tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86948358937264617552024-03-06T00:02:56.557-08:00Worth Your Wasted TimeLHoneyJoneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16094061646020933507noreply@blogger.comBlogger66125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8694835893726461755.post-15602571492616561552019-12-22T14:27:00.000-08:002019-12-22T14:27:26.698-08:00Grammy Jo and the Babies
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<span style="font-size: small;">During three years of seminary (many years ago) I spent the majority of my free time with the same dear friend. Mrs. Jo and I walked through those days, side by side, sharing life. I had two small children she referred to as “the babies” and she had free time afforded by retirement. I peppered her with questions like a ticker tape machine, gleaning from her vast well of practical knowledge. I learned how to quilt, can, bake petit fours, grease a bundt pan to perfection, and cook a fine pan of cornbread in my cast iron skillet. Mrs. Jo had a family tree with sons, daughters in law, grandchildren, family, and friends that filled her life. Yet, she still had space to draw me and my little family into her heart. She made us her own and adored us like a rare and valuable treasure.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Most of our collective days were filled with the mundane. However, there were a few excruciating weeks following the impossible diagnosis of her oldest son’s brain cancer. I brought “the babies” to visit with her and her husband as often as possible. We couldn’t fix the hurt but we were most definitely a distraction. The moment she called to tell me her son had been healed in heaven I rushed to her house to be by her side. I asked, “give me a task, what can I do?” Mrs. Jo handed me a bottle of pledge and a dust cloth. She said, “this house is filthy and is about to be filled with people.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> I understood her prioritized cleanliness and the need for being busy.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">In a chapel talk years ago, Rev. Anthony Carter described two types of friendships. Those that make sense and those that can only be described as “In the Lord” relationships. Mrs. Jo and I had little in common as far as hobbies, bedtime, and daily tasks. But we both loved Jesus and had time to pour into one another. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Sunday morning brought the news of this beloved friend's passing. I am so thankful for the role Grammy Jo played during long and lonely hours while Andy was flooded with seminary and pastoring. I will never forget those saturated seminary days by her side nor the sporadic conversations sprinkled through the decades since. I will also never stop making her cornbread in my cast iron skillet.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">“The Gospel makes strange friends.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">-Rev. Anthony Carter</span></div>
<br />LHoneyJoneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16094061646020933507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8694835893726461755.post-88223022370052314582019-03-14T05:02:00.000-07:002019-03-14T15:40:23.858-07:00#BeLT<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">At the conclusion of every episode, Mr. Rogers would look deeply into the camera, reaching the minds of children everywhere and say two simple words, "You're special". In the documentary Won't You Be My Neighbor Rogers elaborates, "'You're special' means, you don't have to do anything exceptional to be loved by those who love you." With mad respect to Mr. Rogers I would dig a little bit deeper. You're also special because the gifts God has bestowed making you unique. </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Eliot turns eighteen today. I'm tempted to find a great deal of pride in the accomplishment of raising such a man. The fact of the matter, Eliot is exceptional because God has created him exceptional.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Eliot has always been friendly. Thinking back when he was two, I can still picture my blond toddler walking into a group of grown men who were settling in for a deacon's meeting. Left hand in his jean pocket, he stopped in front of each man to offer his right. Seeming not to notice he wasn't a grown man, he circled the room, shaking hands while chatting incoherently. </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Present day, he has been known to saunter onto an elevator and loudly exclaim to the lucky inhabitants whose heads are down hoping not to make eye contact, "How's everybody doing today?"</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">On icy mornings in Cary, NC, Eliot would quickly dress as soon as he woke up. "I have to go get the paper from Mrs. Marjory's driveway or she'll try to get it herself." At the age of seven he was very concerned his elderly friend would attempt to make her way down icy steps. We had this sweet elderly neighbor for a few short years before she tragically died in a car accident. I took a heart broken Eliot to her memorial service. During the share time in a room full of seated adults he didn't know, Eliot stood up and verbalized a picture of his unique friendship with their beloved Marjory. He reminisced to her family and friends how he and the elderly lady would work together to blow leaves off her back deck. He relived how for hours he and Mrs. Marjory looked through all his baseball cards. He would talk, she would listen. I'll never forget how he wrapped up his little speech to the sea of tear filled faces, "She left me, but I'll never leave her." I'll also never forget how he wept in the parking lot after the service. He was ten. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Fast forward to the dreaded years of middle school. We will forever be grateful to God for the boys in our neighborhood. Specifically the Voyles boys that created an Eliot sandwich in age and grade. That posse tromped through the woods behind our houses, lighting fires, climbing trees and doing various activities of potential harm that now tend to trickle out in elaborate story telling around the dinner table. They had a pact, if any of them did stepped outta line, the others were allowed to tell parents. A time or two I have told Eliot, "If you can't tell Will or Coby about it then you probably shouldn't be doing it". How many kids have that type of tangible barometer for judging whether they have a good idea or are about to do something completely insane? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Eliot LOVES being a part of a team.</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Eliot played JV Football in sixth grade, grabbing ankles and recovering fumbles. For Varsity games he ran on the field to collect the kicking tee...every...single...time. Seventh and Eighth grade, he was the backup QB. Most games, he would come in once the starting QB gained a solid lead. He was small but he worked hard. He could barely see over the line of scrimmage, but he listened well, remembered the plays and we all loved it. He played baseball too, causing my heart to double in size. The one game that sticks out in my mind, Eliot saw zero minutes on the baseball field. But you could hear him in the dugout cheering on his teammates during every pitch. He helped his coaches talk through positioning suggestions for the outfield. After this particular game, Eliot asked if we could stay a few minutes late so he could run poles with the pitcher. "Running poles must be so boring, if I run with him it'll be more fun." On awards day, Coach Warren said, "Eliot would run through a brick wall if I asked him to." He was 13. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">There was also a wrestling career but I try not to remember anything involving a singlet. We'll just let that go.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">High school brought rock climbing, cross country, chorus and musicals into Eliot's world. He hates running but has loved his cross country teammates. For three years in a row he received significant leadership awards. In chorus, Eliot has had little time in the spot light. His name has been listed under titles like ensemble, townspeople, tree #1, and Lurch in the Adams Family (he grunted like a pro). It's been very common in the theater at Ridgeland High School to find him building sets, hanging lights, and behind the scenes in the sound booth. This year, all that hard work paid off and he was cast as Topher in the broadway musical Cinderella. After the last show, the director singled out Eliot and his friend Bekah who went above and beyond to make the show a huge success. I'm as proud of his off stage leadership as I am his onstage performance. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Junior year Eliot tried out for Georgia's All State Chorus and didn't make the cut. Senior year, he took this last chance for a spot in the elite choir. A few weeks ago, he had the amazing opportunity to travel to Athens and sing with Georgia's best of the best. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Plain and simple, Eliot is the hardest worker I know. He may not always be the best or the biggest, but he works harder than most in order to accomplish his goals. Equally astounding to me is h</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">is capacity to care</span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">. He rushes to those who are hurting or in need of help. He rarely stops to calculate what it will cost him, the time it will take, or the inconvenience it will involve. He just jumps in with whatever emotion, strength, brain power he has to offer, feeling a deep sense of self imposed responsibility. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">What I want Eliot to do more than anything else is continue being an even better version of who he has always been: kind, caring, determined, hardworking, loving, uncomfortably friendly (especially on elevators), and overwhelmingly compassionate. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I love you LT. You make this Mama so proud. </span><br />
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<br />LHoneyJoneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16094061646020933507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8694835893726461755.post-22097133061961383172019-02-03T11:24:00.000-08:002019-02-04T04:49:10.199-08:00Dimples and RosesMemaw was one of the prettiest people I've ever known. She was always coordinated, bejeweled and smelling of roses. As a little girl I was enamored by her pretty jewelry and bright red fingernails. I have countless memories that will creep up as little reminders that she walked this earth,<br />
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Like most families, the Honea clan has our own way of putting things. The instant we arrive at home from being out and about, we will immediately put on "soft clothes." It's important to be aware, all jammies are soft clothes, but not all soft clothes have to be jammies. We always referred to my grandparent's house in Lake Jackson, TX as "the house on the court". The grandfather clock in the hall would sing a piece of "Ex. 6. Westminster Quarters, 1794" every quarter hour and on the hour dong the appropriate number of times. The deeper you walked down the hall the more your olfactory senses would alert you to the existence of lots of things that have been undisturbed for decades. Not like some grandparent homes of dust and mothballs. Just a subtle stillness of time and large closets. Every square inch of every wall in that hallway was filled with framed photos of our very own family history. My favorite time to remember in that house is the six weeks I stayed my fourteenth summer. All the adults in my life thought I might get bored, be ready to come home. But I loved it. I loved how my Grandad went to bed early and Memaw and I would talk for hours about everything and nothing. I loved how Grandad would go to the store every morning to replenish any of my favorite food items I had consumed. Memaw took me shopping and bought me REAL Keds, with the little blue rectangle on the sole of the heel. They were red. I lived life alongside them, visiting my great grandmother twice a week, watching Memaw's "stories" in the afternoon (Days of Our Lives specifically). I'd sing in the choir at rehearsal on Wednesday nights and put on an assigned robe to sing in church on Sunday mornings. I sat in the soprano section with Memaw while Grandad sang two rows back with the Baritones. I was there long enough to be enveloped into their habitual patterns and they were proud.<br />
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Memaw loved the tiny specifics that would make memories special. On my wedding day she wanted to be the last person to call me Miss Honea and the first to call me Mrs. Jones. I can still see her after the ceremony racing across the reception hall to be the first to reach me. It was important to Memaw that she be able to see in her mind's eye where I was housed. That way when we talked she had some specifics to build on as she imagined me living life. She visited every place we have lived from college days at Masters to our current home in GA. After Grandad died these trips were taken alone. Due to macular degeneration she was completely dependent on the strangers around her. I will forever be grateful for her brave determination that allowed these trips to happen. One time she was visiting and my kids got the swine flu. I called my aunt in a panic convinced she would get it and croak. Ann told me, "she would think it was worth the trip." Another night on one of these visits, Memaw and I split a bottle of muscadine wine. We giggled until wee hours, swapping stories and laughing at life. She would stay a few weeks, long enough to live my habitual patterns, and I was proud.<br />
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I visited her a few times in the assisted living apartment where, quite frankly, I fit in a little too well. I loved these visits, slowly walking the halls, stopping so she could introduce me to her friends, gushing with unmistakable pride that her adult granddaughter enjoyed her company enough to come sleep with the old people. She was always cold so her apartment felt like a furnace. I would sit in shorts and a t-shirt, she sat in her sweater with a lap blanket. We never agreed about a comfortable temp but we always agreed on our nightly activity. We would visit. She'd share stories from long ago, some I had heard and forgotten, others were like a family mantra and my lips would move along with hers silently mirroring her words. One visit she had me breakout her letters to and from my Grandad during the Korean War. Memaw could no longer read them due to failing eyesight. So I squirreled them away in every nook and cranny of my suitcase, flew them home, organized them in binders, and started to record each letter. I would email the recordings to my very sweet Uncle Rich who would laboriously download the recordings onto Memaw's phone. She could then listen and remember that for most of her life, she had been completely adored by Charles Raymon Honea.<br />
