to Chicago. (Because just one layover in the US wasn't enough.) Luckily, O'Hare went over without a hitch, and before we knew it, we were soaring over the Atlantic toward the Emerald Isle. If you've never had the pleasure of an overnight trans-Atlantic flight, I must tell you, it's quite a gas. You think you'll be able to sleep the whole way, but if you've ever been a 6ft tall human with a 35 inch inseam in coach, then you're already laughing at me. They serve you dinner, (which was surprisingly piping hot and not bad), you get to watch two movies (Finding Neverland and something else I don't remember - I only caught glimpses while flopping around in a futile search for comfort and fighting my new husband for leg space.) And then, at 1:00am Eastern Standard time, the sun was up, shining brightly into our bloodshot eyes, and breakfast was being served. So sleep was at a premium, but we were still totally pumped. After all, we were newlyweds! On our way to Ireland! In matching t-shirts! Yay! And after a mere eight-hours of not being able to feel my legs, there it was: Ireland! A brilliant green patchwork of fog-wrapped mountains and rolling farmland - it was truly breathtaking. Now we really started to get excited. We hit the tarmac, and after grinning our way through (reason for your visit? We're on our honeymoon! Squee!), we gathered around the luggage carousel to wait with all the other happy people who had blood flowing to their legs once again to pick up our things. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">So we waited. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">And waited. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">And waited. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">The crowd dwindled, and soon we were all alone, crickets chirping, empty carousel spinning.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Yep, they'd lost our luggage. So we filled out the standard lost-baggage report, trying not to be discouraged, (cause we're honeymooning, gosh darn it!), and headed over to pick up the rental car we'd reserved on Expedia. We found our little tram to the rental office, and enjoyed the brief ride through Dublin. At the office, and I stepped into the restroom while Braden went to sign the paperwork. A few minutes passed, and when I came out, Braden had the most ashen look on his face. "They won't give us a car” he said with an impressive amount of calm, “because we're not 25." Oh. Good. Lord. We'd already paid for this car. Nothing in the fine print had mentioned an age restriction. Our itinerary required us to get to a castle that was about two hours out into the boonies that night, and then drive cross-country a few days later. A rental car was the <b>only </b>way for us to get where we needed to go. But, alas, we were only 20 and 21 years old. Praise God for my level-headed, crisis-ready husband, because for me, that was when the <u>real</u> panic set in. They told us that our only option was to return to the airport and plead our case to the other car rental companies, but they warned us that it probably wouldn't do any good. This was when I started crying. So we prayed. And by the time we made it back to the airport, I was a complete basket case. There were about five more rental companies, so we started working our down the line, telling our sob-story every time. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Company #1: "Sorry, 25 only." </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Company #2: "Sorry, 25."</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Company #3: "Sorry, 23 is the youngest we go." </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Company #4: "Nope, can't help you"</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">By this point, I was ugly-crying like an infant. Our dreamy honeymoon seemed to be over before it even began. And then we reached Company #5: IrishCarRentals.com. Our last and only hope. Everything, everything, was hanging on this moment. I proceeded to tearfully and pathetically tell them our whole sordid tale, which to the best of my memory went something like this: "We're on our honeymoon -sniff- and they won't give us our rental car -sob- just because we're young -snarf- and we're going to have to just turn around and go back to America if you can't help us -bawl- and we just don't know what to do -bahahahaha-" and so on and so forth. It may have been even less rational than that. I can't really remember. When I paused to catch my breath, the woman at the desk just sat there and starred at us for what seemed like an eternity, until she cracked a sympathetic and slightly bemused smile and said "Well enjoy your honeymoon then." We may have actually jumped up and down with elation, not even thinking of the extra 20-euro-a-day underage-charge; <i>finally</i>, 20 hours after we'd last slept, our adventure could begin! So we climbed into our fabulous little European car, (Braden was an instant whiz with the opposite-side manual transmission and the opposite-side-of-the-road driving), and began to make our way to our first spectacular destination, Castle Leslie...</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;">Stay tuned for Part 2, coming soon!</span></div>
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</div>Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087307874165404494noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2854227869582486486.post-83790997168452520312012-05-07T23:49:00.004-04:002012-05-07T23:51:46.794-04:00Rose-colored glasses<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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For those of you who know me well, you know that since childhood I've often been accused of being a fairy-dust-rainbows-and-unicorns brand of dreamer/thinker.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Oh Lisa Frank, you just get GET me</i></td></tr>
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I thrive on whimsy, adventure, and pie-in-the-sky ideas. And some dodgy folks have always made it their goal to bring me back to earth with a harsh dose of "reality," as they say.<br />
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But today, I am here to say "bugger-off" to the trolls of negativity.<br />
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Yes, the world can be a hard place. There is sadness and tragedy and pain. I know, because in my line of work, I am neck-deep in it every day. But what could possibly be wrong with seeking out the beauty, the whimsical, the dreamy, the little nuggets of magic, in even the most mundane moments of everyday life? Because it's often the small things, the little "blips of joy" as my mom likes to call them, that transform ordinary days into glorious days.<br />
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I don't believe in "ordinary" days. I believe in <b>joy</b>. I believe in making <b><i>every</i></b> day the <i>happiest day of your life.</i> I believe in spontaneity, adventure, whimsy, and laughter. I believe in night-swims, fireflies, floating down rivers, dancing under moonlight, plucking wildflowers, running in the rain, throwing yourself into the ocean fully-clothed <strike>(or fully-nude, if the setting is right),</strike> exploring in bare-feet, lighting candles, dancing like a fool, celebrating every occasion, and just generally soaking up God's glory to the fullest during my short time on this earth.<br />
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John 10:10<br />
The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have <b><i>life,</i></b> and have it to the full.<br />
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I named this blog after a quote from poet Mary Oliver: <i>"Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” </i><br />
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We only get ONE life friends. It's a gift from God. Every moment has purpose and a meaning. The fact that you just breathed one more breath means that there's still a reason for you to be here. You are not an accident. Where you live, what you do, the people you encounter, the trials you've suffered - none of it was by chance. Your life doesn't start tomorrow, or when you finish school, or start that perfect job, or meet that perfect person. Your life is happening RIGHT NOW. Isn't that extraordinary?<br />
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So tell me, what is it that<i> you</i> plan to do with your one wild and precious life?<br />
<br /></div>Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087307874165404494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2854227869582486486.post-35747756610668009382012-04-07T23:48:00.001-04:002012-04-07T23:50:37.393-04:00Easter<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHqj5LoSZ4SFqqjzZw5tJuBveA2rXXws2csNszY-1z1kTV3XdGpOw_dHb2c-xKc4orSDkF0D4MiHECVYAsYVI7FPRVFAIbD2VRAqc3E7QCbaKApRNYrcc4_msEXT3qksEeg1k_NYwIqcM/s1600/inside-tomb-pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHqj5LoSZ4SFqqjzZw5tJuBveA2rXXws2csNszY-1z1kTV3XdGpOw_dHb2c-xKc4orSDkF0D4MiHECVYAsYVI7FPRVFAIbD2VRAqc3E7QCbaKApRNYrcc4_msEXT3qksEeg1k_NYwIqcM/s400/inside-tomb-pic.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Tomorrow is Easter Sunday. It will only be the 3rd Easter <b><i>ever</i></b> I've spent away from my family, making it look a little bit different than it usually does. I still have a brother who's only in the 5th grade, so Easters in our family have always included egg hunts, grassy baskets, lots of candy, lamb-shaped cakes, and child-like wonder. This year, my sweet family is 500 miles away, so tomorrow will feel a bit bittersweet. There won't be eggs to hunt for, or an adorable "lamby-cake" to enjoy. Instead, me and the hubs will make a big, special breakfast, and celebrate Resurrection Sunday with the in-laws at our incredible church. And I've been praying this week that the <b><i>reality</i></b> of what Easter means, away from the fluffy, saccharine, candy-floss coating, would really just <u>smack me in the face</u> this year like never before. So, on that note, I wanted to share this with you. Almost exactly 5 years ago, I felt very moved to write this story - a perspective on Easter that I hadn't thought of before. It's a little long, but if you have the stamina, check it out. I hope it gives you a fresh perspective too. It may be Saturday tonight, but Sunday's coming!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The greatest moment in the history of the world. The ultimate turning point. A dramatic changing of the tides. The moment that, literally, changed everything for the rest of time as we know it on a cosmic level. The biggest surprise ever conceived. God never ceases to amaze me with his sheer enormity; when I was young, I saw God and the devil in some kind of raging cosmic battle. Though I always knew the victory</div><div style="text-align: center;">belonged to the Lord, I visualized war field where sometimes God would win, other times the devil got some points for himself, but the struggle was immense. Now that I'm grown, how relieved I am to know of my wrongness and God's greatness! Try to wrap your minds around this; even the devil's most ingenious schemes are deeply embedded in God's greater plan. These are not semi-equal adversaries we're working with here like characters in a superhero movie; this is the almighty creator of the universe against nothing but a slighted, whiny, power-hungry created being. Which brings me to the greatest moment in the history of the world; a climax that could only be topped by Christ's triumphant return. So what is it? In many Christian circles, we may here answers like the birth of Christ, the immaculate</div><div style="text-align: center;">conception, the crucifixion, and especially the resurrection. While these near the top of the list, they're not quite where I'm heading. So let's go there. Picture with me the scene from a perspective you</div><div style="text-align: center;">may never have thought about before... </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">A chilled wind has picked up suddenly, and onlookers clung more tightly to their thin cloaks throughout the throbbing crowd. The sky is gray, not unusual for this time of year, but there is a new, fearful heaviness as the clouds roll in more thickly than they'd ever seen. The emotions vary from person to person; some are weeping, others cursing, and still more are indifferent or confused. One figure though, one lone, hooded figure, is possibly the only observer absolutely reeking with delight. Though it's only early afternoon, it feels as if dusk has long since fallen away, and that suited him just fine. Finally, FINALLY, after centuries of planning, after so many infuriating failures, the so-called Son of God would be a problem he no longer had to suffer. How desperately he had tried to snuff this infestation out before it even started, and what did he have to show for it? He had grown dangerously tired of defeat. But none of that mattered now; in matter of moments, it would all be over. For good this time. How ridiculous the Almighty had been to try and save them this way; in all of his eons of musings, our observer could never quite wrap his mind around why He cared so fervently for these quivering insects. Ungrateful, slobbering, ugly imbeciles, each and every one of them! And He had had the audacity to stamp them with His very image. As if they deserved it! It was almost too much for our observer's proud heart to bear. In fact, it was quite too much for his proud heart to bear, which is why he is here in the first place. You see, he had once been the embodiment of beauty, and so very near to the Almighty that he could reach out and touch Him. But it hadn't been near enough, and it had been his eternal downfall. The fact that these peons had received not only His beauty, but His love, was