I thought I’d sort of continue on from where I left off yesterday (and then life goes on). Things happen; usually a bunch of things have to happen in order to arrest our attention – unless someone yells, Fire! or someone comes in bloody or the phone rings in the middle of the night. Those things get out attention. Unfortunately, there are a whole bunch of other things happening (and not happening) that don’t get out attention — at least not until some crisis happens. Even then, we may address the interruption and move on… never seeing — really seeing…
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In the midst of a transition, it’s really hard sometimes to see that things are ever going to change — be any different — than they are today. It’s hard to see past today sometimes. Well, actually, it’s hard to see past the moment sometimes. I’ve found this to be true so many times — and, like most things that happen to me, I learn that they are, or have been, happening to others as well. Trouble is, most of the time, we’re too isolated (or proud) to confess where we are or what we’ve done — especially if it’s…
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You know I’ve written about internet addition… e-mail… group list mail addiction… AOL… Geocities… One-List… eGroups… screen addiction… information addiction… whatever could be looked up… early on: Ask Jeeves. Bling. Ask him… ask him anything. Then Yahoo, then Google… click, click, click… Bling. You’ve got mail… Bling! Click, click, click… Blogs! Bling! Facebook. Bling! Pinterest. Bling! I write what I’m learning… I share what I see, what I experience, what God is teaching me. You know; through a series of trials, disappointments and losses I was presented face to face with the reality that I was/am an internet addict. By…
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I’m going to write a part of the rest of the story today. You know how Paul Harvey used to close his commentary — just before that seemingly eternal pause before he’d say (or seem to say it in the form of a question): good. day.; he’d say: And now you know… the rest of the story. Nearly 6 years ago I wrote a letter to the father who raised me… the man who married my mother, adopted me (and my brother) and two years after that, he took me down a road that would, on many levels, totally change…
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The older I get, the more I see it: the look — the longing look in a mother’s eyes when things didn’t turn out like she hoped. It’s not necessarily disappointment or despair or even bitterness — it’s just sort of: sorrow. There’s another look, too — it’s the hopeful look in a mother’s eyes at the mention of one of her children, a memory or an event from days gone by… it’s joy. Joy is in her eyes. Well, that’s what I’ve come to think motherhood’s all about: joys and sorrows. Motherhood is a call to sorrow; Motherhood’s a…
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What if you knew today was the last day you’d be alive. What would you do — or how would you spend this day? It seems that most of the time people think of what’s on their “bucket list” — you know, the list of stuff people want to do before they die. I don’t know why the thought of death triggers an urgency to get out the bucket list to see what could be done. But I was thinking that, in reality, the bucket list is a pretty self-serving deal and pretty much adds nothing to the lives left…
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A dear friend recently wrote a letter regarding losing vision and had several thoughts regarding the danger of lacking vision, and the importance of having vision or purpose. I’ve mulled that over. And over. I empathized and I actually sort of felt sick at the thought, the tragic thought of losing vision. And then it struck me (but it wasn’t the first time) that I’ve lost vision. If you’ve never “lost vision” before, then it’s probably hard to understand how someone could go along, have a great track to run on and then suddenly lose vision. But it happens. And…
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Though in many ways it seems longer, it was a year ago today that the Lord gave us a great gift in the form of a miracle. We know it was by the grace of God that Timothy, who was deathly sick with cerebral malaria, awoke from a coma. Our family had been at the Oregon Coast for a family reunion; Timothy had just returned from Ghana, West Africa. He was sick and getting worse by the day. After several days and medication for what was thought to be Typhoid, his condition was grave, he was so thin and frail;…
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I know. I’d probably grimace if one of my kids started an essay: “Stuff’s going to work out.” But, it’s on my mind today: stuff — and how it works out. But I want to begin by saying: stuff’s probably not going to work out how you thought it would — or even how you hoped it would — but, truly, in the end, stuff’s going to work out. Last year, the year you’ve heard me describe as the most sorrowful year of my life, I heard a song… it was one of two songs that so resonated with me…
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Browsing through a bunch of papers and stuff… a slip of paper… the quote: “It is in the quiet crucible of your personal private sufferings that your noblest dreams are born and Gods greatest gifts are given in compensation for what you’ve been through. –Wintley Phipps The paper is yellowed, the ink is smudged. I mull the quote over in my mind – having done so many times before, I reflect on what it’s meant to me – what it means to me today. I know it’d be real easy to just think on the first part… the crucible part…