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These moments and so many more will be carried in my heart forever. I have her dimples, high cheekbones, and love of good whit. I also have her heartburn, bad knees and protruding chin. It's a fair trade. She was my Memaw. She was my friend. I will never cease to miss having her in my life, thinking the world of me. Being proud just to call me hers. I am thankful for the comfort we have in our sweet Savior's redemptive power and promise of eternity. If there is dancing in heaven, she and Grandad are teaching the two step.<br />
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LHoneyJoneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16094061646020933507noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8694835893726461755.post-85737762643702606722018-11-26T18:38:00.000-08:002018-11-26T18:38:31.528-08:00Meet Jay<div class="p1">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Jay Finlayson may be the most respectful individual I have ever met. He started calling me Mrs. Jones as a Covenant student and continues to do so as a post grad North Florida farmer and appraiser in training. He is the epitome of chivalry and respect. Jay's a thinker. A deep thinker. A percolating, verbal processing, deep thinker. Jay preached at his church last Sunday and was kind enough to share with me his sermon notes. This blog take over is a small portion of those notes. I've made a few adjustments for brevity and readability but these are his thoughts.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">It also bears mentioning, that in the midst of putting these thoughts to paper, Jay's mom was diagnosed with<a href="https://www.myelomaexplained.com/?gclid=EAIaIQobChMIrc-jqrbz3gIVq_7jBx0f_QC_EAAYASAAEgKMA_D_BwE&gclsrc=aw.ds"><span class="s1"> </span><span class="s2">Multiple Myeloma</span></a>. After you read about God's faithfulness in the midst of struggle maybe you can take a moment and pray for Mary Beth Finlayson, </span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">the wonderful woman who raised their author</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">"Each and every single one of us have things that we have to surrender to the Lord. But surrender is not easy for me. It is a brutal fight for me to try to deny myself and surrender my goals, my ambitions, my desires to God. Hard though it may be, we have to take our pride and lay it down in order to experience the fullness of God’s grace. That is the beauty of it all, it is a gift. It isn’t something to be earned by toiling and fighting. Like John 3:30 says, we must decrease in order that God can increase. We have to fight to surrender. That is what we are called to, trust God through the battle’s worst raging.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">On the cross Jesus declared over everything that it is finished. You see, God has won the war. I once heard a speaker at chapel in college talk about the Gospel Waltz: Believe, Repent, Fight. A lot of Christians like to do more of a two step, and pick two of the three. I’m a fighter. I can’t help it, I just want to fight and win at everything I do. Fighting to surrender sounds counter intuitive to me, but God’s power is perfected in weakness. Death is the greatest physical weakness we can know, but Jesus conquered it through the most powerful act of all time. I’m not saying that we shouldn’t try to grow closer to God in our faith, I’m just hoping that our striving will always start from a place of abiding.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="color: #454545; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Grace invites us to rest from our striving after a gift that has always been free because God has already won the war. While 2 Chronicles describes Abijah and his army responding beautifully, it pales in comparison to the response of God the father. God gives them victory because they humbled themselves and turned towards Him, and trusted Him with the outcome. When we are trusting and resting in the truths of the Gospel we are able to hope in all circumstances. The more I think about being battle ready, the more I think about how little I know about what it is to be battle ready, and the more I know about the only one who is battle tested, the one who has won the war.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span><span style="color: #454545;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">To anyone who feels like they are too messed up for the cross, just know you don’t have the power to undo the work of the cross. Jesus didn’t come, live, and die in order that we might have a more convenient life. Jesus didn’t die so that we would be blessed financially, have nice houses, picturesque families, get into the college we want. Jesus came, lived and died so that we could be cleansed from all unrighteousness and live with him for all eternity. The law was never about a set of rules for us to work our way to God, it was to point us to our need for a savior. We can be blessed in our battles as we feel the aches and pains of this world when we remember not only that God has won the war, but when we take time to remember the God who has won the war. When we steadily focus on the attributes of God and who He is in the midst of trials we can begin to find peace in our tribulation."</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">
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LHoneyJoneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16094061646020933507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8694835893726461755.post-974951776526459062018-08-10T05:15:00.001-07:002018-08-10T06:43:32.401-07:00We've Been a Catch 22<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Twenty-two signs you may have been married twenty-two years... </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">1. You have to get your ring resized due to the hunk of flesh just behind the second digit on your left ring finger.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">2. On occasion, one of you will stand up from sitting and say "oh my hip".</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">3. The ownership of particular household chores has evolved and is now set in stone. There is little deviation and when one is slow to act the other waits patiently (patiently with little almost inaudible grumbling). </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">4. If your old selves looked at your current grocery cart you would question your own sanity. High cholesterol and expanding waistbands are for real. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">5. Freedom has been found in accepting graying hair and receding hair lines.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">6. It feels a great injustice when the teenager isn't home to cut the grass. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">7.You have come to the realization that the longer you parent the less you know about parenting. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">8. Your one flesh-ness doesn't take away your individuality. It's important to trust each other with your separate passions. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">9. Fluency in the other's giftedness allows the confidence to take a back seat and follow their lead.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">10. The sorrow brought about by dropping a kid off at college can only be fully comprehended by your spouse. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">11. The habits of health can not be dictated by the other. We all know what we need to do, and there's no way anyone can make us do it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">12. The things about your kids that make you most proud have little to do with their raising. This reality makes you incredibly thankful for God's good work.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">13. Your passion for Braves Baseball and Auburn Football is shared and almost equally so. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">14. You do big things you used to say you could never do, like work together. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">15. Some current styles of hair and clothing bring the realization that nothing would ever convince you being cool is worth following suit.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">16. You have shoes that are so old they've gone out of style and come back in. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">17. Some of your co-workers were born after you were wed. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">18. The things that used to seem like insurmountable indifferences now make you chuckle. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">19. You have found a whole new set of insurmountable indifferences that don't make you chuckle. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">20. Keeping old furniture and a half broken TV becomes as much about the sheer challenge as financial deficiencies. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">21. In a few facts of life you have a large enough sample size to have a little bit of clout. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">22. Even on the bad days you know you would do it all over again. And it's been long enough that that's saying something. </span><br />
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LHoneyJoneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16094061646020933507noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8694835893726461755.post-7870215005361247072018-07-12T16:03:00.000-07:002018-07-12T16:20:31.940-07:00Meet Megan <div dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: -webkit-standard; font-size: 12.8px; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Often times we focus on one thing completely enabling us to ignore other important things. Recently, my friend Megan stepped into surrender and let go of that one thing in order to acknowledge all the rest. Her bravery, her belief that Jesus will continue to be as good to her in the future as he has been in the past has changed me. BLOG TAKE OVER!</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ed Welch defines </span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">shame as </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #181818; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The deep sense that you are unacceptable because of something you did, something done to you, or something associated with you. You feel exposed and humiliated.”</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #181818; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> For over a decade my b</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #181818; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">iggest source of shame has been my hair. Over the past year and a half I have come to realize I am called to find my identity in Christ. Due to the power of shame I have spent years identifying myself by my hair. Every time I would leave my house, I would worry what people would think. For so long my identity was defined by what others saw and what I thought they saw. I have allowed myself to simply be “the girl with the bad hairstyle” or “the girl who wears headbands all the time”. I let this define me and eat away at all the other parts God has made me to be. With this new sense of purpose, I can't help but share the work God has done in my life. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #181818; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I grew up in a home with an alcoholic, abusive father. He was in and out of my life throughout my early childhood. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">During the last few years that my dad lived with us, my parents noticed my hair thinning on the sides of my head. We realized that I had started pulling my hair out. After meeting with counselors and our family doctor, we learned that this was a habitual form of OCD that people use to self comfort when stressed, anxious, or worried. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This subconscious habit quickly transformed from something that comforted me in my suffering into a cause of suffering. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">By sixth grade I was having to wear headbands every day to cover the bald spots.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Eventually my dad moved out of state and my parents divorced. Although my dad was no longer in my home he left me with scars from years of hurt and shame. My mom, the biggest gift of my life, always made sure my brother and I were involved in church. God used my church as a tool for His work in my life. From an early age I knew God loved me and was present in my struggle. However, my dad's</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> hurtful words, actions and interactions left me searching for ways to deal with my shame. To relieve the stress and find relief, I continued the obsessive habit of pulling my hair out. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When I was a junior in high school, my dad passed away from a heart attack leaving me with an unexpected sense of loss. He had not been present in my life, but his death brought an assurance that there would never be reconciliation this side of Heaven. Again, this pain brought a desire for comfort, and I continued to pull my hair. While I thought that I was leaning on Christ, I continued to seek comfort in hair pulling rather than turning to Jesus and resting in the promises of the cross. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Looking back now, I can see that a way to know I was using worldly ways to comfort rather than Christ was that my source of comfort always led to more pain and embarrassment.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> There was no peace or hope in what I was doing. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> I went off to college hoping to be accepted and loved. I went to a small Christian college in Georgia where God gave me the greatest gift. He put me on a hall filled with girls who were crazy, fun, and welcoming. I quickly made friends who are still impacting my life. By the grace of God I had found a college where I was wanted and accepted and could thrive. I can see God laying the groundwork for me to be able to confide in several of my friends about my hair in the years to come. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I never felt comfortable talking about my hair to friends in high school, so the idea of confiding in girls my age about this habit I felt was shameful and weird was horrifying to me.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Beginning of my sophomore year, I confided in my three roommates. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Their response to my confession changed my world and gave me hope. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">They didn’t see me any differently and loved me even better now that they knew my struggle. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">They made it clear that they hated my pain but my hair pulling was bigger in my eyes than in reality. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Because of their unconditional love, I began feeling more comfortable sharing with those close to me. Each time I opened up about my struggle, I felt as though one of the chains of shame that were enslaving me fell off. These women saw me at my most vulnerable and loved me and walked through the hard times resulting an a beautiful picture of true friendship. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">College was transforming for me in many ways. It gave me an assurance that I would always have friends that would love me, regardless of my hair. However, I did not do much to stop the hair pulling.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> After graduating, I seemed to have just accepted that this would be my life and I would be the headband girl. Although I had gained so much hope in other aspects of this struggle, I was no closer to overcoming the actual hair-pulling. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A few months after graduation, my mom sent me the name of a Biblical counselor in my area. Brenda kicked my butt the first few months of counseling (in the best sort of way)! She opened my eyes to so many things about Scripture and helped me understand there were two ways to view my hair pulling. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sometimes I did not realize I was pulling, so that was a habit I needed to try and break. Other times it was something I did consciously. This conscious alternative to comfort was what I chose rather than looking to Jesus, my only source of True Comfort. I started to </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> recognize heart issues that ignited the impulse to pull. </span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">In my eyes, the hair pulling was my biggest issue. What I learned was that I have a heart filled with desires to please man over pleasing God. These desires lead to anxiety, worry, and so many other sinful areas that had gone unnoticed. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> I had spent my life thinking I was a good person who just had a hair pulling problem.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Now I was able to see </span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">redemption in my suffering. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">While we worked on these heart issues, Brenda also encouraged me to begin an accountability group. This group would be there for me when I was tempted to pull or when I did pull. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I asked two women who have been such amazing counselors to me over the past few years to walk beside me in this fight. They agreed to hold me accountable, pray with and for me, and ask me the hard questions. Through vulnerability and sharing the deepest and darkest parts of my heart, these women began to feel comfortable sharing their own. The past year and a half has been filled with ups and downs. I have gone longer periods without pulling than ever before and I have also experienced some of the lowest points of shame. During all of it, I have seen God use these three women, along with so many other amazing women, to carry me when I am weak and make me feel the love He has for me. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #181818; text-indent: 36pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">After a year and a half of fighting, I recently said goodbye to my headbands and am able to walk around with my hair down. My new hairstyle represents ALL the work God has done in me. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #181818; text-indent: 36pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This hair represents the change in my heart to where I feel I am able to voice my struggle to the world and praise the Lord in it. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #181818; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">I now recognize my need to keep Christ in His rightful spot of worship in my life. I need to have Christ as my identity and to put my hair back where it belongs— a small part of the whole person God has made me to be. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #181818;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> My desire is </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #181818; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">to shed light on a struggle that many deal with and let those people know they are not alone. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #181818; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There is hope. Developing a community of people to walk with you can and will make a world of difference. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #181818; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">God is at work in the midst of our struggle</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #181818; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. The struggle I am sharing with you has been my struggle for 14 years and will probably continue for the rest of my life. Throughout all of it, even at the awful beginning, I can see God at work. He chose not to heal me the moment I asked for it, but rather fulfilled His promise to sanctify me for His kingdom through my struggle. He has walked me through years of struggle in order to reveal, teach and heal so that I can be used for His kingdom work. Because of my brokenness He can use me to share His goodness and faithfulness and to declare His glory.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #181818;">Remember, we are more than our struggle. </span>We all deal with temptations and forms of self comfort in one way or another. No matter your struggle, it is only one percent of the whole person you are. Take your shame to the foot of the cross and allow yourself to feel the grace that God lavishes on you daily.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #181818; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“When you believe what God has said rather than lies, you are doing valuable work. When you choose hope over despair, your choice has lasting significance. When you get out of bed and persevere in ordinary obedience because you are representing the King, your labor is noticed even by heavenly beings (Ephesians <span class="aBn" data-term="goog_625749802" style="border-bottom: 1px dashed rgb(204, 204, 204); position: relative; top: -2px; z-index: 0;" tabindex="0"><span class="aQJ" style="position: relative; top: 2px; z-index: -1;">3:10</span></span>). When you pursue holiness because you are holy, you find honor that lasts.” </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #181818; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">― </span><a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?hl=en&q=https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18168.Edward_T_Welch&source=gmail&ust=1531516577317000&usg=AFQjCNEvDv-6yn1LrY4z3G8Xz7Fb8qn2RA" href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18168.Edward_T_Welch" style="color: #1155cc; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #323333; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Edward T. Welch</span></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #181818; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, </span><a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?hl=en&q=https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/19193148&source=gmail&ust=1531516577317000&usg=AFQjCNHNSicczx223fUG8VxP_aPjy_frlQ" href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/19193148" style="color: #1155cc; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #323333; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Shame Interrupted: How God Lifts the Pain of Worthlessness and Rejection</span></a></span></div>
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LHoneyJoneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16094061646020933507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8694835893726461755.post-18608823333259660172018-05-28T14:10:00.000-07:002018-05-28T14:18:21.244-07:00Augustine's Double Knowledge<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">"Lord, let me know myself; let me know You." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">When Pastor Corby quoted this line of Augustine's prayer in church I was a tiny bit unsettled. Praying these two thoughts as though they should be equally sought necessitates a desire to know myself uncomfortably well. I am complex, a reality for anyone made in the image of God. Combine that with my heart being "deceitful above all things" </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">and you've got yourself a 43 year old hot mess (Jeremiah 17:9). </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Self-reflection is often overwhelming to my perfectionistic type A personality. I don't like realizing aspects of my sin that has darkened my perspective for decades. I especially hate it when others have been affected and possibly have seen things in my heart that aren't completely wonderful. I can always avoid these blindspots, ignore the humility, downplay the regret, and in the process create more regret. Or, I can prayerfully work through conflict, feelings, emotions and ask the Holy Spirit to show me my true self. The difficult process of repentance takes time and intentionality. It requires my existing in the presence of negative feelings or emotions in order to understand and name my sin. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Rev. Rob Yancey from McLean Presbyterian Church preached a <a href="http://mcleanpres.org/series/gospel-life-david/" target="_blank">sermon recently </a>that illuminates repentance as one of these words we say yet don't fully comprehend. He uses this enlightenment to contrast Biblical repentance with false repentance. I'm convinced the Holy Spirit gave Pastor Yancey a screenshot of my heart as he wrote this sermon. I do both. I'm often impatient for the latter and therefore tempted to settle for the former. Rob, if I can call him Rob, reflects on three characteristics that contrast Biblical repentance with false repentance in Psalm 51: recognize that we're undone, receive grace and reveal God. </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">"David doesn't hide his shame he uses his experience to reveal God to others."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">As I backed out of my driveway a few weeks ago I noticed a crop of tiny weeds growing under my rose bushes. Trying to pull them would have required the use of tweezers and a magnifying glass. </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I could have painstakingly lifted each weed one at a time to ensure the roots came with each stem. Another option was to give them a quick spray of Roundup no doubt </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">damaging the rose bush that encompasses the purpose of having a flower bed in the first place. So, I waited for the weed colony to grow. A week later I was able to easily grab this weed harvest by the fist fulls and remove them roots and all. Even t</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">he pieces I couldn't see under the soil came along with the parts that were annoying me. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">When I'm faced with pieces of Leah that allow my actions, reactions, attitudes, motives to be sinful, I regret not seeing them sooner. I take a mental walk through relationships with people I love, situations that hold value and realize I could have handled things better. Been more effective. Lived more peaceably. Even at the cost of regret and humility, I'm thankful for the time it takes to be able to fully extract those sinful pieces and any self deceit that is allowing the space for them to flourish. I'm thankful God continues to show me more of Himself so there's less room for me. I r</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">ejoice when I'm able to name the ugly that lingers in the deepest crevices of my deceptive heart. As this </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">sludge is removed I have a clearer understanding of my continuing transformation and am able to enjoy my Savior more fully. </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">I also value the kindness in God's resistance to use the spiritual equivalent of Roundup.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">"Look upon me, that I may love You.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Call me that I may see You.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">And for ever enjoy You."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">-St. Augustine</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Not the prettiest picture, but a beautiful sight. </span></div>
LHoneyJoneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16094061646020933507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8694835893726461755.post-13488492203949357362018-03-10T07:30:00.000-08:002018-03-10T08:16:39.559-08:00City Sidewalks and My Little Black Book<span style="font-family: inherit;">This time a year ago I was just west of London bearing witness to the good work of a church called New Life Masih Ghar. Before touring a Sikh gurdwara and Hindu temple we stopped in the middle of a neighborhood sidewalk and prayed for respect, empathy and understanding. Almost as soon as we said amen a man came running up to us. He was a Pentecostal minister who had been driving past when he felt a strong sense of the Holy Spirit. He saw us praying, parked his car, and came to meet us. Christians are hard to find in that community so when you see them praying on the street you gotta jump out of your car and say hello! Later in the week we took a tour of Southall. We walked in pairs from one spot to the next and prayed. People around us thought we were just walking and talking, unaware we were seeking the face of the True Sovereign on behalf of their city. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Fast forward a year, downtown Chattanooga, again praying on a sidewalk. It had been a difficult week and I was a bit tender. As providence would have it I had a lunch date with one of my Covenant kids. After rich, encouraging conversation we walked out to Broad Street where he asked if he could pray for me. As I sat in the weeds of my world, his bird's eye view provided wisdom beyond his 20 years. I needed to hear his prayers as he sought the compassion and care of our Father on my behalf. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I tend to be a little, tiny bit obsessive about most things. The less control I have the more mental fixation occurs. Not owning the struggles of others is a constant battle. I want to be faithful to listen as I share life. I want to sit with them, provide wisdom when attainable, and then with great effort I want to give them to the One who actually has real control. When the hamster wheel inside my head won't stop spinning it helps to intercede. A few years ago I began the practice of writing intercessory prayers in a little black Moleskin journal. The pages are small and just the right size to pray for a specific person and their need of that moment on that day. It renews my faith to look back over three year's of these prayers- prayers for guidance, jobs, wisdom, resistance against sin struggles, relationships, hopes, dreams, healing, joys and sorrows. So many answered prayers! Some still pending...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">What kindness it is for God to command us to pray for one another. Either standing on the sidewalk of a busy street or wherever I am when I need to break out my intercessory prayer journal. I'm thankful for the relief that prayer provides when the love that Jesus gives us threatens to overwhelm. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">This pretty lady is battling pancreatic cancer. Wherever your March Madness loyalties lie, pray for Brenda! She is one of the kindest people on the planet. </span></div>
<br />LHoneyJoneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16094061646020933507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8694835893726461755.post-16620977418204628892018-01-20T16:46:00.000-08:002018-01-20T16:48:19.902-08:00Keep Up With this Jones Family in 2018<span style="font-family: inherit;">I give up. One's best laid plans are often thwarted by a basketball schedule, a small marketing agency (aka our fourth child) and the flu. In my fevered, cold medicine induced dreams I'll get New Years cards in the mail but they will be few in number and may not arrive until March. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I thought I'd use this alternative method to keep the masses informed:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Emma is loving Furman and just completed her hardest semester yet. An A- in Mandarin only intensifies her gratefulness to be done with foreign language requirement. She continues to write articles for The Odyssey Online and was hired as a social media intern for the admissions department. Check out #PaLabri on Instagram to see her work. Her hopes and dreams are a conglomeration of providing mental health care to inmates in the justice system and a young man named Winston (not an inmate, just her boyfriend). She has no idea she’s the size of a shoe box but we are so proud of her insatiable desire to care for the under served and to be salt and light to those around her. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Eliot is thriving during these high school years by filling his time with climbing, cross-country, chorus, musicals, and working at Ruby Falls. He fills every seco<span style="font-family: inherit;">nd of free time with church friends, school friends, and a special young lady named Kalee who he calls "Kale". </span>He has been to Colorado twice this year and is convinced he is called to bike, backpack and play in the Centennial State for life. He is the hardest worker we've ever met and his heart is as kind and caring as ever. He would drop everything to help a stranger on the street.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Daniel continues to impress with his mad cerebral skills. National Standardized Tests show him in the 97th percentile in most subjects except for math where he lands in the 99th percentile. He made the JV basketball team at his middle school and transitioned from being so nervous he avoided the ball to begging his teammates to pass him the ball. He scored, stole, broke ankles, rejected, and boxed out like nobody's business. He loves being a part of the youth group and is super stoked at any sign of puberty. Danny Mac is sweet, sensitive and may possibly have his mama wrapped around his finger. He created his first cinematography exhibit and had his biggest fan in a bucket of tears. Grab a tissue and <a href="https://www.facebook.com/leah.h.jones/videos/10155243568381915/" target="_blank">click here.</a> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://roundtreeagency.com/" target="_blank">Roundtree</a> is now the focus of not only Andy's work week but also my own. We're thankful for how God continues to bless our efforts and excited to see it flourish in 2018!</span><br />
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Much Love from the Jones Family</div>
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LHoneyJoneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16094061646020933507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8694835893726461755.post-38038845442716084392017-09-17T13:34:00.000-07:002017-09-17T19:52:45.525-07:00Measurements and Image-Bearing<div>
Today at Rock Creek we sang <a href="https://youtu.be/oLURTvUQoTM?t=13s" target="_blank">So Will I </a>by Hillsong. I was so excited to help teach this new song to our congregation. I thought like most things unfamiliar the people in the wooden chairs at RCF might approach the song with hesitation. I on the other hand, was going to be bold as I sang the wonderful lyrics hoping others would feel free to do the same with confidence. The first verse went great. The chorus was also great except, I came in six beats before everyone else. I'm not saying I was wrong, but I was definitely the only one singing in that moment. Those of you who have never sung into a microphone in front of a room full of people are thinking "that sounds like the worst!" The rest of you would confirm that to be a correct sentiment. Unfortunately this will happen again as it has happened before (cue flashback to choir tour of 1990's duet with Joe Evans).</div>
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In God's sweet providence I had two events that prepped me for this moment. The first happened on Friday as I sat in Covenant College's chapel and listened to Vaneetha Rendall Risner share her story. Be kind to yourself, take some time, and listen <a href="https://youtu.be/l-RXP96Yxl0?t=22m39s" target="_blank">here</a>. One does not hear her tale of suffering, comfort and redemption without being forever changed. Her words ringing in my ears allowed my impromptu solo to feel as insignificant as it was in actuality. </div>
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The second preparatory lesson happened Saturday morning as I spent time on my back deck reading <a href="https://www.jenwilkin.net/" target="_blank">Jen Wilkin</a>'s book "None Like Him" (shout out to Megan Hulse for loaning it to me, your handwritten thoughts on it's pages are my favorite). In the book's first chapter, Wilkin identifies God as one concerned with measurements. Her list of examples includes everything from arks, hairs on heads, grains of sand, length of limbs, circumference of our crania, and our very days. Then she reminds the reader, "all that he measures is perfect in measurement. All that he binds is perfectly boundaried." </div>
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Music being one of God's most powerful gifts is unsurprisingly very measured. Beats make up notes, notes fill measures, measures create verses or stanzas. Add a bridge and/or a chorus and you have yourself a song. I was given the timely reminder by Wilkin just hours prior to my unfortunate miscalculation of measurement that being an image-bearer doesn't require perfection. Being an image-bearer "means reflecting as a limited being the perfections of a limitless God."</div>
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Our whole lives as Christ-followers are to be given over to the identification and celebration of the limits God has ordained for us. He lovingly teaches them to us through his Word, through trials, through discipline. He humbles us through these means to remind us that we are not him, nor is anyone or anything else we know. </blockquote>
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-Jen Wilkins, <i>None Like Him</i></blockquote>
Consider myself humbled! Later in the song this morning we all sang at the same time, much to my relief, words that had extra meaning after my rough start:<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">A hundred billion failures disappear</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Where You lost Your life so I could find it here</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: "roboto" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>So Will I,</i> by Hillsong</span></div>
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Me and Vaneetha before Friday's chapel. </div>
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You're gonna want to read her blog, <a href="http://danceintherain.com/" target="_blank">Dance in the Rain</a>.</div>
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LHoneyJoneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16094061646020933507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8694835893726461755.post-33607957100892839792017-08-10T06:33:00.002-07:002017-08-10T06:33:38.396-07:00Nuts and Bolts of 21 Years<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Today, I've been married as many years as I have been single. When you first get married you feel so in love you couldn't possibly love the other more than you do right now. Then you struggle and work and live and a couple of decades later you realize it isn't the new exciting love anymore. It's richer, it's deeper, and it settles you. Every marriage is different and riddled with difficulty. I wouldn't begin to think I had answers or solutions for anyone else's marriage. But here are a few connections I've made that help us remain intact.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">It's important to believe in each other and encourage one another to try. When Andy Jones wants to fix something I may not be able to watch but I holler from the adjacent room my unfailing confidence. Sometimes the act of "fixing" involves drilling holes in my kitchen ceiling or days of waiting for parts to come in the mail while the guts of an appliance clutter the floor. He learned things and as the years have passed he's fixed a dryer, a freezer and the A/C without having to call a repair man. For the last few weeks he's been planning various backpacking trips to take over the coming year. As long as he doesn't try and drag me with him, I'm all for it! <br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">While we are two people who have become one, God has given us very different gifts. Sometimes these gifts take us each down individual avenues. Andy sits on multiple boards of various non-profits. This takes time and resources and God graciously provides both. I have a baker's dozen worth of twenty-somethings that I love to love. As a result, two or three times a week I'm on the back deck, earbuds in, talking through someone's latest circumstance. I'm texting, writing out intercessory prayers, and walking through life with these friends. These types of activities take time and emotional energy. But living life with these peeps brings me so much joy. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Last July Andy preached a sermon at Rock Creek Fellowship titled "Crazy Little Thing Called Love". He spoke about love, respect, and gardening. He also referred to me as a 4-H babe, which I totally am and always will be. His parting thought for RCF was that we need to give up on marriage. He said, "We need to give up placing a burden on marriage it was never meant to bear." Neither of us can be the source of joy, blessing or hope for the future. While God often gives me joy, blessing and hope through Andy, he is not the source of these blessings. Trying to find emotional or spiritual fulfillment in anyone save our sweet Savior ends in crushing not just our relationship but also ourselves. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Out of all the posts that make up this blog, one of my favorites is from our anniversary two years ago called <a href="http://worthwastedtime.blogspot.com/2015/08/19yearsandcounting.html" target="_blank">#19yearsandcounting</a>. There, I lay out the fabric of our marriage. Here I give you the nuts and bolts.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We try not to make our co-workers as uncomfortable as we aspire to make our children</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;">.</span><span style="font-family: georgia, "times new roman", serif;"> </span></div>
<br />LHoneyJoneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16094061646020933507noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8694835893726461755.post-67902253132504910342017-07-01T13:16:00.000-07:002017-07-31T12:09:32.413-07:00Stealth Prayer Warrior and FriendSpring semester 2015 found me on the phone with an elderly man from Pennsylvania. Since his daughter's graduation in the 80's he had been praying for Covenant College and was looking for an avenue to find out specific needs for that castle in the clouds. As our conversation commenced I came to the amazing realization that Don had been praying over the same news letter every day for ten years. I thought, surely...I can get this man some new material.<br />
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I collaborated with other departments and put his mailing address on every list I could find. I also started copying the semester's chapel schedule in a document titled "Don's Chapel Schedule" with an additional column on the right. This column included specifics, explanations, bits of information so Don could pray effectively for our department and our school. I'd mail it to our Pennsylvania prayer warrior along with a thank you note. A few times each semester Don would give me a call. When the Chapel Department wrapped up a big conference or when students were just getting back from a break he would check in. See how things went or how students were adjusting.<br />