enough to earn them an eternity of vengeful hatred. Joy did not come to our dark observer often, but today was a very special day indeed. At the sight before him, it was all he could do to hold back his laughter; the Man's flesh was so torn and bloodied that He was almost unrecognizable, and a crown of horrifyingly pointed thorns had been driven deeply into the flesh above his eyes. Our observer chuckled to himself, pleased at the delightful irony. While others pushed and shoved through the masses to get a closer look, the observer was quite content with his chosen spot; he could see quite well enough from here. Besides, his work here was almost complete. It was almost disappointing how easy it had been; he had carefully observed the disciples for quite some time, and Judas proved to be an achingly uncomplicated mark. The plan had worked flawlessly. The only surprising hitch in the betrayal was Jesus himself. For the last 33 years, the observer had been careful to keep a safe but watchful distance from the shatteringly powerful King, his only defenses, after all, being deception and lies. Naturally, he had been prepared for an incredible fight in the garden that night, but, shockingly, none came. The Carpenter had simply went with His captors without struggle or might, which had brought the observer's only short-lived moment of pause. The feeling had passed, though, soon enough, as the rest of the well-oiled plan played out beautifully throughout the night. Everything was going swimmingly, and it was now climaxing in the Carpenter's long awaited doom. Finally, the Righteous Man lifted his head and let out a tremulous cry toward the heavens. The crowd was visibly shaken, and with a frightening suddenness, the candle of day was snuffed out. Cries rang out all over the hillside, and, even more startlingly, the earth began to violently shake. The communal terror was palpable, and panic quickly consumed. Fear pleased him; it was, of course, one of his very favorite tools, and this moment of fear was one of the most delicious yet. The observer's excitement was now nearly visible; the brass ring was brushing his fingertips. Soon, so very soon, it would be finished. Suddenly, as quickly as it had been snuffed out, pale, gray daylight broke through the dense canopy of cloud, and it was obvious to all that He was dead. For good measure, one uniformed guard thrust a spear into his side, to be absolutely sure that the deed was done. The rush of fluids was the final confirmation. As they began unceremoniously taking the Carpenter down from His lofty resting place, the disciples were unmoving in their shock and grief. The Man's mother clung desperately to one of them as they shared silent, empty tears, and other women fell prostrate at His side, weighed to the ground by their emptiness and sorrow. For many that day, their most treasured hopes had come to a crushing and unexpected end. The observer, however, paid these things no mind, for he was already well on his way back from whence he came, a sickly smile contorting his already unfortunate face...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">...Deep, deep in the darkest recesses imaginable, so far from the presence of The Most High, was a celebration the likes of which most would never wish to see. Drums, of every size and rhythm, beat with an ungodly fury and shook the heated walls of stone, echoing for ages through the cavernous distance, completely drowning out the cries of the condemned. Countless beings of unimaginable terror, representing Earth's every fear and vice, threw their bodies in movement and triumph, with little rhyme or reason dictating the steps. The cavernous space was at once sweeping and stifling; if one looked either up or down, no end could be seen to the chasm in either direction, but a darkness that could be felt with every sense so saturated the air that it was almost impossible to draw a breath. This stifling darkness, however, didn't seen to effect the feverish beings in the slightest. They danced tirelessly, no doubt driven by the victory of the ages. Only one figure managed to remain still among the chaos; the observer stood tall, surrounded by joyous servants, his dark heart overflowing with enough haughty pride and satisfaction to burst it. He was larger, much larger than the others, in fact he actually seemed to be expanding by the moment. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Finally, FINALLY,</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">IT</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">WAS</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">FINISHED!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">The pounding of the massive drums intensified to an almost unbearable pace, shaking the cavern to a frightening quake. The dancers dizzyingly circled the observer at an maniacally increasing clip, not missing one feverish beat. In pure, adulterated self-adoration, he lifted his face and arms to the gaping darkness and began to let out the beginning of a fierce and terrifying war-cry of victory. He had won. After millennia of desperate battle, and enough lies to shatter countless generations of pathetic men, the victory was finally his. He pounded the keys of death and hell against his chest in magnificent fury. They belonged to him now. The cry grew louder, terrifying in its mounting intensity, as the observer contemplated the glory that was now his and his alone. From this moment forward, each and every</div><div style="text-align: center;">one of the dirty, insignificant souls of men would be his to condemn. The dancers joined in the glory with chants of their own, building and layering sound over sound until the chorus was one of deafening terror. The nefarious choir grew louder and louder, surrounded by the beating drums and led by the now enormous observer, when, suddenly, something changed. The cries continued to swell, but in a new and more frightening way. Suddenly, so suddenly, the deepest reaches of the cavern shook far more violently than ever before, until the walls began to crumble and debris showered from above. The observer was</div><div style="text-align: center;">unshaken, but the dancers sensed a disturbing change. One by one, they stopped singing, and one by one, the dancing ceased; the drums beats faded into the darkness, and yet the fierce cries did not fade away. The observer's cry was met, joined, and surpassed by another's, something foreign and yet terrifying to the beings in its vague familiarity. The quaking was now too much to bear, and the frightful</div><div style="text-align: center;">beings scattered, terrified, in any direction they could. Only now did the observer come far enough out of his pride to realize that something was very, very wrong. His battle cry abruptly ceased, but another cry,</div><div style="text-align: center;">the unknown cry, did not. In the distance, the sharp, crushing sound of ripping chains and twisting metal fell upon the observer's ears, and he knew instantly and with great apprehension that someone, somehow, had destroyed the massive gates. This was not right, and for the first time, the observer felt fear.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Then, suddenly...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">LIGHT</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Every inch of the endless chasm flooded with a light so pure and blinding intense that the observer could not hold open his eyes. Not that it mattered. Light like this doesn't require eyes to see. It flowed and pulsed from its Source in ever increasing waves, filling every crevice with a spectrum of color and glory. The light whitewashed the stone walls with its glorious heat, as only the presence of the Almighty can. The observer was now flat on his back, eyes now forced wide with the greatest expression of utter, complete surprise that has ever existed and that ever would exist in the lifespan of the universe. He was now face to glorious face with the one he thought he'd never see again; the Son of God. But He was different now, so very different. Only hours before He had been a torn and bloodless shell of a man, but now, oh but now, he was dressed in a robe reaching down to his feet and with a golden sash around his</div><div style="text-align: center;">chest. His head and hair were white like wool, as white as snow, and his eyes were like blazing fire. His feet were like bronze glowing in a furnace, and his voice was like the sound of rushing waters. Strangely enough, for all His surpassing glory, fresh wounds remained on His hands, feet, and side. And the light! That aching, saturating light! The observer, while frozen in terrified shock, for the most fleeting of moments, marveled at the beauty and glory he had so consumingly longed to posses. But in an instant the sharply real terror thundering through his veins, coursing through every inch of his body, brought him back to present moment. All of his minions were long gone; they knew their place, and it was nowhere near the Most High. Instantly, the keys the observer had so proudly been clutching</div><div style="text-align: center;">to his chest were out of his grasp, and into the smoldering hands of Almighty Yeshua. The fire in His eyes grew impossibly intense in that moment, the greatest moment in the history of the world. As the</div><div style="text-align: center;">Almighty looked fiercely into the observer's eyes, the Warrior King His people had waiting for for so long was fully embodied, and as He took back the keys of death and hell, His thundering words changed</div><div style="text-align: center;">everything: "They belong to me." </div></div>Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087307874165404494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2854227869582486486.post-36408924847959856422012-02-26T22:28:00.000-05:002012-02-26T22:28:41.677-05:00Contentment<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjViexaCqlgedYyZ2h2wGWVl1dCCgwC4PJS5qPNfRLbCE8vohDNY1l8wRRjMJS3EwMKf96y0PleS9o6Dq7SAOl7hAYpEkLVkNJMv1Nmbcfpvq8EX06sOJ6Jb5gv26FWxUzxB-_86PmGlP4/s1600/buns.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjViexaCqlgedYyZ2h2wGWVl1dCCgwC4PJS5qPNfRLbCE8vohDNY1l8wRRjMJS3EwMKf96y0PleS9o6Dq7SAOl7hAYpEkLVkNJMv1Nmbcfpvq8EX06sOJ6Jb5gv26FWxUzxB-_86PmGlP4/s400/buns.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">Not the easiest concept to grasp, is it? </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></div><div>If you're living in the modern, Western world, "contentment" is almost a dirty word. The mantra seems to be "get more, achieve more, accumulate MORE!" Being satisfied with what you have almost labels you as lacking in motivation and ambition. We're supposed to want more money, more stuff, bigger houses, better cars, more luxury, etc. But then we're all so freakin' <i>stressed-out and wigged-out</i> all the time, so we pursue some semblance of peace at any cost. From the healthy pursuits of exercise, meditation, and silence, to drug use, the abuse of sex or alcohol, self-medication, and self-harm. We want it all, but then we want to somehow be all "zen" about it. Now there's nothing wrong with having money, or nice things, or any of that. But are you <i style="font-weight: bold;">content </i>with it all? Do you have <b><i>peace? </i></b>Do you actually <i><b>want what you have</b></i> rather than just having what you want? </div><div><br />
</div><div>'Cause there's a big difference.</div><div><br />
</div><div>If you have one pair of shoes in your closet, some food in your kitchen, a home with heat and air conditioning, a warm bed, and unlimited access to clean drinking water, then you are already way ahead of over <b>a billion</b> other humans with whom we share this planet. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Crazy huh?</div><div><br />
</div><div>It's Sunday night. Right now, you might be stressing out about your upcoming work week (as I was earlier this evening.) But hey now, <b><i>I actually have a job</i></b>. I can show up somewhere for 40 hours every week, do something <b>meaningful </b>with my time, and someone will actually <b>pay</b> me to do it. </div><div><br />
</div><div>That's pretty incredible. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Right now, I'm sitting in a warm, cozy apartment, typing away on a laptop, utilizing the wonder of the internet, and anytime I need it, I have indoor plumbing and hot running water just steps away. When I wake up tomorrow in my soft, fluffy bed, there will be food in my refrigerator, multiple options of clothing to choose from, and a motorized vehicle just waiting to bring me to work. <b>Wow</b>. Could I possibly <i><b>be </b></i>more blessed right now? </div><div><br />
</div><div>Braden and I are completely addicted to Indian food. We frequent our favorite spot, Spice Junction, <i>at least </i>once a week to indulge in their spectacular delights (seriously, if you live near Columbia, you've <i>gotta</i> try it.) We've gotten to know the sweet family that runs the place, and we always enjoy chatting with them over curry and mango lassis. They have no staff - just a husband, wife, and their two young sons running the business. They good-naturedly told us that they often don't get home from closing up the restaurant until midnight, and every day they have to wake up at 4am to get the kids ready for school and start prepping for the day's business. They do this 6 days a week. And came to American from India because of how much better those 20 hour work-days are than what they had back home. Last night, the son who can't be more than 12 was helping run the cash register, and I marveled at his maturity, his intelligence, and competence. I couldn't help but think that an American kid at a similar stage in life would have simply grunted at us and continued playing Angry Birds. While walking to our car, Braden and I were just blown away by this happy family's work-ethic, and felt utterly ashamed of any time we've ever whined about a "long, stressful day." </div><div><br />