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Some point along the way he started asking specifics about my life, how all my college friends were, did my son make the baseball team, had Emma chosen a college. Fast forward a semester and he asked how Emma's freshman year was going, how my husband's job was, how I felt missing all those who had graduated and moved on. Quite organically, Don soon became MY prayer warrior as well. Who doesn't need more people praying for them! He would pray for me, right there on the phone as the chaos of my office commenced around me. Then he would say, "I love ya, dear!"<br />
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I have never met Don in person, I don't even know what he looks like. I know he loves puns. I know he takes care of his wife everyday. I know he goes on mission trips during the summer months. I know he believes First John 5:14 with every fiber of his being and he prays boldly and fervently for a lot of people. I know my life is better because of Don's prayers and I'm thankful. The common friendship we have with the Holy Spirit makes us comrades in this world despite differing geographic locations, never having met, and experiencing life at completely different intervals. These eccentricities of our friendship make it spectacular. It's a reminder of God's faithful, at times unconventional care for his children. </div>
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Don's a keeper. I don't have specifics to send him about the Chapel Department and we've been playing phone tag for the last few weeks. But soon we'll touch base. I'll ask about his wife, tell him about my new job, he'll pray for me and say "I love ya, dear". I'll remind him to let me know when he comes south to visit his daughter. Because the only thing greater than your very own prayer warrior is actually meeting him in person! Stay tuned! I believe one day it will happen!<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #351c75;">"But it is greater friendship when the Holy Spirit comes and teaches you all things; it is greater friendship when he bears with your stupidity, and when he opens your hearts to receive the truth in the love of it. This is friendship."</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #351c75;">Robert Murray M'Cheyne</span></div>
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LHoneyJoneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16094061646020933507noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8694835893726461755.post-64470048214028687492017-05-13T18:20:00.001-07:002017-05-13T18:28:52.112-07:00#OhDannyMac and Stoic StonewallWhen Daniel brought me a brightly colored paper with printed instructions for his school project, I immediately started feeling cranky. WHY!?!? Why must teachers assign projects that require MY brain power, lists of materials, yard sticks and markers! Needless to say I wasn't winning any awards with my attitude and that was before I realized my child had chosen the project requiring the most artistic ability. He could have chosen to recite the Gettysburg Address or create a simple poster outlining General Grant's military strategy for one of his many battles. Oh no...Daniel wanted to make a 3D model of the stoic "Stonewall" Jackson.<br />
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Andy and I did what all good parents do and told our sweet eleven year old that he couldn't possibly make such a thing. He expressed ideas involving clay and paint with bright eyed wonder and merriment. Again we tried to dissuade him, I even texted his teacher asking if there was another way...it got ugly and tears were shed. Mrs. Aldridge, the true hero of this tale, sent me a web address with instructions how to create a paper mache mask. She told me, and I quote, "Daniel is going to make the BEST project!" Reluctantly and with little to no gusto, I jumped on board reminding Daniel that this will have to be all his work cause Mama has zero artistic ability. I can't cut a straight line...never could! Just ask my mother! But Danny Mac and I put our heads together, followed the instructions exactly and created a big balloon covered ball. Then I sent it with him to school for he and Mrs. Aldridge to finish. DONE...right?</div>
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There just wasn't enough time in the school day to complete the project so the balloon head came home like a boomerang. Internally I panicked while Andy bought paint and Daniel went to work. He painted a face on that balloon head. Then he painted a box grey and added black lines to look like a stone wall for effect. He painted another box grey and cut out yellow buttons for the front of that box, slapped the face painted balloon head on top and BOOM! Stoic Stonewall in the flesh (well, sorta). Honestly, it's amazing. While I'm super proud of Danny Mac and his crazy fifth grade artsy skillz I feel I have a lot to learn.</div>
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Looking back at the ordeal in it's entirety I can't allow myself to overlook my parenting fail. Actually, I may have even failed at just being a good human. As I analyze, I realize my hesitation wasn't due to my fear that Daniel wouldn't accomplish his goal of completed project and pride in his accomplishment. My reluctance was that I couldn't help him do it perfectly. I'm a perfectionist. It's not a terrible thing until it's a terrible thing. I'm thankful that after 18 years at this parenting gig they teach me so much more than I could possibly teach them. I can't help how precisely I see life. My attention to detail helps me do the jobs God has given me to accomplish. This quality becomes a curse when I try and apply it to others and especially in this case when I tried to require perfection in a 5th grade school project for my youngest child. </div>
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<b>Happy Mother's Day guys...thanks for your patience as I continue to learn what it means to be your mama.</b></div>
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Presenting to younger students</div>
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He still loves me and lets me be his proud Mama</div>
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Talking Stonewall with Superintendent Raines</div>
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LHoneyJoneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16094061646020933507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8694835893726461755.post-61164069606419964222017-04-18T15:28:00.000-07:002017-04-18T15:28:42.309-07:00Learning to Love DandelionsIn the summer of 2014 a lunch meeting with a local chaplain led Andy to check out the Covenant College job board. He emailed me the specifics of an admin job that seemed to fit my skill set and...it had summers off! Yippee!<br />
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In that moment, I had no idea how the months prior to those summers off would include tear filled drives to work and heart breaking goodbyes (for elaboration on all the feels <a href="http://worthwastedtime.blogspot.com/2014/11/thankful-for-covenant.html" target="_blank">Thankful for Covenant</a>, <a href="http://worthwastedtime.blogspot.com/2015/04/time-and-my-relational-landscape.html" target="_blank">Time and My Relational Landscape</a>, <a href="http://worthwastedtime.blogspot.com/2015/10/my-lunch-ladies-and-labri.html" target="_blank">Lunch Ladies and L'Abri</a>). I laugh when I think about how blindsided I was to find a ministry tacked onto calendar updates, emails and endless to do lists. Somehow along the way I developed a life on campus outside administrative duties and I'm so much better for it. Covenant students are literally the best this world has to offer (with the exception of one Furman Paladin) and I have been so blessed to learn from them these last few years.<br />
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I've been reminded of the value in asking questions that cannot be answered with a yes or a no. How sometimes the best thing to do is sit quietly so words recently spoken can bounce around, circle the room, reverberate and be heard by the speaker themselves. I've tried to remember that I don't have to have all the answers when I have the love of Christ to love with, the Holy Spirit to listen to and a common goal of obedience encompassed with redemptive grace. I've been blessed to see patterns in life's happenings that seem to have no connection until you watch them spiral to core issues where they can be grasped and ripped out of the deepest and darkest recesses of human hearts. The process of discipleship brings such rich joy. Learning with others how to obey and seeing God be faithful to sanctify has renewed my faith many times. Through these years at Covenant, students reminded me that loving others is my jam and one of my favorite parts about being me.<br />
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Leaving this job I've loved, while sad, is also exciting. I'm excited to take new self realization and live it out down the mountain. I have a whole 20ish years to dedicate to a new career and I can't wait to get started! I can't wait to learn all the new things from a perfect team to serve what I'm sure are always wonderful customers! In March I traveled to London with a group of students and was incorporated into the life of a church working predominantly with people of Middle Eastern decent. As I learned about Middle Eastern religions and how the true Word of God is strong enough to handle their questions, I was amazed at how important it is to take time to build relationships and assess your mission field. It made me excited for new ground, new people, new conversations in which God can prove the reality of his existence.<br />
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If the dandelions in my yard would remain small yellow flowers that are contained, organized, exactly where I want them to be, they would be easier to appreciate. However, knowing the unpredictability of their future is very frustrating. They become balls of fluffy seeds ready for the wind to swoop up and take far far away (or straight into my well groomed flower beds where I will curse them, dig them up and throw them into the woods). We rarely stay at jobs we love forever. Life brings important people into our relational landscape long enough to alter us, teach us, love us and then they go do something else somewhere else. Children learn, grow, have their own ideas that separate them as individuals with a plan of their own. I'm learning to be thankful for the time that flower was bright and contained and to appreciate the gift it is to watch the wind blow it's seeds around.<br />
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Mostly, my heart is just so filled with gratitude. I'm thankful for the fun filled three years packed with rich relationships built on a common love for a blessed Savior. Thankful for Covenant in general but mostly for the handful of students I'm taking with me. I can't wait for the phone calls, social media glimpses and especially those planned crossing of paths. I'm always ready to pray for you and with you no matter the amount of dropped calls or funny faces stuck on frozen face time screens. My life is richer because of you and I love you.<br />
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Some pics with my London peeps! #CovLondon17</div>
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<br />LHoneyJoneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16094061646020933507noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8694835893726461755.post-88692059370534931292017-01-22T13:42:00.001-08:002017-01-22T19:11:30.153-08:00Just the Best Nana EverA ninety-two year old Nana in declining health who has suffered years of dementia is supposed to leave this world. Her passing wasn't a shock and in large part was cause for joy. But, you see, she was just the best Nana ever.<br />
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When I was a little girl, my sister and I took a trip with my grandparents to see some of my Grandad's land. I don't remember where this land was located but he seemed proud of it and we had a day wandering through the woods with our Nana. I remember laughing until my sides hurt at her little jokes. She was so silly in the simplest ways, always finding fun and always willing to laugh at herself.<br />
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On our trek through Grandad's woods we found a pile of bones which resulted in three very different reactions. My older sister thought they were cool. I was a bit disgusted. Nana was sad. She wondered out loud what type of animal had left this lifeless pile and if he was missed. She voiced questions about the animal's family, "Were his wife and children waiting for his return? Did he suffer?" She took a stick, brushed away the leaves and drew a circle of protection in the dirt around the bones. This was done with seriousness of heart, all the while laughing at herself and her silliness. Forever the kindergarten teacher, Nana had the heart of a child. She was always singing, telling stories, drawing imaginary protective barriers to protect piles of deteriorated animal remains.<br />
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Her last hours on earth were spent reminding her who she was and all she meant to all of us. At times Nana would seem agitated and we would try to hear her whispers, give her more or less cover, put lotion on muscles that may or may not ache. During one of these moments she became very animated and was struggling to communicate. My Aunt Bud started quoting one of her favorite children's books "Are you My Mother?" Nana instantly calmed, settled and started mouthing the words as her youngest child recited them from memory.<br />
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At the end of a lengthy period of lucidity Nana looked past me, over my shoulder, and focused at the blank wall behind me. She raised her hand, pointed and her very blue eyes held a look of amazement.<br />
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I asked her, "What do you see, Nana?"<br />
She formed the word friends.<br />
"Are they beautiful?"<br />
"Oh yeah" she whispered.<br />
"Are they singing?"<br />
"Singing"<br />
"Do they sing better than I do?"<br />
"Oh yeah."<br />
I replied, "I'm ok with that."<br />
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As we watched my Nana struggle to live and then when we celebrated her passed life, one thing was very clear. My Nana made an art form out of loving those close to her. Each of her thirteen grandchildren felt like we were the favorite. At the end of every visit, she just couldn't seem to say goodbye. It was as if you were trying to rip away a part of herself. She didn't have to try and make those in her life FEEL loved. She genuinely, truly, whole heartedly, loved you. It flowed through her and permeated her being as she sang, danced, threatened to lock you in the closet so she could keep you, and as she literally chased you down as you tried to drive away.<br />
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In his homily at Nana's funeral Andy provided the greatest comfort:<br />
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"<span style="font-family: "book antiqua"; font-size: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Nana no longer has faith. It may unsettle you to hear this: Nana is now faithless. She no longer needs faith. She has sig</span><span style="font-family: "book antiqua"; font-size: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;">ht. She has left the shadow lands and has been ushered into the presence of the royal city. She is now experiencing in fullness everything she had believed while on earth."</span><br />
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I'll never forget his words on Nana's faithlessness. While she no longer needs faith or hope, she will always and forever love.<br />
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<span style="font-family: "book antiqua"; font-size: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;">My Nana</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "book antiqua"; font-size: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Alicia, Carin, Dave and Kimmy (photobombed by a couple of hooligans)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "book antiqua"; font-size: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Most of Nana's Grandfavorites (in birth order...*sigh*)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "book antiqua"; font-size: 16px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Some of Nana's Greatfavorites...imagine the crazy!</span></div>
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LHoneyJoneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16094061646020933507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8694835893726461755.post-62678582975645240102016-12-31T09:18:00.003-08:002016-12-31T15:32:04.388-08:00The Names You Call MeOn the day a child is born, parents give their bundle of joy a name. This name is pondered, researched, and possibly fought over. The name Leah Heleena means a lot to me. Leah is the name of my mom's childhood friend, the type of friend you hide in the attic for a week without your parents knowing. "Heleena" was the name of my Great Grandmother's Grandmother. This name was exclaimed as I was found playing in the mud in my Sunday best and when I was caught reaching in my diaper, pulling out what I found and putting it in my pocket (I know, I can't believe it either). While this name was often used to grab my attention, my sisters and I shared names that implied all the love and affection we couldn't comprehend until we had children of our own. My Mama calls us "Baby Girl" and we feel treasured. My Papa tags the name "Darlin" when he says "I love you" and we know wherever we are, however far away he is, we are his daughters.<br />
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As I move further into the fourth decade of life, I find as much as my given name means, all the other names mean even more. I love hearing nieces, nephews and kids of friends call me Aunt Leah, Aunt Weela, Quesadilla. I'm filled with humility when my buddy Ryan calls me "Coach". For this friend who I respect as much as I do to imply that at some point I had words he found encouraging or constructive makes me feel I'm wearing Jesus well. When my work study students (past and present) call me "Boss" they aren't simply acknowledging that I get to tell them what to do. These students have to work to pay for college. There are many positions they could have and the title they have given me speaks of thankfulness and appreciation. We are friends, we share life, but I'm their supervisor and whatever I ask, they will do their best to accomplish. Jon Boy, Mollyanna, Jay McRae, and Micky D are literally the cream of the crop. I've even come to find Mrs. Jones endearing but ONLY when spoken by Jay. College Mom, Campus Mom, Mama Leah...are a few other names given by Covenant students that warm my heart and give me purpose. </div>
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Mommy is the name while I loved, I often wanted to change during the years it was spoken multiple times each minute of every day. When Mommy transitioned to Mom, I realized my kids were growing up way too fast and was thankful they still needed me. When Spanish is being studied "Mi Madre" has to be mentally translated. Whatever the variation, this name is often voiced from one point of the house to the other by three of the best humans I've ever known. A few weeks ago when L'Abri came home from college "Mom?" was exclaimed from the front door and I felt as though one hundred butterflies were released in my heart. When these three call me "Mom" responsibility is coupled with empowerment by the sense of confidence it seems to convey. A need will be met, a question will be answered, comfort will be provided. The realization that grace will always be necessary is simultaneously and respectively acknowledged by all parties. </div>
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As I dial into who I am, the names Andy calls me are at my very core. Don't worry, I won't risk turning my readers bilious by providing a list. I'll just say, they mean different things oscillating from necessity in "Hey Babe" to the expression of love and commitment behind "Baby Doll". There are times these names are super familiar and information being relayed is very mundane. Other times the level of dedication being expressed settles me. It reminds me of the safety, acceptance, and unconditional love I carry with me and have no fear of losing until death parts us. </div>
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While there's no way to include all the names I've been given, I'm blessed by all of you who take the time to know me. As wonderful as all the names described above make me feel, as much purpose as they give me, they do not provide hope. The fulfillment they give me is empty without the fact that my Lord calls me child, sister...friend. Even more important than what God calls me is the fact that my name is written on the hands and in the heart of his beautiful Son. I am nothing without being claimed and called "Redeemed". </div>
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Happy New Year! </div>
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While this picture seems blurry it is quite focused. Unseen is the moment of lucidity given to my sweet Nana as she spoke the words, "You're my Leah."</div>
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LHoneyJoneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16094061646020933507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8694835893726461755.post-88420212596374025812016-09-12T13:31:00.001-07:002016-09-13T12:54:44.302-07:00The Fall, Fairy Dust and our Communal FightThe little pie shaped plot of land that anchors our home is my favorite place to be. I love digging around, planting shrublike plants in the very rocky soil, and sitting on my back deck listening to the crickets while watching the sun disappear behind the trees. Imagine my horror when huge brown spots began to spread through our front lawn. After the yard was treated by some wonderful yard fairies, my shrubs began to look sad and discolored. Once again, the lawn fairies got a frantic phone call requesting their magical poison filled fairy dust.<br />
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Recently I've been frustrated by the deepest recesses of my heart revealing yet again familiar issues of sin playing out in all the same ole ways. I prayed, asked others to pray, threw my hands up and begged my God to take these evil knee jerk reactions away from me. I needed the Holy Spirit to intercede as habitual actions and reactions threatened to play out before I even realized what was happening. In the last few days I spoke with three of my people who were appalled by the same temptations rising up once again despite their passion for living a life of righteousness. I watched tears roll down faces as desperate pleas were made for the Spirit's intercession.<br />
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For the first time in 20 years I'm taking a college class, Christian Issues in Psychology. In the text book, some guy named Entwistle spends a good deal of time on the subject of the Fall.<br />
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"Cornelius Plantinga paints a picture that contrasts shalom, the peace that was intended by God, with sin, the cause of the brokenness that surrounds us...'In the Bible shalom means universal flourishing, wholeness and delight--a rich state of affairs in which natural needs are satisfied and natural gifts fruitfully employed, a state of affairs that inspires joyful wonder as the creator and savior opens doors and speaks welcome to the creatures in whom he delights...a sin is any act-any thought, desire, emotion, word, or deed-or its particular absence, that displeases God and deserves blame."<br />
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I've read the beginning chapters of Genesis many times. I remember God speaking how the serious ramifications of Adam and Eve's choice of snack food will shatter a perfect creation. Yet, when my grass starts to die and my shrubs get sad and wilty, I'm surprised. When I'm tempted once again in that old familiar way I'm ashamed, I feel dejected, I'm tempted to despair. While I would much rather have the whole complete kind of shalom I have to expect defective darkness in my heart and sickness in soul as well as my soil.<br />
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I personally am often tempted to get bogged down by the lack of redemption in the world. My sin, general evil, the weeds in my flower bed...all of these things can overwhelm me if not kept in the confines of truth. Even in the deepest of despair, I must be mindful of the atonement provided by my Savior and actively feel the comfort of the Holy Spirit. I'm also in constant need of other believers. Last Friday in Covenant's Chapel Pastor Joe Novenson challenged us "Don't underestimate the place God has given you in the lives of His people." Pastor Joe concluded his exegetical dissection of Proverbs 11:30 breaking down the word "capture" as a term for war. He reminded us that we have to fight for each other. We walk through life in prayer and supplication, sharing the weight that is the knowledge of one another. We are to know and be known so when temptation infiltrates we can remind each other not to despair. When we do fall to temptation, an outside perspective that helps name our sin is paramount and necessary. And then, some of us more than others, need help to reveal our righteousness. In a way, we are the fairy dust of God's truth sprinkled on the hearts of God's people. So we sit together in the glorious shadow of the cross all the while longing for the true shalom in which we were intended to exist.<br />
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January 2016 #backdeckbliss</div>
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"O Lord, I acknowledge and give thanks that You created in me Your image so that I may remember, contemplate, and love You. But (this image) has been so effaced by the abrasion of transgressions, so hidden from sight by the dark billows of sins, that unless You renew and refashion it, it cannot do what it was created to do."</div>
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<br />LHoneyJoneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16094061646020933507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8694835893726461755.post-52014154162601937412016-07-19T14:36:00.001-07:002018-07-20T09:46:15.464-07:00Sea, Sand and the Best Kind of Burns<div style="color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica; line-height: normal;">
I've come to the conclusion after these 41 and a half years that change is hard. To be honest, I'm not a big fan. The past few months have been filled with plans driven by the purpose of going to Greenville, SC one day only to return the following day minus a child. A CHILD! I'm a mom! I'm supposed to constantly count heads making sure I return home with the same number with which I depart!</div>
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The mere thought of leaving Emma at college feels like the severing of a limb. While she is extremely independent, she usually needs me for something or other. Even when she doesn't need me, I'm involved. I'm always there and willing to give unsolicited advice (and it's rarely bad), speak into the situation whether she wants me to or not, answer questions she doesn't ask...ya know, the usual! In a few weeks, there will be so many happenings for her no amount or combination of phone calls, Instas and snaps can catch me up. She'll have conversations I'll be oblivious to, experiences I'll have no part in, feelings of which I'll never be aware. </div>
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When you have the best of husbands and all the stars align just right you find yourself sitting on Florida's beautiful gulf coast for two days by yourself. For me this time proved to be a gift of God's goodness and care. I needed this time to <a href="http://worthwastedtime.blogspot.com/2016/03/re-center.html" target="_blank">Re-Center</a>. In 1839, Robert Murray M'Cheyne preached on <a href="http://www.the-highway.com/articleAug11.html" target="_blank">"The Love of Christ"</a>. His closing illustration involves Peter walking on the water to get to Jesus. As long as he kept his eyes on his Savior, Peter was safe. When he looked at the mighty sea and the terrifying waves Peter would begin to sink. </div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: black; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">"As long as you look believingly to the Saviour, who loved you, and gave Himself for you, so long you may tread the waters of life’s troubled sea, and the soles of your feet shall not be wet. But venture to look around upon the winds and waves that threaten you on every hand, and, like Peter, you begin to sink, and cry, 'Lord, save me!' How justly, then, may we address to you the Saviour’s rebuke to Peter: 'O thou of little faith, wherefore didst thou doubt?' Look again to the love of the Saviour, and behold that love which constrains you to live no more to yourself, but to Him that died for you and rose again."</span></span></div>
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These wonderful heart piercing, soul healing days of reflection concluded in the form of a coffee date with a local friend, Debi Burns. I know Debi’s son Ryan from Covenant and I’m convinced she not only played a huge role in his successful transition into adult life but I believe she played it very very well. I thought, maybe it would be helpful to pick her brain, learn from her experience, ask how she managed this life altering transition that feels so very wrong. </div>