</div><div>Right this second, I'm so blessed I could cry. I'm <i>so happy</i> with our little home, my 200,000+ mile car, my precious husband, my meaningful-exhausting-fabulous-low-paying job. <b>My beautiful life</b>. Thank you Lord, <i>thank you</i>, for always meeting our every need. </div><br />
<i><b>Philippians 4:11-13</b><br />
I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do all this through him who gives me strength.</i><div><br />
</div></div>Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087307874165404494noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2854227869582486486.post-44319587003841822172012-02-12T21:33:00.003-05:002012-02-12T21:40:47.269-05:00Je t'aime<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDEgORt1Uw4n0_VhRld7J5N9EdF-70vUhDFvyRY7Bw2ePgD8DVMI1zZmtIG-WnRyOfCgfaje2YpFrbHNtcWZUSt6pfHY5hWN25oadx4Lt-Vvz9RdJcKCGGe6_Up6pxSO52FV4C-K-uiFQ/s1600/valcard2012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDEgORt1Uw4n0_VhRld7J5N9EdF-70vUhDFvyRY7Bw2ePgD8DVMI1zZmtIG-WnRyOfCgfaje2YpFrbHNtcWZUSt6pfHY5hWN25oadx4Lt-Vvz9RdJcKCGGe6_Up6pxSO52FV4C-K-uiFQ/s400/valcard2012.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
It's that time of year again - love it or hate it, Valentine's Day is almost upon us. Being the whimsical-unicorns-and-fairy-dust kinda gal that I am, I've always loved Valentines Day. But for 7 years now, Valentine's week has made me feel extra warm-and-fuzzy for one simple reason: on February 10th, 2005, my best friend got down on one knee and asked me to be his wife.<br />
<br />
Seven years ago, my man planned the best pre-Valentine's Day surprise that I never saw coming! We were rocking the whole long-distance-relationship thing, so I was flying into Columbia for a weekend visit. My plane landed around 10 o'clock at night, so I was looking super hot in a hoodie and jeans ;) When we reunited in the airport after a few weeks apart, it was, as always, wonderful. And I couldn't help but notice that Braden was holding a little gift bag in his hand. "I got you a little something; an early Valentine's gift." I smiled and opened the bag to find a big box of chocolates. And there was a hand-written letter on the top of the box. The letter was three pages long, and opened up into the shape of a heart. As I read the beautiful words, Braden stood behind me with his arms wrapped around my waist. At first, I thought it was just a thoughtful gift, but as I continued to read, the letter became more and more beautiful and serious in its intentions! When I finally opened up the heart to reveal the last page, all it said was "Please say yes." I whirled around to find Braden down on one knee in the airport terminal, with a gorgeous diamond ring in his hand. And the rest, as they say, is history :)<br />
<br />
Sometimes we like to go back to the airport to sit in the exact spot where we got engaged to smile, talk, and reminisce. What can I say? I have the coolest husband in the world. <span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'trebuchet ms', verdana, arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD3raHmGrhWmORKiEdffd9xuFf6DzHDTsBObodfr7caAVZfghXkGMCBEc2WwvyQdqag87jm88YH_NOxAnxYJVS-Td3PVOsR2anObGXTMAQMAjeZNTH6SefAXLR3xwbPJimDSvv8v6R7Lc/s1600/IMG_0716.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD3raHmGrhWmORKiEdffd9xuFf6DzHDTsBObodfr7caAVZfghXkGMCBEc2WwvyQdqag87jm88YH_NOxAnxYJVS-Td3PVOsR2anObGXTMAQMAjeZNTH6SefAXLR3xwbPJimDSvv8v6R7Lc/s320/IMG_0716.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>The scene of the crime.</i></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEganRO8ld0ezuHbcvDXQCBcf9qjo0v1f2Adbxhc62ZOV9sCIltxLjrHzIUpzQ30T1MRqCkrG7UwcfypV0I9hsyRuHcDO586JJqhI0gr6fnIePie1QzoL5qXT6XivFZh6jRVo5hi-oT_EDU/s1600/IMG_0735.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEganRO8ld0ezuHbcvDXQCBcf9qjo0v1f2Adbxhc62ZOV9sCIltxLjrHzIUpzQ30T1MRqCkrG7UwcfypV0I9hsyRuHcDO586JJqhI0gr6fnIePie1QzoL5qXT6XivFZh6jRVo5hi-oT_EDU/s320/IMG_0735.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Is it silly to pay $3.00 to park at a municipal building just to take pictures and snuggle on a bench? </i><i>Probably. But I'm cool with that ;)</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>So no matter who's love you're celebrating this Valentine's Day, make it a joyful day! Celebrate your family, your friends, and the One who created all this lovey-dovey stuff to begin with. (That would be God. If you didn't catch my drift.)<br />
<br />
Another way I kicked of Valentine's week right? By hosting my first-ever Gal-entine's Day tea party! (Ya know, like, Valentine's Day for GALS. Thanks Leslie Knope.) And it was FAB! <span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'trebuchet ms', verdana, arial, sans-serif; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd10kU9Aq55uBlJOYf10aWHmrQRto6DCjHaCz9kFDsDM5Fx0dQnJXjpgr8vQYPyQnUmCuKHYMNSYxRmP4uxW-RgxMgiIwbn2LxfHVq5P5ydSdY6vq-DftmfqgBCAuCzmwOiPDjKsirVJ0/s1600/IMG_0732.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd10kU9Aq55uBlJOYf10aWHmrQRto6DCjHaCz9kFDsDM5Fx0dQnJXjpgr8vQYPyQnUmCuKHYMNSYxRmP4uxW-RgxMgiIwbn2LxfHVq5P5ydSdY6vq-DftmfqgBCAuCzmwOiPDjKsirVJ0/s320/IMG_0732.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>The centerpiece: Ostrich feathers and gerbera daisies in old spice jars that I covered in glitter!</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpsdp1lS427eJmOtzseFDVFag3UG8h4Ai5avDNKbTmOQuLrvWjM68vE2uYBS4uoWivuO-geerjghQeWTExldsSOCC_WVVEcfIYdD9l9UvSsykNP0bd02AFAu7ANgVPvCo3vpLogXWMD28/s1600/IMG_0725.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpsdp1lS427eJmOtzseFDVFag3UG8h4Ai5avDNKbTmOQuLrvWjM68vE2uYBS4uoWivuO-geerjghQeWTExldsSOCC_WVVEcfIYdD9l9UvSsykNP0bd02AFAu7ANgVPvCo3vpLogXWMD28/s320/IMG_0725.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">The menu? Chilled chocolate-covered strawberry soup in martini glasses:</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxh3sCsvg1HH6_3kMovf5h5NMjhUKEvnQtRQ31ofXlBXhtbAtCFki7VfFn3D3Mc6dfYwiZ2c0tswo-nXPkQBPukthnCQAYAOp3_DZJT63r7medLietiprQOTzl-UesLbjVM5_-yyxuY6c/s1600/IMG_0734.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxh3sCsvg1HH6_3kMovf5h5NMjhUKEvnQtRQ31ofXlBXhtbAtCFki7VfFn3D3Mc6dfYwiZ2c0tswo-nXPkQBPukthnCQAYAOp3_DZJT63r7medLietiprQOTzl-UesLbjVM5_-yyxuY6c/s320/IMG_0734.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Lavender rose petal scones, petit fours:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv48eLLjd8IrTPSEddAp-RfdrOh4WhCvaiBLLGJrSA8JCTMQ_sbaSQaDhD2CPBdiMeMko1DjlZe9aWD6R7pMvZB0iibP7PZD1qtDLROUrawOyfPLKAyQbTpptxEwFA-Q6ird39TOP7Mvo/s1600/IMG_0733.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv48eLLjd8IrTPSEddAp-RfdrOh4WhCvaiBLLGJrSA8JCTMQ_sbaSQaDhD2CPBdiMeMko1DjlZe9aWD6R7pMvZB0iibP7PZD1qtDLROUrawOyfPLKAyQbTpptxEwFA-Q6ird39TOP7Mvo/s320/IMG_0733.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And more tea than we knew what to do with! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">What are your plans for Valentine's Day? A romantic night out? (Or <i>in?</i> ~wink~) A fabulous evening of girl-power? Sappy movies? Horror movies? Weeping into your pint of Ben & Jerry's? I'd love to hear all about it. (But not if it's that last one. If that's you, please refer to my <a href="http://www.amazonianginger.blogspot.com/2012/01/dear-single-people.html" target="_blank">previous post</a>.) </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibW4o7ab0AeLDKpYr67Pm4PALxGQ_ZmvL5C8jDqwE2AGnECFzgBYiwUw77LN7zMvOuxH_PHD6McG5LBMN4ciz8KfFQb0u7nyJNvT6y7Iu36dIs5UhxfoWPjyU_JAb4N_0Zw8GoirfWypU/s1600/212phonedump.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibW4o7ab0AeLDKpYr67Pm4PALxGQ_ZmvL5C8jDqwE2AGnECFzgBYiwUw77LN7zMvOuxH_PHD6McG5LBMN4ciz8KfFQb0u7nyJNvT6y7Iu36dIs5UhxfoWPjyU_JAb4N_0Zw8GoirfWypU/s640/212phonedump.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"></div></div>Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087307874165404494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2854227869582486486.post-5715931060172386902012-01-29T19:34:00.002-05:002012-02-04T13:37:14.410-05:00Jesus would have hung out at gay bars.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKDT0S5KlHgBrsvAkt4a0thLYfAB70G2HSHeoSalSjiDrKVMFOLDwCWcYO0HjCdZZB6ixOrrG6WeK0huzTIA-8zEPCZU9lUX8LtCXRC1HW5xmyNgilu1Khrrdy0C0qPaAxbv_UiRjosB4/s1600/gay.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5703626737532912434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKDT0S5KlHgBrsvAkt4a0thLYfAB70G2HSHeoSalSjiDrKVMFOLDwCWcYO0HjCdZZB6ixOrrG6WeK0huzTIA-8zEPCZU9lUX8LtCXRC1HW5xmyNgilu1Khrrdy0C0qPaAxbv_UiRjosB4/s400/gay.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 267px;" /></a>I came across this picture the other day, and it touched me so deeply that I wanted to cry. In case you haven't seen it yet, it was taken at a gay-pride parade in Chicago. A Christian group decided to take a bold stand and hold a demonstration at the parade. Not a protest. But an <i>apology</i>. An apology for the way the church has treated the gay community. To say "I'm sorry" for the appalling treatment that many Christians have given homosexuals for countless years. The man in the underwear is named Tristan, and the demonstrator embracing him is Nathan. Nathan wrote this in his blog shortly after the event:<br />
<div><br />
</div><div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: Cambria, Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: italic; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 22px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto; vertical-align: baseline;">"My favorite though was a gentleman who was dancing on a float. He was dressed solely in white underwear and had a pack of abs like no one else. As he was dancing on the float, he noticed us and jokingly yelled, “What are you sorry for? It’s pride!” I pointed to our signs and watched him read them.</div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: Cambria, Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: italic; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 22px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto; vertical-align: baseline;">Then it clicked.</div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: Cambria, Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: italic; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 22px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto; vertical-align: baseline;">Then he got it.</div><div style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-color: initial; border-image: initial; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-top-width: 0px; font-family: Cambria, Georgia, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; font-style: italic; line-height: 21px; margin-bottom: 22px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; outline-color: initial; outline-style: initial; outline-width: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: -webkit-auto; vertical-align: baseline;">He stopped dancing. He looked at all of us standing there. A look of utter seriousness came across his face. And as the float passed us he jumped off of it and ran towards us. He hugged me and whispered, “thank you.”"</div></div><div>Is that not beautiful? Does that not <i>exactly</i> portray the way Jesus himself reached out to people during His time on this earth? You see, "religious people" never liked Jesus. They called Him a drunkard and a glutton. They <i>hated</i> that He spent His precious time with prostitutes, tax collectors, and "sinners" of all kinds. It really ground their gears that Jesus thought highly of women, and treated them with honor and respect. They didn't like that He got His hands dirty with society's "untouchables," literally reaching out and touching the flesh of rotting lepers. If Jesus was walking the earth today, you'd better believe He'd be hanging out in gay bars. And in brothels. And crack houses. And hospitals. And prisons. And AIDS hospices. And under bridges with the homeless. Jesus would be loving on people everywhere the "religious people" are not! You see, Jesus was all about LOVE. Forgiveness. Compassion. In scripture, the only people you hear Jesus laying judgement down on are the high-and-mighty, legalistic, stick-up-their-butts religious people! </div><div><br />
</div><div>Here's the deal. As a Jesus-follower, I believe that each and every one of us is in exactly the same sin boat. We're all jacked-up, we all have issues, and we all need love, grace, and forgiveness. I have no right <i>whatsoever</i> to judge anyone else. I've got my own issues to worry about! And I am getting sick and tired of legalistic "Christians" who seem to have completely forgotten what Jesus was all about. Isaiah 64:6 states that "all our righteous acts are like filthy rags." It's not possible to <i>be</i> good enough, and a bunch of stupid rules are <i>not</i> getting anyone into heaven. The only thing that can redeem any of us is the grace and forgiveness of Jesus Christ. None of us needs Jesus <i>any less</i> than anyone else. </div><div><br />
</div><div><div><b>Matthew 7:4</b></div><div>How can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when all the time there is a plank in your own eye?</div></div><div><br />
</div><div>So Christians, can we just <i>drop the judgement already? </i>I mean, <b>how dare we</b>. Christians should be the most loving, selfless, forgiving, compassionate people on the planet. And we're <b><i>not</i></b>. I believe that the #1 cause of atheism in the world is Christians. And that breaks my heart. So get out there and start loving people, helping people, serving people - in other words, BEING THE CHURCH. We were <i>never</i> meant to lock ourselves up in spotless rooms shining with stained glass, just "reading the manual" for the rest of our lives in our ankle-length denim skirts while casting haughty, superior eyes on those outside the front door. As my pastor likes to say, "the church was never meant to be a museum for saints, but a hospital for sinners." </div><div><br />
</div><div>And non-Christians, atheists, agnostics, the GLBT community, and every other group of people who the Church has <b>hurt </b>over the centuries,<i> I'm sorry.</i> It is wrong, unfair, and un-Christlike to be filled with hatred and condemnation. There was a reason "religious people" and Jesus never got along - He wasn't one of them. And neither am I. </div></div>Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087307874165404494noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2854227869582486486.post-12336487138808148892012-01-29T14:32:00.000-05:002012-01-29T16:30:35.247-05:00Dear Single People...<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left; ">Dear Single People,</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left; "><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left; ">Oh, you thought you were off the hook didn't you! After that whole long, drawn-out post to married people, you thought I wasn't going to harp on </span><i style="text-align: left; ">you</i><span style="text-align: left; ">. Sorry, not today.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">So how's singleness treating you? Are you happy? Content? Are you having fun? Do you know who you are yet? No?</div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>Then you're probably doing it wrong. </i></b></div><div><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div>First of all, before we really dive in, on behalf of all Married People everywhere, I apologize for how our kind has treated you. I apologize for the set-ups, the blind dates, and the constant asking if you've met "anyone special" recently. It's not fair, it's not right, and it's just downright <i>irritating! </i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>For everyone reading this, single and married alike, hear me now: </div><div><br /></div><div><b><i>SINGLENESS IS NOT A SICKNESS! </i></b></div><div><b><i><br /></i></b></div><div>If you are single, you do not need to be <i>cured</i>. Singleness is not some aggressive cancer that spreads it's dirty tendrils through your system until it needs to be sliced from your broken, sickly body!</div><div><br /></div><div>So Married People, <b><i>stop</i></b> trying to "fix" Single People. They do not need your sympathy, your clucking, or your balding second cousin. For the love of all that is holy, JUST LET THEM BE! </div><div><br /></div><div>Ok Single People, back to you. Are you enjoying your time as a Single Person? Because you should be. For most of us, singleness is simply a season of life, and it's meant to be one full of freedom, fun, and self-discovery. So how are you using your time in this season of your life? Your life won't begin when you meet "Prince or Princess Charming." <i style="font-weight: bold; ">Your life has already started. </i>It's happening<span style="font-weight: bold; "> </span><i style="font-weight: bold; ">right now. </i>So what are you doing with it? </div><div><br /></div><div>You see, this is the time to really and truly figure out <b><i>who you are</i></b>. Do you know who you are yet? Really? Because here's a burning ray of fiery truth comin' right to your brain: <i>You will never know who the right person is for you</i> <i>until you know who you are</i>. </div><div><br /></div><div>Let that sink in for a moment.</div><div><br /></div><div>If you choose to marry someone before you <i>really</i> know who you are, you will probably choose to marry the wrong person. And that's a <i>very</i> scary thought. </div><div><br /></div><div><span ><i>(Disclaimer: Married People, don't you dare start thinking "Oh! I didn't know who I was when I got married; I must've married the wrong person! I guess I can justify getting a divorce!" WRONG. Nope. You did not get that from me. I believe that marriage should be "until death do us part," and that when you make those vows, you should really give it the ol' college try to make it work. Yeah, maybe you did make some stupid choices in the past, but you can still make your marriage beautiful [see <a href="http://www.amazonianginger.blogspot.com/2012/01/dear-married-people.html">Dear Married People</a> for more on that.] This does not, however, justify staying in an abusive or unfaithful marriage situation.) </i></span></div><div><br /></div><div>So get busy figuring out who you are. And have as much fun as possible in the process! What are your gifts, talents, and passions? What are you good at? What makes you happy? What breaks your heart? You need to know these things about yourself. And don't even <i>try</i> to get into a relationship of any kind until you've figured them out. </div><div><br /></div><div>Also, if you are dating, are your standards high enough? And if they <i>are</i> high enough, great, but are they unrealistic? Let me tell you the difference, because what I am <i>not</i> saying here is to settle for anything less than the <b>best!</b> (In high school, I made a list of all the things I was looking for in a future spouse that was<i> at least </i>50 items long, and my husband met every one of them!) Having high standards means only choosing to date someone who is kind, intelligent, motivated, hard-working, considerate, full of integrity, shares your values and beliefs, and is just chock-full of character. Having <i>unrealistic</i> standards means only choosing to date someone who is Italian, plays the harp, leaves a bed of roses in your apartment while you're at work, and will eventually present you with a 3-carat diamond ring on top of the Eiffel Tower. Those things are all awesome, but cut a brother some slack! Even the most <i>fantastic</i> guys can't pull all of that off! Know what things are true <i>must haves</i>, and what things are true <i>deal breakers</i> in a relationship. In fact, I encourage my students to make an ink-and-paper list of their 10 Must-Haves and 10 Can't-Stands. It's great. It's like a shopping list for dating. To get you started, your Must-Haves should probably include honesty, trustworthiness, and a person who is your best friend. And your Can't-Stands should include drug users, people who've been to prison, and cheaters. (These may sound obvious to you, but you would not believe the justifications I've heard from people over the years!) And on that note, it is also <i>awesome</i> to take some time off to just not worry<i> </i>about dating at all! Until you know yourself, there really no point in it anyway. (Plus, less drama in your life is <i>ALWAYS</i> a good thing.)</div><div><br /></div><div>So Single People, I would encourage you to utilize this rockin' time of your life to its highest potential. Build amazing friendships. Travel the world. Try new things. Get to know yourself. Accomplish something. Revel in the pure girlyness or pure manlyness that is unique to living as a single person. HAVE FUN. </div><div><br /></div><div>Because here's the thing - a healthy relationship is two whole, complete, content people choosing to share life as a team. It is <i>not</i> two wobbly, sniveling halves of a person looking for completion. Be content. Learn to be completely at peace with <i>just yourself</i>. Because until you reach that state of nirvana, you will never be ready to share your life with another person.</div><div><br /></div><div>Thanks for listening Single People. You guys ROCK. Now start acting like it! </div><div><br /></div><div>~Me</div><div><br /></div><div>And just for fun, a weekend phone dump:</div><div><br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCbGs19YxswDZ0utw2pWJUndcK30tyKh94eEa1BPmI5tSkroV5G4Sy6oBaaRTA72vbmwHrd0lZhQA8WFemItrGPAyl_yQ9HrE23TBsnGvAFaKMJ9KgYABVGmQ1Bl3NAOilmixGZUglVfg/s400/weekendphonedump2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5703167221892678930" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); text-decoration: underline; display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px; " /></div><div><br /></div>Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087307874165404494noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2854227869582486486.post-86179495455296800832012-01-24T00:07:00.000-05:002012-01-25T19:48:35.067-05:00Dear Married People...Dear Married People,<div><br /></div><div>How's it going? How's married life treating you, for real? </div><div><br /></div><div>Are you having lots of fun? Are you growing closer to and more fond of your spouse every day? Are you learning new things all the time? Are you and your spouse best friends who really just <i>love</i> hanging out together? </div><div><br /></div><div>No? </div><div><br /></div><div><i><b>Well then, you're probably doing it wrong. </b></i></div><div><i><b><br /></b></i></div><div>Now don't get all offended on me right off the bat. Hear me out. Marriage is supposed to be a <i>good</i> thing, a gift, and if it doesn't feel that way to you, then, frankly, you really are probably doing it wrong. But don't worry, because I believe that no matter what state your marriage is in right-this-second, you can start doing it <i>right, </i>right now. </div><div><br /></div><div>If you're a Christian, marriage is supposed to be this beautiful, glorious picture of Christ and the church: <i>Oneness. Unconditional love. Delight. Joy. Fellowship. Communication. Grace. </i></div><div><br /></div><div>Sounds pretty great, right? (Yes. It does. 'Cause it's <i>awesome</i>.) But lately, it has seemed to me that <i>Christians </i>in particular are the worst offenders in the "brace-yo'selves" game. And I'm sick of it! Over and over again, I keep hearing about Christian Married People telling single people, engaged people, and newlyweds some variation of <i>this: </i></div><div><br /></div><div>"Brace yourselves! You're in the for hardest time of your life! Once the honeymoon is over, woooeeee, get ready for some <i style="font-weight: bold; ">pain! </i>Cause <i>it is hard!"</i> </div><div><br /></div><div>Uh, seriously Married People? Is this how you're inspiring the next generation to strive for a beautiful, life-long marriage relationship? Cause if so, YOU SUCK. </div><div><br /></div><div>If God intended for marriage to be a picture of Christ and the church, (and He did, just to set that straight), why on earth would He want marriages to be painful, exhausting, life-sucking, and miserable? I think the answer is, He didn't. Marriage is supposed to be <i>good</i>. Why would you choose to spend your whole entire life with someone if you didn't think you could build a peaceful, enjoyable partnership together? </div><div><br /></div><div>Now notice I used the word <i>build</i> just then. As in, a great marriage takes <i>work</i>. But not in a negative way! Please understand that! Just because something takes effort to achieve doesn't mean that the effort is torture! To have a healthy body, you have to work for it. To make good grades, you have to work for it. And to climb a mountain, you have to work for it, but every step you take brings you to higher plains of beauty, glory, and perspective. Do you see what I'm saying? </div><div><br /></div><div>Marriage is supposed to be you and your best friend sharing a fabulous adventure together for the rest of your lives. So stop being so freaking discouraging to the newbies! </div><div><br /></div><div>On that same train of thought, a great marriage should include a fun, exciting, mutually-satisfying sex life. </div><div><br /></div><div>(Oh yeah. I went there. And BTW, "mutually-satisfying" means that you <i>both </i>are having a fabulous time.) </div><div><br /></div><div>Once again, this is a part of marriage that should be chock-full of <b>JOY</b>, and yet I hear Married People underselling it to the newbies <i>all the time</i>. No joke, I have heard of Christian premarital counselors, within the last few years mind you, telling young women that sex is <i>just her duty as a wife, and that she probably won't enjoy it. </i></div><div><br /></div><div><i>WHAT?!?!?!?!?!? </i></div><div><br /></div><div>Back up the train soldier! If you BOTH are not having an absolutely spectacular time in bed, <i style="font-weight: bold; ">then you're probably doing it wrong. </i>And more than likely, you're not communicating about it very effectively.<i style="font-weight: bold; "> </i>And the Bible agrees. Have you ever read Song of Solomon? (And don't even<i> try</i> to get all scholarly on my and say it's just an allegory for Christ and the church. Nah uh. It's about SEX.) </div><div><br /></div><div><div><b><i>Song of Solomon 7:6-9</i></b></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>How beautiful you are and how pleasing, my love, with your delights! </i></div><div><i>Your stature is like that of the palm, and your breasts like clusters of fruit. </i></div><div><i>I said, “I will climb the palm tree; I will take hold of its fruit.” </i></div><div><i>May your breasts be like clusters of grapes on the vine, the fragrance of your breath like apples, and your mouth like the best wine.</i></div></div><div><br /></div><div>You want to tell me that's Jesus we're talking about here? I didn't think so. This is a Godly marriage! And feel free to go read that whole book of the Bible - don't worry, I'll wait - and then try to tell me that they are not both having a <i>grand </i>ol' time! And not only are they having fun delighting in one another, they're<i> talking </i>about it too! Sex is something you need to <i>talk</i> about with your spouse, and good, honest, open communication does a <i>world</i> of good in solving problems in this area. So I suggest you dim the lights, lock the door, and start having your own grand ol' time, <i>together!