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As Debi and I chatted about when her kids left for college and the sense of finality that accompanies the weeks ahead of me, there was a common theme that crossed her lips. It’s ok to be so very sad. My quivering lips and tear filled eyes were not only accepted but also understood by someone who has walked the same path. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, God did not intend for us to be self sustaining. We need each other. I needed Debi’s questions, encouragement and comfort. I needed to hear her pray for me in ways I don’t know to pray for myself. </div>
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This separation, the day I leave my child to her own living, from the moment I say goodbye I will immediately begin to wonder what she's up to, what she's thinking, how she feels about all the events of the day. While this severing brought about by independence she has longed for and at times fought for feels like the cutting away of a limb or even a significant dissection of my very heart, it is good. And it's ok for it to be hard. As God has been faithful before, he will continuously continue to be. As he allowed for a heart healing, soul piercing few days of contemplation in the presence of his most beautiful creation, as he was faithful to bring about timely conversation with the likes of Debi Burns, he will be faithful in the most difficult of moments to cauterize my wounds. He won't let me bleed out. While my existence will look very different, I will continue to exist. </div>
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Panama City Beach, FL</div>
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LHoneyJoneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16094061646020933507noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8694835893726461755.post-13410979889642924202016-05-18T18:26:00.002-07:002016-05-19T10:54:00.849-07:00#LAbritheSeniorDuring the 26th week of my first pregnancy I was working very hard at my grown up job when I started to experience extreme back pain. I called my doctor fully expecting him to tell me just to suck it up and he would see me the next day at my scheduled appointment. An hour later I was lying in labor and delivery being told I was in pre-term labor and the inability to stop said labor would mean a 50% chance of survival for my child.<br />
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That was the moment. The exact moment I associated the tiny kicks with my new reality called motherhood. The moment my slightly rounded belly ceased to be a new and exciting stage of life and began to establish itself as an entire section of my heart. From that moment until now my existence has been compromised. I no longer thought in terms of most convenient, most comfortable or primary personal preference. There was always an X factor and while we were yet to realize it, her name was Emma.</div>
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Emma is as witty as she is beautiful. She is so confident! There's no need for primping. Even an evening under bright stage lights where she will step forward to sing a solo does not mandate make-up or the use of a curling iron. Emma knows what she wants and isn't afraid to go for her goal with gusto. I'm not surprised Emma L'Abri Jones tried to enter the world two and a half months early. She's been grabbing the world by the ear and digging for her oyster all in one fair swoop for over 17 years. If I attempted to list all her achievements and accomplishments my readers would tire of her excellence and miss the most important aspects of Emma. Let's just say, she's really smart. </div>
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Emma loves. She loves life, her Lord and people. She cherishes her friends like few I've seen before. The more her friends have genuine needs the more she pours out. Her passion for justice is unparalleled. When she envisions a life's work it is the unlovable, the underserved, the needy and mentally ill she hopes to understand. </div>
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As I think back and remember the beautiful tiny baby, adorable little girl with the tiny voice that never stopped, the pre-teen with Hanna Montana sunglasses/purse/clothes/lamp, the teenager who hated us for making her move to GA but walked into that ginormous building that housed Ridgeland High School as if she owned the place, I realize she is one of my greatest sources of pride. The pride Scott and Seth Avett sing about "But not like the kind in the Bible that turns you bad." She is the truest form of determination I have ever seen. She MAKES things happen. Most of her wildest dreams come true because she demands that they be realized. And when they don't, she has a back up plan. I see in her a fantastic, mysterious combination of myself and Andy filtered through the love and conviction of a gracious God. </div>
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These are the things I see. There are so many things about Emma that I miss as exceptional because to me...they're just the characteristics that make her my L'Abri. I'm so excited for her to meet new people who will see these eccentricities, point them out and show her even more that makes her exceptional. I pray she finds influences that help her dissect the ways my selfishness, pride and personal agenda have creeped into my parenting. </div>
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Thursday, May 19th, three months before she moves into a dorm room at Furman University, she will walk across a stage. I will clap and think a thought I've thought so many times before. I am so proud of my baby girl. I'm so thankful for the young woman God has created her to be and for her on going pursuit of holiness. In so many ways, I want to be more like her.<br />
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"Sandy" with her Winston after Grease- Spring 2015</div>
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Last weekend Emma was Belle for Ridgeland High School's performance of Beauty and the Beast. I kept picturing her as a little girl in her yellow Belle dress and hearing her 3 year old voice saying "Look Mama, I Belle! I pretty Mama?"</div>
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LHoneyJoneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16094061646020933507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8694835893726461755.post-86108393296948649582016-05-07T18:37:00.005-07:002016-05-09T04:17:26.935-07:00A Happy SadOn Mondays I have lunch with Ellie. She might call me her mentor but much of the time during our weekly lunch dates I'm griping about this or that and she speaks into my life with wisdom beyond her years. As she prayed for me last week I was flooded with the sad reality that I won't see her for months. As she thanked God for me and cried out to God on my behalf I felt so blessed I couldn't keep the tears from sliding down my cheeks. I feel so blessed to know her and so thankful that our weekly lunch dates will continue with the next school year.<br />
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Next Sunday one of my lunch ladies is going to put on a beautiful dress, walk down an aisle and make very significant promises to this guy named Jack. Over two years I've watched Andrea fall more deeply in love and make plans to marry him and more recently have had the privilege of listening to all the plans as they formulated for this most special of days. It's heart wrenching that I won't be there to watch it all unfold.<br />
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Instead, I'll be watching another's dreams come true. Since she was 18 months old Emma L'Abri has loved Beauty and the Beast. From the first time she watched Belle climb over that grassy hill singing about a little town, Emma resonated with the dark haired animation and her ability to find life like dreamy escapades in the pages of a book. I can close my eyes and easily recall vivid memories of my daughter dancing around multiple living rooms over the span of a childhood pretending to be Belle. The happiest you will ever see a mom is watching their child's wildest dreams come true! Next weekend, I get to be that joy filled mom.<br />
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Sometimes the saddest things in this life are the result of so much happiness. Tears flow when Ellie prays for me because I'm humbled by how she cares for me and allows me to truly know her. Andrea and Emma have wonderful, amazing events going on at the same time in different places. I'd give anything to be at both but being on this side of heaven I am limited by time and space. God's sweetest blessings meet the imperfection of this post-Eden world where time and space conflict.<br />
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Today I experienced a similar contrast of emotion as my friends walked across a stage signifying great achievement coupled with the fact that they are moving on. What a privilege to stand in my slippered feet day after day and pour out the gracious, hope filled love God has poured into me. When my "work" day is done I drive down a beautiful mountain to these three exceptional humans I get to raise and their father who happens to be my favorite person on the planet. Even my sad is caused by so much happy.<br />
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I don't like to brag but the guy in the center is my work study student of two years and is next year's Student Body President. Tried to get him to run the country but he just doesn't have time. </div>
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<br />LHoneyJoneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16094061646020933507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8694835893726461755.post-19844094514960137822016-03-11T06:27:00.000-08:002016-03-11T06:29:26.034-08:00RE-CENTER<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">This week I joined Emma L'Abri at a banquet for parents of students in the top 10% of their graduating class. In an effort to actually arrive at said banquet I used google maps to find my way. As I set out I swiped the top bar left in order to see the next turn. And the next and then the next. At some point I looked down at the map and was very confused. Nothing looked familiar.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">A few weeks ago I found myself in a similar state from a spiritual perspective. Those around me were suffering. I was overwhelmed by the sadness, sickness and sin that seemed to be coming from every direction. I have the tendency to love people ferociously and without hesitation which means when they suffer I can't not suffer with them. When a student's parent is very ill and they are afraid, I struggle to simply sit with them and their questions without wanting very much to fix it. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">In her most recent blog, <a href="http://danceintherain.com/2016/03/03/need-comfort-others/" target="_blank">Vaneetha Rendall </a> points out that Jesus' most basic need while suffering in the Garden of Gethsemane was companionship. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span><i><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> "Clearly this longing was not sinfully weak or needy. It did not reflect a lack of trust in God or a fragile faith. It was simply human. God incarnate longed for fellowship. Because God created us to live in community. In the same way, </span><span style="background-color: white;">our friends often long for presence in their suffering. Caring for them from a distance is not enough. They aren't looking for answers to their deepest questions. Or solutions to their pressing problems. They just need our presence."</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white;">On one of the darkest days during the last few weeks it seemed as though life was too much for Jesus to handle. Just my own sin and the brokenness I was aware of seemed insurmountable. I was afraid in that moment to cry out to God. I wasn't angry. I was just weak and sad. During quiet moments of prayer and reflection I realized I was trying to look at the next step and the one after that. Instead of sitting with those who were suffering I was trying to figure out what I could say to help. I wanted to know what my next turn should be. And the next and then the one after that. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">In Google Maps on the bottom left corner is a delightful little "Re-Center" button. When I've swiped left so many times I don't recognize the map on the screen I can hit that button and it takes me back to my current location where the streets make sense. This was exactly the kind of action I needed in the last few weeks. I needed to hit the re-center button and be reminded that the faithful God we serve is just that big. Rather than look for the next step I'm called to sit and weep with those who weep. So I hug those who are afraid. And tell them it is very ok not to be ok. </span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;">I'm so thankful for a husband who understood my melancholy mood, for a mom who helped me process, for friends half my age who reminded me that I too am allowed to be weak and broken.</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span></span><br />
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<i style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; line-height: 29.25px;"><br /></span></i>LHoneyJoneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16094061646020933507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8694835893726461755.post-53057681532516996062016-01-04T13:10:00.000-08:002016-01-04T17:26:48.789-08:00Just Call Me Jonah<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: inherit; font-size: 13.5pt;">I am in constant need of being reminded that I am complete in
Christ. Many of us struggle to feel atoned for gross imperfections
by a Being that is perfectly righteous. If you're like me the overwhelming act of claiming
sisterhood with our precious Lord or being named a daughter of God Almighty
himself is so humbling that your soul begs to respond. We can’t help but search our heart for ways that we fail to match our precious life-giving Savior. We crave to
be like Him. At times this desire can consume us and even turn into a self sustaining
measure to feel as though we play a part in our sanctification although we know
this to be untrue. Thankfully, the Holy Spirit is in the business of showing us our brokenness and making us brand new, every day, year after year. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: inherit; font-size: 13.5pt;">Since sitting in Sunday School at Adaton Baptist Church until now I've heard and read the story of Jonah many times. I’ve always been appalled
and confused by Jonah's reaction to God's mercy toward the people of Nineveh.