</i> </div><div><br /></div><div>So here's the deal Married People - marriage is supposed to be <i>fun</i>. </div><div><br /></div><div>If you're not best friends with your spouse, start working on that <i>today</i>. Talk. Do stuff together. Just hang out. Communicate about everything. Laugh. Make silly inside jokes. Cuddle. Play. Just have some fun together!</div><div><br /></div><div>If you're not falling more madly in love with your spouse every single day, start <i>today.</i> Focus on the positive. Be thankful for all of the beautiful things that made you fall in love with them in the first place. (Write those things down.) And just open your heart. Be honest. Transparent. Kind. Show grace. Don't hold a grudge. Love them actively. (Because love is a choice, a verb. Not a feeling.) </div><div><br /></div><div>And for goodness sake, stop discouraging those who aren't even out of the gate yet! Any marriage can be beautiful. Glorious. Joyful. Fun. <i>Yours</i> can be these things! And so can their's. So don't bring them down.</div><div><br /></div><div>I hope you weren't offended by my letter Married People. Thanks for listening.</div><div><br /></div><div>Sincerely,</div><div><br /></div><div>Me. </div>Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087307874165404494noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2854227869582486486.post-75005875216971458542012-01-17T22:17:00.000-05:002012-01-17T22:25:30.210-05:00Counting the gifts<div style="text-align: center;">Right this minute, I'm tearing through this book:</div><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCbbU2JF7EQp6gHdlOMYEJowtE3B1S3EdoXcREgpi0d2xmuIIPjMvWN1euYs4D07YOWgAZDP2X0Vr8A4vP2KilrqGHRs0oGUNRAwh0YANhmjyNDVmVbH2MmlFU8AV00LTbGJrWFALuIAY/s1600/comp_1000gifts_revised-1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 276px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCbbU2JF7EQp6gHdlOMYEJowtE3B1S3EdoXcREgpi0d2xmuIIPjMvWN1euYs4D07YOWgAZDP2X0Vr8A4vP2KilrqGHRs0oGUNRAwh0YANhmjyNDVmVbH2MmlFU8AV00LTbGJrWFALuIAY/s400/comp_1000gifts_revised-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698806319515543714" /></a><div><div style="text-align: center;">And it's absolutely <i>slaying</i> me. I'm highlighting what seems like every other passage. It's blowing my mind. It's all about savoring and embracing and drinking deep of life. And being deeply grateful in every moment. Even the moments filled with pain. It's beautiful and profound and breathtaking. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">And I've started my list of 1000 gifts. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">In my little notebook made of elephant-poo paper. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I started about 5 minutes ago, and I already have 14 items. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Won't you consider counting 1000 of <i>your</i> gifts from God? </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">I think this is going to be a rockin' journey. </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIAwyec0vbc8uOYBvrL7EmuRxyGyo8riQfJK2UHTekHf2F0CZy2LE_rAjxpYPyDBv4UeyrvPzDvQwuAc4zOup3Pyl1uN26Wtkj_fOoRZDAsjtUG5CjsKgqnFEpQeSY24087MMzm-plms0/s1600/1000-gifts.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIAwyec0vbc8uOYBvrL7EmuRxyGyo8riQfJK2UHTekHf2F0CZy2LE_rAjxpYPyDBv4UeyrvPzDvQwuAc4zOup3Pyl1uN26Wtkj_fOoRZDAsjtUG5CjsKgqnFEpQeSY24087MMzm-plms0/s400/1000-gifts.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698806315636475858" /></a><br /></div></div>Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087307874165404494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2854227869582486486.post-90607344603928578832012-01-15T21:02:00.000-05:002012-01-15T23:55:14.515-05:00Fear not.I do not want to write this post.<div><br /></div><div>Just thought I'd start off with some transparency there. I'm scared that by writing all of this down for all the world to see, that you will judge me. That you will think less of me. That you will realize that I have <i>never</i> had it all together. That you will think I'm crazy. Weak. But as my pastor always says, "This ain't the Christian prom!" And I feel like I <i>need</i> to write it. I feel like I need to share about a journey that I went on through a very dark place, because I couldn't even begin the process of coming out of that dark place until I found out, rather startlingly, that<b><i> I was not alone. </i></b></div><div><br /></div><div>That was the game-changer for me. And maybe it will be the game-changer for someone reading this. I need to write (maybe to you) about my journey through chronic anxiety, panic-attacks, and depression. If that's a place you're in right now, (or have ever been), <i>you are not alone</i> my friend. </div><div><br /></div><div>First of all, I've <i>always</i> had a natural bent toward anxiety - my personality is an extremely empathetic one, (to this day, I have a very hard time separating myself from other people's problems, feelings, and pain), I tend to be a hard-core worst-case-scenario thinker, I'm very creative and artistic (this, I later learned, is a risk factor for these kinds of problems. Who knew?), and I'm a very cerebral person, spending alot of time in my own head. This combination of factors and personality traits is, apparently, kind of a perfect-storm for anxiety related problems. </div><div><br /></div><div>But it wasn't until high school that these issues really started rearing their ugly heads in my life. Maybe it was the hormones, the teenage drama, I really don't know. Somewhere around my 15th-16th years, I started having real, honest-to-God panic attacks. Now if you've ever had a panic attack, you know how terrifying they can be. If you haven't experienced this particular rush, understand that people have actually been hospitalized for a heart attack, and it turned out to be "just" a panic attack causing them all the same symptoms. Which is pretty freakin' intense. For me, they were usually initiated by a spiraling pattern of negative, horrifying thoughts that I simply could not control. (Something I later learned in counseling is caused by my relatively minor case of obsessive-compulsive disorder.) Often, these thoughts involved worst-case-scenarios regarding absolutely every daily situation I encountered. If I was driving down the road and a tanker truck was about to pass by, my mind would instantly visualize it smashing into my car and exploding into a ball of flames. If my baby brother was crawling near me on the kitchen floor while I was unloading the dishwasher, my mind would conjure up an image of me dropping a steak knife directly onto the soft-spot on his head. On and on, over and over, day after day, I was plagued by terrifying thoughts that, like a cancerous tumor, wrapped their tendrils securely around my brain. Inoperable. Impossible to eradicate. I couldn't breathe. There was a literal, tangible weight on my chest. Soon, I was having 4-5 panic attacks <i>every single day,</i> I couldn't sleep, and I was just<i> paralyzed</i> by fear.</div><div><br /></div><div>And I felt <i>completely</i> alone.</div><div><br /></div><div>I felt like I was losing my mind, truly going crazy, and that no one else had ever felt the way I was feeling. Consumed, every moment of every day, with panic, fear, and the sickening images that were swirling around in my mind. I didn't tell anyone about it, because I thought they'd have me committed. I was terrified of snapping, of finally going off the deep-end. More than anything, I feared hurting someone else. So, to comfort myself, I decided that if it ever got to that point, I would just drown myself in the bathtub before anyone got hurt. I never wanted to die, I just wanted to protect those around me from what I truly believed was my insanity.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>These were my darkest days. </b></div><div><br /></div><div>I remember being up in the middle of the night over and over again, pleading with God, weeping to Him, to save me from my torment. To give me peace. To take away my fears. And getting no response. Just silence. Just moonlight spilling all over the floor. (Which was where I often tried to sleep. I don't know why.) </div><div><br /></div><div>But then two big things happened that changed everything. (And I don't remember the order that they happened in, but I do know they both happened within a relatively short period of time.) One, I broke down and told someone about what was going on. Inexplicably, an unlikely friend and her mom at a sleepover. Crazily enough, they had some personal experience with these issues, and they were the very first people to tell me that I was not alone. Two, I saw an infomercial (I know, right?) during one of my many sleepless nights advertising a program specifically designed for people suffering from chronic anxiety and depression. That infomercial described people just like me, <i>normal people, sane people</i>, who felt the same things that I was feeling, and came out on the other side OK. That night, I wept uncontrollably, crying out to God, so thankful, so lighter-than-air, just knowing that I wasn't the only person in the universe feeling the way I felt. For the first time, a ray of light started cutting through the darkness. I felt <i>hope.</i></div><div><br /></div><div>So, needless to say, that friend's mom told my parents about my "bathtub plan," which really freaked them out, and they sent me to counseling. Which was exactly what I needed. In counseling, I learned that I was not crazy. That countless other humans dealt with the same issues that I was dealing with. That being smart and creative put me at high-risk for these kinds of problems (go figure.) And that I had obsessive-compulsive disorder, but it didn't have to ruin my life. Plus, we bought that program from the infomercial. I learned techniques for dealing with my panic attacks, and for not freaking out about thoughts I couldn't control. It took alot of time, trust, and patience, but as I sit here typing to you today, about 10 years later, I can tell you that I have been almost completely free from panic attacks for many, many years. I still struggle with anxiety, and I probably always will to some degree, but God has healed me and redeemed me in ways I never could have imagined. Now, I am truly free. I also realize now, looking back, that God protected me from <i>so many things</i> during that difficult season of my life. For example, I never turned to self-harm of any kind. I never tried to self-medicate with alcohol or drugs. Not because <i>I'm</i> something special, but because God was carrying me, looking out for me, and sheltering me from all kinds of dangerous paths I could've taken had I not been trusting in Him. I also never required prescription medication to help overcome my anxiety.(Though I feel I must clarify that I have no problem whatsoever with such treatments, and acknowledge that they are necessary in many situations. In my own personal case, I just didn't happen to utilize them in my recovery.) </div><div><br /></div><div>God reached out to me in some unlikely ways to show me that I wasn't alone, and to get me on the road to trust, peace, and healing. Maybe it's the internet that will let you know that you are not alone today. That will let you know that God loves you more than you can ever imagine, and that He will not leave you high-and-dry no matter how dire the situation may seem. </div><div><br /></div><div>You <i>are</i> going to be alright. </div><div><br /></div><div>You are not alone. </div><div><br /></div><div>Fear not. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="heading passage-class-0" style="margin-top: 10px; text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><h3 style="font-size: 16px; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><i><span >Deuteronomy 31:6</span></i></h3></div><div class="result-text-style-normal " style="text-align: -webkit-auto; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><p><i><span >Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid or terrified because of them, for the LORD your God goes with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you.</span></i></p></div></div>Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087307874165404494noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2854227869582486486.post-67386799640982156772012-01-03T23:08:00.001-05:002012-01-04T09:35:23.831-05:00Recommended Reading<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuECK5oJMLLgAQJA8T8RokfxFXK0VLEWDjVl-O69bUc6RJVqmUlGwIrLqmsSzZTahQlzSR3pUz4ZUjFo_T3BNLbr8mWr1DB4X5uoOIybLAGXjyVvFetK6juIOHi4bYi56l-Qyh-Q5jnNs/s1600/reading.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 334px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuECK5oJMLLgAQJA8T8RokfxFXK0VLEWDjVl-O69bUc6RJVqmUlGwIrLqmsSzZTahQlzSR3pUz4ZUjFo_T3BNLbr8mWr1DB4X5uoOIybLAGXjyVvFetK6juIOHi4bYi56l-Qyh-Q5jnNs/s400/reading.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693624064071294690" /></a><div style="text-align: left;">New segment! (Or <i>first-ever </i>segment I suppose.) I love <i>love</i> <b><i>love</i></b> to read, and I get really excited about whatever I'm currently devouring, so I thought it would be fun to throw my recent favorites up on my blog, and I want to hear about your current faves too! If you're looking for something new and interesting to try out, maybe you'll find something here. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Here's a handful of gems I've discovered in the last few months:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Fiction:</b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9RTvMW6Q0rulkdjq_fFsZl8DD6zKZgnl4GdM0wTlFScjLJ0wBlzolw2rInBCSG1nRRY7s-ap5GQiXkpxDCc9UPx_lRIUHmjb6eoDe2vYvxwSrpuO4feNpePXDXMiCEG3iLud4PntKNJc/s1600/elephants.jpeg" style="text-align: left; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9RTvMW6Q0rulkdjq_fFsZl8DD6zKZgnl4GdM0wTlFScjLJ0wBlzolw2rInBCSG1nRRY7s-ap5GQiXkpxDCc9UPx_lRIUHmjb6eoDe2vYvxwSrpuO4feNpePXDXMiCEG3iLud4PntKNJc/s400/elephants.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693627623829816258" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 156px; height: 236px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Beautifully written; gives a fascinating and realistic picture of circus life during the Great Depression.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3lm7NIwxOwkY-BmBWs3YTIBQod-NRkB02dfOp17jLgdgwh0dMAhYLGkeVXeONRLnaMN_81xESPJmt9pSJwYl8KvUMzqKy4l0NSnONfiopiods7wiWy5bYycGpZw6cEDIcjGEkOkHx3yc/s1600/help.jpeg" style="text-align: left; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3lm7NIwxOwkY-BmBWs3YTIBQod-NRkB02dfOp17jLgdgwh0dMAhYLGkeVXeONRLnaMN_81xESPJmt9pSJwYl8KvUMzqKy4l0NSnONfiopiods7wiWy5bYycGpZw6cEDIcjGEkOkHx3yc/s400/help.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693627620984632210" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 183px; height: 276px; " /></a>An equal parts heart-wrenching and uplifting look at race relations in American in the 1960's. Beautiful characters with unique voices.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><br style="text-align: left; "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqKwe6J5g9NlDG2bJYC89sFGbLGJbqbk0z9-B7d0a-_qVJiU3Y-JlcLDLzir_NB_cgKNXq5A4cs2ClBr3TntVQ8k_snPXw2z8lq7LgYdAqW5wJfsLfwGb8MqnEvqAJMwVbAkKZRCCO464/s1600/SnowFlower.jpeg" style="text-align: left; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqKwe6J5g9NlDG2bJYC89sFGbLGJbqbk0z9-B7d0a-_qVJiU3Y-JlcLDLzir_NB_cgKNXq5A4cs2ClBr3TntVQ8k_snPXw2z8lq7LgYdAqW5wJfsLfwGb8MqnEvqAJMwVbAkKZRCCO464/s400/SnowFlower.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693627609517658610" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 181px; height: 279px; " /></a>Deeply intriguing view into 19th century rural China and the lives of the women who lived in the inner realm.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Non-fiction:</b></div><br style="text-align: left; "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiFqDV1g64_Wf6aQIZIqUwrWjx2jT-6H_jOOjy_nBAisOfoFyMy2A90gDXVnQN3tr5_-bjECrqKdRBuGLsMpQegjPOmKDOHLPoCwMGx5zGXeXvyLgKzOzD8DOaAahpKxBFT_3VFoefoAk/s1600/Think.jpeg" style="text-align: left; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiFqDV1g64_Wf6aQIZIqUwrWjx2jT-6H_jOOjy_nBAisOfoFyMy2A90gDXVnQN3tr5_-bjECrqKdRBuGLsMpQegjPOmKDOHLPoCwMGx5zGXeXvyLgKzOzD8DOaAahpKxBFT_3VFoefoAk/s400/Think.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693627613061652162" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 182px; height: 277px; " /></a>Frank, fun, and challenging. A must-read for women of this generation!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCpUkMRD1D0Q7JPAZc1Tir7NuncEzHRWFXsPCEaa0NA6vScB_15P22GPcq_mTvfGzrB1xNcKW1KXV6-bqBCgJ29jJH7v5d_kXRGjISGsA_pDG79EWo-tZR41sjiihcb0F7jM8ipQnmnkk/s1600/cider.jpeg" style="text-align: left; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCpUkMRD1D0Q7JPAZc1Tir7NuncEzHRWFXsPCEaa0NA6vScB_15P22GPcq_mTvfGzrB1xNcKW1KXV6-bqBCgJ29jJH7v5d_kXRGjISGsA_pDG79EWo-tZR41sjiihcb0F7jM8ipQnmnkk/s400/cider.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693627607944585330" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 182px; height: 277px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">This one made me seriously reevaluate even the most seemingly innocent cultural and media influences on young women. Fascinating - makes you think.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0cAxG1ez3cEn6RcwPq7k1kU4zcq2hI-KowA_pu3DARjJZIMP-zp8miWm1lSqZjOIexQukQqjOfRXXiBvId-qaeQb3zI6XRuk5DxBqduT5TF3GVmmr_hPPVQRMMut-ZiWuiQfj67kHrNA/s1600/katie.jpeg" style="text-align: left; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0cAxG1ez3cEn6RcwPq7k1kU4zcq2hI-KowA_pu3DARjJZIMP-zp8miWm1lSqZjOIexQukQqjOfRXXiBvId-qaeQb3zI6XRuk5DxBqduT5TF3GVmmr_hPPVQRMMut-ZiWuiQfj67kHrNA/s400/katie.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693629738537492386" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 225px; height: 225px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Beautiful, inspiring, and insanely challenging. The story of a well-to-do teenager who gave it all up to live in Uganda with 14 adopted daughters. Wow. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNjVvM2JFD9JzMbNE_bbzWfW1biPyuPEauMDGdgcrZR7m5i0kP1etx5jmgL_6rhQ17DiuHJ-RET0E_9HsQNLY7fdnvy8siiKjUVydbSawjxPatOYUCh-PWceJRfUMkdsa5sz3ZZBAnxUg/s1600/mars.jpeg" style="text-align: left; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNjVvM2JFD9JzMbNE_bbzWfW1biPyuPEauMDGdgcrZR7m5i0kP1etx5jmgL_6rhQ17DiuHJ-RET0E_9HsQNLY7fdnvy8siiKjUVydbSawjxPatOYUCh-PWceJRfUMkdsa5sz3ZZBAnxUg/s400/mars.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693629744819610418" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 183px; height: 276px; " /></a>Is space travel really all it's cracked up to be? Hilarious, smart, and well researched.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkuoGvmEc-lHPreKwAs-sLlvYfysbWPczlFWIQc0lXrIe7Ij56OukP0DfKT9To4qmrL0hHC7ANKnocvR8YWcm1t7A-giF2HNzh9sq7IB7BXPWZTZydxiTa8t-18y5gc7DkZ5G4y_RjKY8/s1600/killergerms.jpeg" style="text-align: left; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkuoGvmEc-lHPreKwAs-sLlvYfysbWPczlFWIQc0lXrIe7Ij56OukP0DfKT9To4qmrL0hHC7ANKnocvR8YWcm1t7A-giF2HNzh9sq7IB7BXPWZTZydxiTa8t-18y5gc7DkZ5G4y_RjKY8/s400/killergerms.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693629741362933538" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 182px; height: 277px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Dad, you will LOVE this one! An easy to digest history of disease, health, and the good, bad, and ugly ways we've handled it all. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhjBPuhvVdnfg6mMMphVyKdtoONJEUrznycvf0f7RncqiaqK6c9ksu7mJPL5N92G4Yr_io6G9WLZs168i0Uz5ns-Q-oTEyX0hYuspDNdH6I1e6nNqKobA0gUpN-QnPl7auq0-eRrUOwfM/s1600/birth.jpeg" style="text-align: left; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhjBPuhvVdnfg6mMMphVyKdtoONJEUrznycvf0f7RncqiaqK6c9ksu7mJPL5N92G4Yr_io6G9WLZs168i0Uz5ns-Q-oTEyX0hYuspDNdH6I1e6nNqKobA0gUpN-QnPl7auq0-eRrUOwfM/s400/birth.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693629739024348850" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 189px; height: 266px; " /></a>Not nearly as wigged-out-crunchy-granola as it may sound to some. Simply empowers women to have extremely healthy, positive, happy, and empowered birth experiences. Very informative.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span ><b>So what are you reading these days?</b></span></div><div><br /></div>Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087307874165404494noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2854227869582486486.post-79380938357669635062012-01-03T21:46:00.000-05:002012-01-03T22:30:05.521-05:00Intentions.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1QLMKfvIAm8EUlWG63xIttjb_pAWW0LJ1U95CAZlm6xaLx_JiwhWctuaXnBm2YRubA3_NKh1IyVt-QWRwwG6t35AZskphRvcTSdTgxvShhCAPKqLGkXiqAJX8JvqQ9xByq0ML2fYEz_Q/s1600/BlogChristmas+-+15.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1QLMKfvIAm8EUlWG63xIttjb_pAWW0LJ1U95CAZlm6xaLx_JiwhWctuaXnBm2YRubA3_NKh1IyVt-QWRwwG6t35AZskphRvcTSdTgxvShhCAPKqLGkXiqAJX8JvqQ9xByq0ML2fYEz_Q/s400/BlogChristmas+-+15.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693610122449067378" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left; "><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left; ">New Year's Resolutions kinda suck.</span></div><div><br /></div><div>In my own personal experience, they tend to start off sweeping and grandiose, only to soon fade into the background, (as a constant, dim sense of nagging guilt), until eventually they are banished from my mind completely. </div><div><br /></div><div>In light of that, this year I've decided to choose "words of intention" for the entirety of 2012. Not so much specific goals, but overall concepts that I hope to integrate into every facet of my life in a deeper and more revolutionary way over the course of every day, every week, and every month, throughout the whole year. </div><div><br /></div><div>Narrowing my ideas was tough, but I managed to whittle it down to 4 core concepts that I want to fully embrace this year:</div><div><br /></div><div><b><span >Brave</span></b> - to be courageous in all circumstances, to be willing to get out of my comfort-zone.</div><div><br /></div><div><span ><b>Create</b></span> - to constantly be pouring creative energy into multiple positive and beautiful outlets.</div><div><br /></div><div><b><span >Learn</span></b> - to continually challenge and expand my mind by actively and critically thinking, absorbing, and devouring information. </div><div><br /></div><div><span ><b>Trust</b></span> - to lean on God completely and <i>not </i>on my own understanding. </div><div><br /></div><div>I've written each of my intention words on a chalkboard in the hallway outside our bedroom, so I'll be reminded of them constantly. I'll keep you up-to-date on my adventures in each area of this challenge!</div><div><br /></div><div>All that said, we just returned from 11 days of sparkly-Christmas-magic in warm, lovely, green, sea-kissed Florida, and it's taking me a bit of time to transition back into the 28-degree-real-world. </div><div><br /></div><div>But what an incredible trip. Highlight reel:</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>We won the gingerbread-house contest (clearly)</i></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm-0t5YuJVdDspTRZ2MpoSLRHZi6DxqQAmHJ-LIOQv-BS1mgz6oFPn2koVbnoN5aqPxvsXrIIhodZkWOl7mD1hChTsV9V1ffum61fG7ButtZUbjwbY3WLK47v8hyphenhyphenfcLrylihPTI-xJa9E/s1600/BlogChristmas+-+01.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm-0t5YuJVdDspTRZ2MpoSLRHZi6DxqQAmHJ-LIOQv-BS1mgz6oFPn2koVbnoN5aqPxvsXrIIhodZkWOl7mD1hChTsV9V1ffum61fG7ButtZUbjwbY3WLK47v8hyphenhyphenfcLrylihPTI-xJa9E/s400/BlogChristmas+-+01.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693609369182270562" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px; " /></a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>A candle-lit Christmas Eve</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNnnoX2vQrM-SDI1Xl6-cr0CO5zxUOSaAwDiaYd_bymJi09kpxPYbDrhJdkmlEUuk652lA14t99AGJ1TeIsLb6At-f30_m1QA6dY14q1BCt_OfSm92zh8DB9Z3u6sIetsoJlvVwxTNPJk/s1600/BlogChristmas+-+02.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNnnoX2vQrM-SDI1Xl6-cr0CO5zxUOSaAwDiaYd_bymJi09kpxPYbDrhJdkmlEUuk652lA14t99AGJ1TeIsLb6At-f30_m1QA6dY14q1BCt_OfSm92zh8DB9Z3u6sIetsoJlvVwxTNPJk/s400/BlogChristmas+-+02.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693609376338121346" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>PJ'd with the bros on Christmas morning</i></div><div><br /></div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoB7B1NdZcN11r0cS-4NNgIcDzNr_WMjKm7c738pbYMXtIbQEDeUbQNQVDS_YDfYjcfNozfKID2AcpgTswtXqRsmuPeu_iy1XnNs8PWQBjfQ4eE36JL4oCruzsQKK401MxDem8HOqWSn8/s400/BlogChristmas+-+03.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693609383543355794" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); text-decoration: underline; display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px; " /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>And lots and lots of <b>this glory</b></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTjmW8Vnd6hxrvqz08qwE7pqrKevajLLDxapb5DOu1TPWJFerV9J07tXfnumw7k6TYwMIq_4J-tbqhxD7-Xar1f96IG5OnRJLmyNZlcGn-v3dKm4cDJXGTxv1eOVKaVoIrs2SRNfbEq0c/s1600/BlogChristmas+-+04.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTjmW8Vnd6hxrvqz08qwE7pqrKevajLLDxapb5DOu1TPWJFerV9J07tXfnumw7k6TYwMIq_4J-tbqhxD7-Xar1f96IG5OnRJLmyNZlcGn-v3dKm4cDJXGTxv1eOVKaVoIrs2SRNfbEq0c/s400/BlogChristmas+-+04.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693609389327997266" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px; " /></a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1seiSgD82ICe9y3REix2_t8VInsVmVaG6yOEVzV3DVY0xf-10YVroTxfy5IoOGOo2_086RdburKPSwlxlUTXUKinAbjjXP_SOSlYwuZQj5lJ5ebee85ToLddxGw459EILEgVXUW70mDo/s1600/BlogChristmas+-+05.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1seiSgD82ICe9y3REix2_t8VInsVmVaG6yOEVzV3DVY0xf-10YVroTxfy5IoOGOo2_086RdburKPSwlxlUTXUKinAbjjXP_SOSlYwuZQj5lJ5ebee85ToLddxGw459EILEgVXUW70mDo/s400/BlogChristmas+-+05.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693609396921113682" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Kindle + ocean = <b>bliss</b></i></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxfw2fs3kV1hsWivmba8qosvhJb2dPuxRH0nJBlmwuW6RJ08rwLXDybKQ8j6ykb5atu82RESKcuAbPEUoy3oeWMdHeHfDcKSDFThghdVX1jtREjdz-An5cieUd65pcAqRZsA7bX7VEkXQ/s1600/BlogChristmas+-+06.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxfw2fs3kV1hsWivmba8qosvhJb2dPuxRH0nJBlmwuW6RJ08rwLXDybKQ8j6ykb5atu82RESKcuAbPEUoy3oeWMdHeHfDcKSDFThghdVX1jtREjdz-An5cieUd65pcAqRZsA7bX7VEkXQ/s400/BlogChristmas+-+06.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693609725392105234" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>My tribe</i></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA8arCA1iwFtd16kDdgN226XF9o3YtGmhfuMQHsfrbV4_6htj2vaKvAknxENU_eWRz081lJ-x3eSY280WVH-nhxsuqrewcjdIV9Uc4Kmgp_lhFLyt8FVrLB8I4pA2NA3Pkz1FEWWC4HBM/s1600/BlogChristmas+-+08.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA8arCA1iwFtd16kDdgN226XF9o3YtGmhfuMQHsfrbV4_6htj2vaKvAknxENU_eWRz081lJ-x3eSY280WVH-nhxsuqrewcjdIV9Uc4Kmgp_lhFLyt8FVrLB8I4pA2NA3Pkz1FEWWC4HBM/s400/BlogChristmas+-+08.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693609736227005314" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 260px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>My favorite guys in the world</i></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Yj5Wt68olYxk3vmXdtjYUXFZCMoqYTYrR9iX7WSoOtdNV5LZ_xethIzZRNWHUF1rD9PWn9aVjLpWfGLWPrsLwOtqe43bEue39oOBtJAoIJjO1gBirmlIvHiPGPrpet_SmBHPOWlxUJM/s1600/BlogChristmas+-+09.