When Jonah FINALLY gets to Nineveh and the people respond to his
preaching with belief and praise, the missionary is ticked. In fact, in chapter
four his displeasure with God is so fierce he requests death. You know, his
displeasure with the very God who has bestowed mercy and stuffed truth into his
own rebellious heart. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: inherit; font-size: 13.5pt;">Tim Keller explains brilliantly in "Counterfeit Gods"
how Jonah's fear of failure runs simultaneously with his fear of success. Every
bit of it stems from idolatry. "Jonah's cultural and personal idols
had melded into a toxic compound that was completely hidden from him. It led
him to rebel against the very God he was so proud of serving." <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: inherit; font-size: 13.5pt;">I'm appalled at Jonah's reaction until I start to recognize a
similar motive in myself. I am Jonah. I too often allow my sin to form a
toxic compound of which I am unaware. I see my sin of selfishness and settle for calling it pride.
When I pick apart a pattern of negative emotion, I sometimes find that pride would
be more appropriately labeled as egotism and idolatry. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: inherit; font-size: 13.5pt;">Tonight, I baked a whole chicken for dinner. The carcass
(for lack of a better word) is boiling in a pot for tomorrow's Chicken and
Dumplings. I will then boil the bones for bone broth that will be frozen and made
into soup. Dissecting my heart's attitude that exists despite my obedient
action and mindset is a lot like the laborious task of cooking this bird in my
kitchen. I can't take the first round and be done. There is more
goodness, more meat of truth, more marrow of insight in the deep recess of my
heart waiting to be discovered. This is where we learn the most. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: inherit; font-size: 13.5pt;">Jonah needed time in the belly of that fish where the Holy Spirit
gave him a good dose of self realization. He wasn’t simply acting out of fear
but he was also fleshing out a desire to keep the grace of the gospel for those
who were born like him. He wanted God’s goodness for his people and none other.
It's a good thing to act out of obedience. The joy, the richest of God's
goodness is felt when our hearts are pricked, cut away, broken, boiled and
re-boiled. Understanding the sin in our lives is difficult. Understanding how
it plays out and affects our relationships is even more difficult. I'm
realizing at the ripe ole age of 41 this process of dissection, while difficult,
is my life's work. I'm realizing God's goodness to me permeates through each step of this process and my grasping His unrelenting atonement is my daily feast.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: inherit; font-size: 13.5pt;"><u><b>Come All Ye Pining, Hungry, Poor</b></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 18px;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Lord, we adore thy boundless grace, </span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18px;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">The heights and depths unknown,</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18px;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Of pardon, life, and joy, and peace, </span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18px;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">In thy beloved Son.</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18px;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></i></span>
<span style="font-size: 18px;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Come, all ye pining, hungry poor, </span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18px;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Saviour's bounty taste; </span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18px;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Behold a never-failing store</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18px;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">For every willing guest</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18px;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></i></span>
<span style="font-size: 18px;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">O wondrous gifts of love divine,</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18px;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Dear Source of every good;</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18px;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Jesus, in thee what glories shine!</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18px;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">How rich thy flowing blood!</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18px;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></i></span>
<span style="font-size: 18px;"><i>Come, all ye pining, hungry poor, </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18px;"><i>The Saviour's bounty taste; </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18px;"><i>Behold a never-failing store</i></span><br />
<i style="font-size: 18px;">For every willing guest</i><span style="font-size: 18px;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18px;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></i></span>
<span style="font-size: 18px;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Here shall your numerous wants receive</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18px;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">A free, a full supply;</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18px;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">He has unmeasured bliss to give,</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 18px;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">And joys that never die.</span></i></span><br />
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LHoneyJoneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16094061646020933507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8694835893726461755.post-8837772422213849332015-11-14T10:47:00.000-08:002015-11-14T10:55:30.026-08:00My Day of Independence<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">
This weekend finds me home alone. The other four of our family of five are headed in three different directions for various reasons. I've been anticipating for days the quiet time when all I have to do is exactly what I wish. All day Friday, while hard at work, I looked forward to 4:30 like never before. I could not WAIT to get home. I walked into my house, looked around at the emptiness, took a deep breath, and immediately felt lost. </div>
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The last few weeks I have talked to a handful of students in various stages of romantic relationships. A few in this handful have voiced significant fear in giving up independence for the sake of pursuing life with another. I get it! Sometimes I feel like I jump out of one world where people are always asking me for servitude into another that is as demanding if not more so. When my selfishness and pride takes over I can get downright pitiful! I begin to wonder if I'm allowed my own thoughts much less actions that resemble any sort of independence! </div>
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As I've made decisions the last few hours based completely on my own desires I've had one overwhelming emotion. Loneliness. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed my nap after work, watching Covenant Men's Basketball team come so close to beating Liberty and am (as I type this post) on glass number two of red wine. But I'm glad it's short lived. While it's nice to have a bit of a break I wouldn't want to live it continuously. Not everyone is called to be a wife, mother and admin. However, no one should make independence or self reliance a life goal. We are all called to serve others and to die to self daily. To those few students who have voiced their legitimate and understandable fears of sacrifice for the sake of being with another, I say give it up. Lay down the rags of self reliance along with the false sense of security independence supposedly provides. Grasp the riches of building a life around serving those who love you most. </div>
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"Always remember there is nothing worth sharing like the love that let us share our name." -The Avett Brothers<br />
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Andy went grocery shopping before he left town. Not sure if I should be flattered or offended by "Smoking Loon."</div>
LHoneyJoneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16094061646020933507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8694835893726461755.post-43116605178922249202015-10-26T15:24:00.000-07:002015-10-26T15:33:33.848-07:00My Lunch Ladies and L'Abri<div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />The main reason I love my job so much is because of the relationships I get to develop with students. Feel free to read <a href="http://worthwastedtime.blogspot.com/2015/04/time-and-my-relational-landscape.html" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank">Time and My Relational Landscape</a> for a fleshing out of this sentiment. Another thing I love is food. For most of my life, lunch has been a highlight of any day. This stage in my life is no different but possibly for different reasons. Four out of five work days I stand at my desk, shuffle papers and run the chapel office with great anticipation for time with my Lunch Ladies. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">There are many students at Covenant I'm continuing to learn, love and hound with countless questions. These four girls subject themselves to a weekly conversation that oscillates between interrogation and venting depending on life and possibly my current attitude. Actually, I believe they would tell you these moments of breaking bread (or turkey wrap) are both encouraging and edifying. I've lived years they have not and therefore have a perspective on this life they can't yet visualize. They allow me the great privilege of sharing their joys and carrying their sorrows. I try to be a sounding board as they voice their fears. I watch them layout a runway for their future as we talk through relationships and dreams. I know them and they know me which is both beautiful and heartbreaking. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">These ladies know that I pray for them and that I enjoy their company. However, there is no way they can comprehend the spiritual benefit I receive from each of these relationships. God pours out his goodness to me through our conversation. Their desire to follow the path God has perfectly orchestrated and their commitment to His word as they navigate this broken world renews my faith. I would be proud to call any of them my own. There in lies the beauty. At times the level of devotion I feel for these ladies makes me wonder if something is wrong with me. I was recently blessed to hear Dr. Steve Garber refer to this desire to know students as a gift. Like most gifts it has a price tag. Next year, even next semester, my weekly calendar will look different. Que the heartbreak. Dr. Garber told me tears are totally acceptable as these changes in schedule occur. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I often find myself thinking about my daughter during these lunches. I'm already very proud of the young lady she is and I look with great anticipation to see the woman she's becoming. One prayer I'm often voicing is for God to provide for her some one who will value the same sort of opportunity with her that I have with these four Lunch Ladies. I hope for someone in her college years to see her gifts with new eyes...someone to appreciate the things I've grown accustom to and therefore unintentionally overlook. Mostly, I hope for her to have someone who can invest in her without the personal pride and the selfish agenda I have to continuously resist. </span></div>
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LHoneyJoneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16094061646020933507noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8694835893726461755.post-34896965154674665722015-08-10T06:07:00.001-07:002015-08-10T06:17:07.854-07:00#19yearsandcounting<blockquote style="background-color: white; font-family: arial, sans-serif;" type="cite">
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">The view of Lookout Mountain from
the valley where I live provides great beauty. In spring, the blanket of
treetops is thick with new growth in varying shades of green. In the fall, as
all the leaves begin to die, the blanket is vibrant with orange, yellow,
and red. If you stay in the valley, if you don't venture up the road into
the curvy, hilly and sometimes treacherous mountain road you miss the greatest
beauty. In spring you miss hundreds of dogwoods whose beauty is unspeakable and
in fall you miss the brightest of the orange, yellow and red the mountain has to
offer. These scenes are picturesque and rival the best photos you'd find in any
travel magazine. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">In 19 years of marriage, Andy
and I have had times where we cruised through life maneuvering relatively flat
ground. We've also had moments where we had to travel up the mountain
path. In these moments God's goodness was so vibrant I could hardly stand to
look at it. As overwhelming as life can be and as terrifying as it is to
wonder what's waiting around the next bend, it's in these moments God's faithfulness
is most prevalent and consuming. His grace flows freely providing the
confidence necessary to make it up the next hill. The scope of these
realizations is so acute I find myself thankful for the effort the path demands
and appreciate the aching muscles produced by the climb. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Andy and I realize that marriage
is a fight, and we will continue on that battlefield until either one of us
ceases to draw breath or Jesus returns. As difficult as it can be, the benefit
of this union far outweighs the struggle. To be truly known by another is
the essence of peace. I'm beyond willing for Andy to understand what
makes me tick, what brings me joy, and how my deepest heartache can
spontaneously creep back to the surface of my being. We are two cracked
cisterns who choose every day to love each other regardless of our
eccentricities and complications. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">Ben Rector sings true,
"...life is not the mountain tops. It's the walking in between and I like
you walking next to me." Regardless of whether we are in the serenity of
the valley or climbing the treacherous mountain, it is no small comfort knowing
we'll be together. Even more importantly, knowing that we are always
enveloped by the vibrant beauty of our gracious Savior.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="background: white; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Calibri; font-size: 13.5pt; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">"It is mercy to have a
faithful friend who loveth you entirely." Richard Baxter<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: proxima-nova; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22.3999996185303px; text-align: start;">Let me find Thy light in my darkness,</span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: proxima-nova; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22.3999996185303px; text-align: start;">Thy life in my death,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: proxima-nova; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22.3999996185303px; text-align: start;">Thy joy in my sorrow,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: proxima-nova; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22.3999996185303px; text-align: start;">Thy grace in my sin,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: proxima-nova; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22.3999996185303px; text-align: start;">Thy riches in my poverty</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: proxima-nova; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22.3999996185303px; text-align: start;">Thy glory in my valley.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: proxima-nova; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22.3999996185303px; text-align: start;"><i>(The Valley of Vision)</i></span></div>
LHoneyJoneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16094061646020933507noreply@blogger.com3