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Yj5Wt68olYxk3vmXdtjYUXFZCMoqYTYrR9iX7WSoOtdNV5LZ_xethIzZRNWHUF1rD9PWn9aVjLpWfGLWPrsLwOtqe43bEue39oOBtJAoIJjO1gBirmlIvHiPGPrpet_SmBHPOWlxUJM/s400/BlogChristmas+-+09.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693609739264568082" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 292px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Mom and I gettin' all fancy at Lady Anne's Tea Room</i></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYKAEg2aEobxMafULyJ_Eb58OfBhWgGO4wCj5ABVaaSzEHwd1UwQ6_NwXkTrKqi__nMDVve16mMS9xoUwf7YBEJP0iQsD3fhNqMfbLwBpt5V7ZblPXGWcYSH5Utmc4Bds3j-KVddsYODQ/s1600/BlogChristmas+-+07.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYKAEg2aEobxMafULyJ_Eb58OfBhWgGO4wCj5ABVaaSzEHwd1UwQ6_NwXkTrKqi__nMDVve16mMS9xoUwf7YBEJP0iQsD3fhNqMfbLwBpt5V7ZblPXGWcYSH5Utmc4Bds3j-KVddsYODQ/s400/BlogChristmas+-+07.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693609729265241666" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 298px; height: 400px; " /></a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Plenty of whimsical sand-art</i></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVJjobmxjAwXTaTBXtCNMF2cZ_uVkW3VPmdnLO2s8A3LAlcWbf87T0rs7tV2Pksqr9tSb8Zrhnmvq-O79RqgZGlPMnosxuFe2GPgQrl-Up-nCPCz5JLo2M2cK4tGh0bKa8z122lZvA5hU/s1600/BlogChristmas+-+13.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVJjobmxjAwXTaTBXtCNMF2cZ_uVkW3VPmdnLO2s8A3LAlcWbf87T0rs7tV2Pksqr9tSb8Zrhnmvq-O79RqgZGlPMnosxuFe2GPgQrl-Up-nCPCz5JLo2M2cK4tGh0bKa8z122lZvA5hU/s400/BlogChristmas+-+13.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693610107921742690" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px; " /></a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>And QT with this fine-lookin' man</i></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFf4Xzu8Gz_N9XEDwixwwiueMCtWdx27rYjXpofv80T4B0EyHXD7heRnrsb05nA9GXyXJyAV4Bmju_TCJEaXmTJdzPvNDsmooacZg5KMuZFDvSbUvQyFzSLwO_xDnLWjvcW7_cnApR_8Q/s1600/BlogChristmas+-+12.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFf4Xzu8Gz_N9XEDwixwwiueMCtWdx27rYjXpofv80T4B0EyHXD7heRnrsb05nA9GXyXJyAV4Bmju_TCJEaXmTJdzPvNDsmooacZg5KMuZFDvSbUvQyFzSLwO_xDnLWjvcW7_cnApR_8Q/s400/BlogChristmas+-+12.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693610097933073042" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 311px; height: 400px; " /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirVY7kg6PNI9N1sLVGGk_l3mtQDfFi3nDe9IB90uxMsLZBGXBZ-ho332KLILjoWLVtIF6qhTv2-sMu2sJXlR39lmWsGFaJP__JGbwwuqrwndSzBAXOIGOojT_pUgVuOojWfVfGyVuaM_E/s1600/BlogChristmas+-+11.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirVY7kg6PNI9N1sLVGGk_l3mtQDfFi3nDe9IB90uxMsLZBGXBZ-ho332KLILjoWLVtIF6qhTv2-sMu2sJXlR39lmWsGFaJP__JGbwwuqrwndSzBAXOIGOojT_pUgVuOojWfVfGyVuaM_E/s400/BlogChristmas+-+11.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693610092285524994" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 320px; " /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Oh how I love him</i></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIehaK_fuV7LjApPtWT7VI9IUk7P18k21YWeyloqNnQE2ilBIX3r8IfvPqaWbWbx1zrWO5hQbpFTg4Qt_8Rn-dIxsIhGTiIyfWmwbYkOOvL1jTpA7uRtmzs7V5BFqoeF00JZfxEayU_54/s1600/BlogChristmas+-+10.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIehaK_fuV7LjApPtWT7VI9IUk7P18k21YWeyloqNnQE2ilBIX3r8IfvPqaWbWbx1zrWO5hQbpFTg4Qt_8Rn-dIxsIhGTiIyfWmwbYkOOvL1jTpA7uRtmzs7V5BFqoeF00JZfxEayU_54/s400/BlogChristmas+-+10.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693609742561517074" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 332px; height: 400px; " /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Sparklers + New Year's Eve + a cookout on the beach = best fun ever</i></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcku7fu74fRuQl18YkP6L65dQH3_19hJZH0oXVHhG_MvKtE8refhaheDGoLBxsA4yfiX1D_Dn590ZfDcB9d9r260brXOgI8KJ56IcI12TdOGcn8RL0tGbw2mDPfF-164xfv2T05OfZTcc/s1600/BlogChristmas+-+14.jpg"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcku7fu74fRuQl18YkP6L65dQH3_19hJZH0oXVHhG_MvKtE8refhaheDGoLBxsA4yfiX1D_Dn590ZfDcB9d9r260brXOgI8KJ56IcI12TdOGcn8RL0tGbw2mDPfF-164xfv2T05OfZTcc/s400/BlogChristmas+-+14.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5693610112964974562" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px; " /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>So yeah, it was thebomb.com. I miss them already. Like crazy. But now I'm diving into 2012 with both feet. Cheers to a year filled with adventures, new experiences, new knowledge, and more love than we know what to do with! Happy New Year! </div>Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087307874165404494noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2854227869582486486.post-38754001429715797492012-01-01T20:30:00.001-05:002012-01-01T20:33:18.374-05:00Happy New Year!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkjCJ-n67Ny08ei9ZgJtZxgOe_cnYjh03YK8dbmpVX-cYFnlAlnWP6Ta9EqGPaOhtx-l93W7ONovCbhbny4Syf9FNjmI8mcvkMgMlneOto_wJqXtVlf6mf_ZJ5hicyd7sZQc4LG0hAtiA/s1600/NewYearCard.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 354px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkjCJ-n67Ny08ei9ZgJtZxgOe_cnYjh03YK8dbmpVX-cYFnlAlnWP6Ta9EqGPaOhtx-l93W7ONovCbhbny4Syf9FNjmI8mcvkMgMlneOto_wJqXtVlf6mf_ZJ5hicyd7sZQc4LG0hAtiA/s400/NewYearCard.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5692841189274292274" /></a><div><div style="text-align: center;"><u>(Long, drawn-out Holiday post to come)</u></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></div>Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087307874165404494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2854227869582486486.post-22456931862206225592011-12-07T20:54:00.000-05:002011-12-07T21:58:57.413-05:00Tis' the season to think before you drink.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh713bxDRyIy6HoqxBPrWTZb6_e1JcEOmMKM75xNLJtCcOkEsDHNvn_pa5cVY0CmlxXPKcsgoVXAlO443UeE_cgHV5_2ALGcoiTM6dVPL7l7LdfojjxcB6pHM2QBkCo2XCeX1zP4hlzzG8/s1600/evil.jpeg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 224px; height: 225px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh713bxDRyIy6HoqxBPrWTZb6_e1JcEOmMKM75xNLJtCcOkEsDHNvn_pa5cVY0CmlxXPKcsgoVXAlO443UeE_cgHV5_2ALGcoiTM6dVPL7l7LdfojjxcB6pHM2QBkCo2XCeX1zP4hlzzG8/s400/evil.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5683572022712828802" /></a><br /><div>I've been avoiding Starbucks for some time now. I used to be a bit of an addict, spending <i>way</i> too much money sucking down venti non-fat iced caramel macchiatos at the slightest provocation. But I'm married to an <i>(extreme)</i> coffee-snob, and pretty soon the lure of <i>truly</i> good coffee got ahold of me. (Seriously, a very recent roasting combined with fresh grinding and proper brewing techniques makes<b><i> all</i></b> the difference in the world. I had no idea. But it's<i> amazing.</i>) Starbucks just has no idea how to make a decent cup of actual coffee without drowning it in sugar, cream, and syrup. But even then, I still enjoyed the occasional frou-frou drink from the 'bucks until an unfortunate incident with an uber-dodgy creeper pushed me away forever. (Long story.) But now, after reading some alarming information, I've decided to start whole-heartedly boycotting Starbucks. And perhaps you should consider it too. </div><div><br /></div><div>You see, Starbucks does not own a fleet of coffee-farming Oompa-Loompas that live in their factories and supply their products. Actual human coffee growers in places like Uganda do the dirty work. Salome Kafuluzi, who lives on a coffee farm with her thirteen children, says "We're broke. We're not happy. We're failing at everything. We can't buy essentials. We can't have meat, fish, [or] rice[...] We can't send the children to school." Because of a dangerous food-distribution bottleneck and a lack of subsistence options for farmers, farmers like these are literally earning <b><i>14 cents per kilo</i></b> of raw coffee beans that they produce. At another step in the assembly line, one of the larger coffee exporters in Uganda is <i>happy</i> to be making a profit of <b style="font-style: italic; ">$10 a ton, or 1 cent per kilo</b> on what he exports. Farmers who are actually trying to increase their share of the final price of coffee are finding themselves facing the mighty opposition of the food industry. Ethiopian farmers recently applied to turn their signature coffee bean names - Sidamo, Harar, and Yirgacheffe - into trademarks, a move that might increase their share of the revenue by 25%. They were opposed almost instantly by Starbucks. Acting out of desperation and with a very limited number of ways to keep some food on their tables, these farmers are forced to keep churning out coffee beans to huge companies for an almost nonexistent profit. And too me, that's just <i style="font-weight: bold; ">not ok. </i>I will not let my desire for a Christmassy peppermint mocha drive me to drop another enabling $5 into Starbucks' lap. They won't receive another dime from me. </div><div><br /></div><div>So what can <b><i>you </i></b>do? Start by chuckin' the 'bucks. Seek out fair-trade coffee products, which means that the people who are growing those beans are being compensated fairly for their labor and products. Visit your local independent coffee shop and ask them questions about where and how their beans are grown. Do they support ethical coffee? If you live in the Columbia area, Peace Love and Rocky Roast is a great option (and right up the road from Starbucks!), and they make a darn tasty cuppa joe. When you buy coffee to brew at home, choose fair-trade. Locally, Indah Coffee Co. sells some of the tastiest beans around at the All Local Farmer's Market. There are delicious, ethical options that you can feel good about investing in all around you if you look for them.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm not trying to get all hippy-crunchy-granola on you, but I do think that we need to <b><i>think</i></b> before we vote with our dollars on the purchases we make everyday. What are your thoughts?</div><div><br /></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" >(All statistics from "Stuffed and Starved: The Hidden Battle for the World Food System" by Raj Patel)</span></i></div>Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087307874165404494noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2854227869582486486.post-46413539770201350972011-11-06T21:44:00.000-05:002011-11-06T22:20:18.499-05:00Whoa - so is this some kind of seasonal thing??<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnx4sZI816uK7l9dYa9xjUY1rZ71KKqAHnnyw6d6i5sR0UkGnfIhyLMXMJilZj-UPhbx9YqUkWC0wJIGZZ8SD6Rv2jm2MNjS0lPSu24EU8GOaDNK5M6HL9uG_UQZb5jXEE-QvSwqX7PqI/s1600/juggler"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 184px; height: 256px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnx4sZI816uK7l9dYa9xjUY1rZ71KKqAHnnyw6d6i5sR0UkGnfIhyLMXMJilZj-UPhbx9YqUkWC0wJIGZZ8SD6Rv2jm2MNjS0lPSu24EU8GOaDNK5M6HL9uG_UQZb5jXEE-QvSwqX7PqI/s400/juggler" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672086637636566690" border="0" /></a><br />So tonight I planned to re-vamp and re-post a blog a wrote a while back about "having it all together," because lately I've really been struggling with just that. So I went into my archives to find that old blog, and, low and behold, <span style="font-style: italic;">I wrote it last year on November 7th. </span><br /><br />Whoa.<br /><br />So is this just a seasonal perfectionist syndrome? Is anyone else feeling it too? Feel free to jump on my bandwagon. There's lots of room.<br /><br />Cause I have a confession to make.<br /><br />I want to seem like I have it all together. <span style="font-style: italic;">All the time.</span><br /><br />A home that sparkles with Martha Stewart-esque perfection and creativity. Delicious, healthy, organic meals direct from my kitchen every day. A high-intensity workout routine that never slips from my daily schedule. Hair, skin, and clothes that always look put-together, fun, and chic. Spectacular performance at my full-time ministry job, single-handedly changing the world one student at a time. Constant communion with my Savior. Insanely brilliant writing, dance, and art projects just pouring from my mind like an open faucet of genius. Words and attitudes that are <span style="font-style: italic;">always</span> full of mercy and grace. And of course, the <span style="font-style: italic;">ideal</span> marriage: minimal conflict + maximum oneness, intimacy, and fun.<br /><br />But seriously, who wants to be friends with <span style="font-style: italic;">that girl?</span><br /><br />It's funny how we so treasure transparency in others, but we rarely like to be vulnerable enough to show it in ourselves.<br /><br />So here's some transparency for ya: when I get home from a long day at my job, I <span style="font-style: italic;">do not </span>want to do housework. So some chores get put off. Behind our tightly shut laundry room doors, there's probably 3 entire loads of clean laundry stacked like the leaning tower of Pisa, completely ignored and untouched for who knows how long. I forget to do important things like send thank-you notes, check the tire pressure on my car, and fill the tank up with gas. And just the other day, I sobbed and babbled to my husband late into the night because I was feeling like I had no one else in my life who really cared or wanted to listen to me.<br /><br />I've always <span style="font-style: italic;">thought</span> I was a very transparent person, but maybe I'm wrong about that. Because of the clenched feeling in the pit of my stomach that writing that paragraph gave me. You see, I don't really want <span style="font-style: italic;">anyone</span> to know those things about me. Because on some level I <span style="font-style: italic;">want </span>to maintain the shiny facade that I really can keep all the plates spinning without having a nervous breakdown.<br /><br />But I'm starting to learn that I just need to RELAX.<strong style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"></strong><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"></span><br /><br />Sometimes, a few of the balls I'm juggling are going to get dropped. I'm <span style="font-style: italic;">not </span>going to be the best at everything. In the great scheme of things, that's really not a big deal. The world will not stop spinning because I am not personally turning the handle to make it go 'round. Because it's <span style="font-style: italic;">just not about me</span>. God is oh-so-much bigger than I am, and He already has everything taken care of.<br /><br /><strong style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"></strong><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Zechariah 4:6</span><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">So he said to me, “This is the word of the LORD [...] ‘Not by might nor by power, but by my Spirit,’ says the LORD Almighty.</span><br /><br />So no, I don't have it all together.<br /><br />And that is starting to be A-OK with me.<br /><br />Want to come over for a cup of coffee in my messy kitchen? I won't even do the dishes before you show up.Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087307874165404494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2854227869582486486.post-9595904742711468242011-10-31T21:32:00.000-04:002011-11-01T22:41:05.580-04:00November? Seriously??<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqBSBXK0rouG-UwFSiGlgOuOH4GHuR8utBmliCEabpt4Wp7bxHGktLQMd1dGvf5Tg17UvR5TUetCcQcFSorX1M2KTT64xVHGS77X-DxYoI_oSsz6vtyiwciYgZoWka-DlVA02IQYnwY5o/s1600/Library+-+3733.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqBSBXK0rouG-UwFSiGlgOuOH4GHuR8utBmliCEabpt4Wp7bxHGktLQMd1dGvf5Tg17UvR5TUetCcQcFSorX1M2KTT64xVHGS77X-DxYoI_oSsz6vtyiwciYgZoWka-DlVA02IQYnwY5o/s400/Library+-+3733.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670216505212602498" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Not gonna lie, I totally <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">love</span> Halloween.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />Not creepy-crawly-gory-scary-screamy Halloween, but warm-cozy-great-friends-fun-costumes-fabulous-parties-pumpkins-and-goodies Halloween.<br /><br />Last night, after a visit from our <span style="font-weight: bold;">one </span><span style="font-style: italic;">(yes, one) </span>trick-or-treater, Braden and I curled up by the light of our pumpkin "owl" to watch some fun zombie-themed shenanigans together, putting the cherry on top of a perfectly fabulous Halloween weekend.<br /><br />Thursday, my best-friend-forever came into town after 10 months of separation, and it was just heavenly to have her nearby!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoKuuAwcBZOaTfGJ_fsb9CfoeW_4dCSHSC0HM2MHMSP0ahEDzKhlKhiop1N5LJd8XcrcNEOIknyCk0uLsbZVWNG9ink9sUEWwefw433EdmXfCztoaCHsTjhxHQBkdCspTa6tdaAZ4gxFc/s1600/Library+-+3650.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoKuuAwcBZOaTfGJ_fsb9CfoeW_4dCSHSC0HM2MHMSP0ahEDzKhlKhiop1N5LJd8XcrcNEOIknyCk0uLsbZVWNG9ink9sUEWwefw433EdmXfCztoaCHsTjhxHQBkdCspTa6tdaAZ4gxFc/s400/Library+-+3650.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670220863216938770" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">(We get a little ridiculous when we're together)</span><br /><br />Friday, we hosted our annual Autumn Masquerade Extravaganza!<br /><br />(Can you guess who I am?)<br /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTmVq9aef7QtyB2hwHkerA3yFqQ49VfTpK8OKak2Fe4WRcACvEZypa4ImzJLZ9neTeJTs6yWzIzW8tlFtY6hKS9ceCMoPlg5q7ENWDvYR1zghw4PWyu9B3PFt1c9LyGS5QVzTyu2_rqC8/s1600/Library+-+3735.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTmVq9aef7QtyB2hwHkerA3yFqQ49VfTpK8OKak2Fe4WRcACvEZypa4ImzJLZ9neTeJTs6yWzIzW8tlFtY6hKS9ceCMoPlg5q7ENWDvYR1zghw4PWyu9B3PFt1c9LyGS5QVzTyu2_rqC8/s400/Library+-+3735.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670216494625680082" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">(Think board games... childhood... sugary goodness...)</span><br /><br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgVXnYs4_AbflzuGhD7uqME2d5zhQfpiFjN69zVxn8Ev01SLctJYGtCZRyvVg8QESmJ1lbD3Xq1AfViJEqw2rs5ekt0Ust5c8uRyGmjysq73AK-1YsiOCo7tqsP2-VUnaqcEVBCddfRRI/s1600/Library+-+3734.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgVXnYs4_AbflzuGhD7uqME2d5zhQfpiFjN69zVxn8Ev01SLctJYGtCZRyvVg8QESmJ1lbD3Xq1AfViJEqw2rs5ekt0Ust5c8uRyGmjysq73AK-1YsiOCo7tqsP2-VUnaqcEVBCddfRRI/s400/Library+-+3734.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670216497114817122" border="0" /></a><br />Give up? I'm Candyland's Queen Frostine!<span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />(See the resemblance?)<br /><br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6COhG9fCbG49jt2D_YKxiRXN7WoM_Es2eMefwtMn1XdLgIC-ttPbTw6v-ECr8XsxVMODvdsUoe2XoWsAp3u9mPjtbEuLinAWCAwwZiOu7zCCRpuvCIr2425xMPE-jaiJgea6Fmmd2-Hk/s1600/queen"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 324px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6COhG9fCbG49jt2D_YKxiRXN7WoM_Es2eMefwtMn1XdLgIC-ttPbTw6v-ECr8XsxVMODvdsUoe2XoWsAp3u9mPjtbEuLinAWCAwwZiOu7zCCRpuvCIr2425xMPE-jaiJgea6Fmmd2-Hk/s400/queen" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670222630490023618" border="0" /></a><br />(And 100 bonus points to anyone who can guess Braden's costume!)<br /><br />Saturday evening, Braden and I enjoyed one of our fave October traditions - Columbia City Ballet's fabulous version of Dracula! (Which was <span style="font-style: italic;">seriously </span>better than ever this year. I mean, they worked "Party Rock Anthem" into the choreography. How cool is that??) Followed by busting out Queen Frostine one more time for yet another costume bash. It was an incredible weekend. Wish you were here!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKlbRzWxc6_zSnmmMMaQQ8l3krVtoeLb-eRCLQAN3S8SfJ5sUlvgHpIAkpd0DQ11luVmXOgg4oAPYrFtzcz91SjplU57ppEFNWCDGVxu_oQgou4pugG05Yf99UKl9S0iw0WAsJ7P5cA8U/s1600/Library+-+3655.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKlbRzWxc6_zSnmmMMaQQ8l3krVtoeLb-eRCLQAN3S8SfJ5sUlvgHpIAkpd0DQ11luVmXOgg4oAPYrFtzcz91SjplU57ppEFNWCDGVxu_oQgou4pugG05Yf99UKl9S0iw0WAsJ7P5cA8U/s400/Library+-+3655.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670220874077166530" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglwCitrtcjUYbJAygVgZHpe2W_mzLDrxeCTXl_RSHdF5fWfpykWrCAOOc7k31Kgc7kjPcJr4VSGx_U061Rh_6zmrjOJCV2JwzIPY-QjNvfMg11QazI5GOtGXf4HlDpic3LPBBICIPzzkg/s1600/Library+-+3651.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglwCitrtcjUYbJAygVgZHpe2W_mzLDrxeCTXl_RSHdF5fWfpykWrCAOOc7k31Kgc7kjPcJr4VSGx_U061Rh_6zmrjOJCV2JwzIPY-QjNvfMg11QazI5GOtGXf4HlDpic3LPBBICIPzzkg/s400/Library+-+3651.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670220867350165170" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE5kGrBiw0ip3uUjoFpotlY31bQJVHwb59PbImAuKSNGorCP4Vjeq6HhvtyrhKtZULILwfvOc3YXAjmBMhhjgaRk0RnCl0rl_EiPOnXj0V6TYhkG66Ygt-V0AISz-4GV3fbaHsnCA4qBg/s1600/Library+-+3649.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE5kGrBiw0ip3uUjoFpotlY31bQJVHwb59PbImAuKSNGorCP4Vjeq6HhvtyrhKtZULILwfvOc3YXAjmBMhhjgaRk0RnCl0rl_EiPOnXj0V6TYhkG66Ygt-V0AISz-4GV3fbaHsnCA4qBg/s400/Library+-+3649.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670219452794864098" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoTRMkfmBaYAgjrOzjgNFRdrNmdWdS8gg66R3IJ4O0YOU0pZUFo2NSgzGjtFt28poLTSNw44lAJFRRgT9N972g4eD4-iiddV5mxsyTpTweUJv43XirZvp_vtlfLXB-JIhnGjHhvUabO-A/s1600/Library+-+3647.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoTRMkfmBaYAgjrOzjgNFRdrNmdWdS8gg66R3IJ4O0YOU0pZUFo2NSgzGjtFt28poLTSNw44lAJFRRgT9N972g4eD4-iiddV5mxsyTpTweUJv43XirZvp_vtlfLXB-JIhnGjHhvUabO-A/s400/Library+-+3647.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670220854612049314" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGUqMugroGweVvU4zqFnxakvn0tAdPkKX0a3341Xo5WsegorRuldUN3gnN4-HICpbuDoCEhoX5nFu3CRPKKcK2kZNhlMxhw9alJE8NSuDIShMC6D3FgbGwzyT1BrbW2CSr9R1pyfbj9wI/s1600/Library+-+3662.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 298px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGUqMugroGweVvU4zqFnxakvn0tAdPkKX0a3341Xo5WsegorRuldUN3gnN4-HICpbuDoCEhoX5nFu3CRPKKcK2kZNhlMxhw9alJE8NSuDIShMC6D3FgbGwzyT1BrbW2CSr9R1pyfbj9wI/s400/Library+-+3662.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670220856870854962" border="0" /></a><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEyiDfozXh6Rwt_BNLhGv_MCPOvA2wnzIEqbZnsJ5NZXL1kYgoSFj7De5fv8wDTakc0cKL8CdhgJMqqU31LnkZE4Kh1o9kwZtE20aD8bjU4NCB1E6dedVNKnjEQ7tqSkfkWEc36EL0QN0/s1600/Library+-+3736.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEyiDfozXh6Rwt_BNLhGv_MCPOvA2wnzIEqbZnsJ5NZXL1kYgoSFj7De5fv8wDTakc0cKL8CdhgJMqqU31LnkZE4Kh1o9kwZtE20aD8bjU4NCB1E6dedVNKnjEQ7tqSkfkWEc36EL0QN0/s400/Library+-+3736.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670216489935514370" border="0" /></a>Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087307874165404494noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2854227869582486486.post-21752325627199736492011-10-26T21:35:00.000-04:002011-10-26T22:58:27.407-04:00A Wrecky Homage.So I don't know about you, but I am a HUGE fan of <a href="http://www.cakewrecks.com/">Cake Wrecks.</a> It never fails to be fall-out-cho-chair hilarious. So because of those fine writers, I now always keep my eyes open for horrific cake jobs for my own amusement.<br /><br />Now, I would never even <span style="font-style: italic;">consider</span> elevating myself to the freshly-baked fabulosity that defines the Wreckinators, but after coming across some fairly amusing cakes recently, I thought I might offer an homage through my own commentary. <a href="http://www.cakewrecks.com/"><br /><br /></a><div style="text-align: center;">First, we have a sassy "zebra striped" cake.<br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ_EgIwdvo7CdVdBjhIf1dMopBF5b60OU03wrXWhhWdyRfgyWC5Uk-QdYF57U6pebhnLOw6dC2IX3g_STI3EPBGnTSRoyulpzqzMvLmKPnFg_cIutLjnwu39XMrEhCNEH17KH8SiQnyzo/s1600/Library+-+3353.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 276px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ_EgIwdvo7CdVdBjhIf1dMopBF5b60OU03wrXWhhWdyRfgyWC5Uk-QdYF57U6pebhnLOw6dC2IX3g_STI3EPBGnTSRoyulpzqzMvLmKPnFg_cIutLjnwu39XMrEhCNEH17KH8SiQnyzo/s400/Library+-+3353.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667982062921023170" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">I'm seeing more of a "crawling with leeches" look, but hey, the pink roses really cheer it up.<br /></div><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Next up, a charming pond of goldfish...<br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidsjgUu-jR5DZgO3V1ihsCnjjpMW9zcHQ6f0dnmC99pQFStRkR520AHghffWvcQLR1XanW4FSVAm2HosRHfG7InOTLki5804tGMrqucW5dt4S1EQsi-IGhbZaCr69xyOqei7zN3fJwryo/s1600/Library+-+3351.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 333px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidsjgUu-jR5DZgO3V1ihsCnjjpMW9zcHQ6f0dnmC99pQFStRkR520AHghffWvcQLR1XanW4FSVAm2HosRHfG7InOTLki5804tGMrqucW5dt4S1EQsi-IGhbZaCr69xyOqei7zN3fJwryo/s400/Library+-+3351.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667982047339498434" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">I don't know if it's the horrifically detached tails, the bulging eyes, or the cherry-red, collagen injected lips, but these fish seem to bring to mind an atomic waste situation more than a cute lil' bowl of pets.<br /><br /><br />And last but not least...<br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMghj_8CbuRr6w70A4l8ym1xJveN6mCIsUIFeSmVjmZC2hgO2zwrOW6a_PHdhq9AR-4jTOwtzBHy36QV546YZ_HWic3LC5M9SR6mr4TRgyaJB_u6Evkab7VuhQ9Y9TbEc_BSoQgT7WuNY/s1600/Library+-+3350.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 252px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMghj_8CbuRr6w70A4l8ym1xJveN6mCIsUIFeSmVjmZC2hgO2zwrOW6a_PHdhq9AR-4jTOwtzBHy36QV546YZ_HWic3LC5M9SR6mr4TRgyaJB_u6Evkab7VuhQ9Y9TbEc_BSoQgT7WuNY/s400/Library+-+3350.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667982049035289538" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">AAAAAAAAAHHHHH!! Stuff a doll in a cake, add some elaborate hair flotsam, stick on a bunch of plastic spiders, and you've got <span style="font-style: italic;">Halloween gold! </span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">(The the best part? All of these cakes were found <span style="font-style: italic;">together</span> in the same bakery case at my local Bi-Lo!)</span><br /><br />And on that note, are <span style="font-style: italic;">you</span> ready for Halloween weekend? I'm getting excited. Here's a sneak-peak at my costume:<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1iKHd4fvjo0Tl_Yg_r-XupEj0JcYKXcKSJyGtttYFyc_njgkLBmvt8C1zKv7c5ayQULjhAe32BP5poS20D_TDYkfeoNjNLyabsbqIcLuuOTpt0y5aK0oI23ctdwBxUjE9Y3GZl8atVTQ/s1600/Library+-+3579.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1iKHd4fvjo0Tl_Yg_r-XupEj0JcYKXcKSJyGtttYFyc_njgkLBmvt8C1zKv7c5ayQULjhAe32BP5poS20D_TDYkfeoNjNLyabsbqIcLuuOTpt0y5aK0oI23ctdwBxUjE9Y3GZl8atVTQ/s400/Library+-+3579.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667982231748775378" border="0" /></a><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisw4fmAWy7G7occ7M3O057EC8lCSJ5OdzhgPu1r34XWjUH8vS-Ajf75moqPpG_7Za5_IL-2d8blgKKWpfKuqDRwK0xAQe12Vzdi9RZiFKwoDooWk8IMww9nih6SaOVzxe2lTrmiuUXQw0/s1600/Library+-+3578.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisw4fmAWy7G7occ7M3O057EC8lCSJ5OdzhgPu1r34XWjUH8vS-Ajf75moqPpG_7Za5_IL-2d8blgKKWpfKuqDRwK0xAQe12Vzdi9RZiFKwoDooWk8IMww9nih6SaOVzxe2lTrmiuUXQw0/s400/Library+-+3578.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667982074625292274" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Any guesses? Stay tuned for the big reveal this weekend! Happy Wednesday!<br /></div>Kimberlyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04087307874165404494noreply@blogger.com1