tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80081655452495767602024-03-13T12:24:39.880-07:00Not the way I planned it...Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16306994198853962168noreply@blogger.comBlogger30125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8008165545249576760.post-31662750556710492382012-07-03T09:49:00.000-07:002012-07-03T11:42:19.779-07:00Steady my heart<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Triple threat</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>2 Corinthians 12:9 - </i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;">My grace is enough; it's all you need.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;"> </span></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i> My strength comes into its own in your weakness.</i></span></span><br />
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I own a three story townhome. Which means two sets of stairs. Which means as soon as I get in my car to go somewhere, I remember I left something on the third floor. So I bolt up the stairs like lightning. One flight down. Run to the second flight and take them, skipping steps baby! Then, without warning, I go from full energy to "OMG I'm going to die. Must.have.air."<br />
<br />
Life can be similar. You go and go and keep on going, not even thinking about it. And suddenly, it's like you just can't see how you're do it anymore.<br />
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I haven't blogged in a while because of a lot of things that can all be filed under "life's busy". But on top of those things, I just wasn't feeling it. To be perfectly honest, I'm over the whole single mom thing. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE being a mom. Even though my son constantly talks about farts and boogers and my daughter thinks she's the boss of everyone, never for one moment have I not loved being their mom. I love them so much it hurts and I really can't picture life without them. I mean, who would color on my couches or inform me that the word "venus" rhymes with...take a guess.<br />
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In the past few weeks though, an emotional funk had been building. And this was more than the monthly funk ifyouknowwhaddimean (only women read this blog, right?). I've been restless for a while, waiting for the next stage of my life to come. When my son finished kindergarten last month, the truth that I am now a mom to a first grader hit me. Besides the "where the heck have the past 6 years gone?!" was the realization that time is flying by and the kids are growing up and, although they see their dad, they are being raised in a single parent household and this is never, ever, ever what I wanted for them. People always tell me, "when the kids grow up, they'll realize..." but life is happening here and now. Memories are being made and not-so-little-anymore lives are being formed and it's so much less than what I wanted for my kids.<br />
<br />
So I had a moment with God. And by "moment", I mean a whine-fest. I laid in my bed one night and my mind was racing with everything I needed to do the next day, how horrible of a mother I'd felt like that day and how desperately I just want to be an amazing mother who did everything well. I was completely overwhelmed. The feeling of failure was killing me. But deeper than the whining in me, was the knowledge that yes, I am weak. I am imperfect. I'm certainly no super woman and I don't have what it takes. And I just kept saying those words: "Your grace is sufficient. Your strength is made perfect in my weakness." It's not strength that is just aaaa-ight. It's perfect. Unfailing. Filling the spaces I'll never be able to fill. It's for now, for this sometimes craptastic stage that may very well last longer than I'd like. <br />
<br />
I love this song a good friend sent me once, "Steady My Heart". The words are ridiculous...<br />
<br />
<i>Even when it hurts, even when it's hard</i><br />
<i>Even when it all just falls apart</i><br />
<i>I will run to you</i><br />
<i>Cause I know that you are</i><br />
<i>Lover of my soul, healer of my scars</i><br />
<i>You steady my heart</i><br />
<br />
Maybe that's what it's all about. When did I decide I deserved a perfect life? What makes me think life should be just as I planned it. As hard as it is to accept, without these times, I wouldn't be the person I am today. I'm learning to choose to be thankful for the struggles. And for every moment where I feel like I'm over it, there comes a moment where He gives me the strength to keep on going...one stair at a time.<br />
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<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16306994198853962168noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8008165545249576760.post-40021328233046403912012-05-23T17:12:00.002-07:002012-06-28T06:27:24.061-07:00Giving the play by play<div style="text-align: right;">
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<strong>Psalm 89:1</strong><br />
<em>Your love, <span style="font-variant: small-caps;">God</span>, is my song, and I'll sing it! I'm forever telling everyone how faithful you are. <br />
I'll never quit telling the story of your love— <br />
how you built the cosmos <br />
and guaranteed everything in it. <br />
Your love has always been our lives' foundation, <br />
your fidelity has been the roof over our world.</em><br />
<em><br />
</em>You know the type. Your girlfriend who is newly married calls you and you are the lucky winner who gets to hear all the barftastic details of their honeymoon. Then you get to see it all posted in an hour by hour, picture by picture detail on Facebook. The next time you're with her, she says "my husband" about 332 times. Fast forward a few years and she is <em>that</em> girl that blows up Instagram with a photo of everything her amaaaaaaaaaaaazing hubby did for her on their anniversary. Lucky you.<br />
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It's the same thing when you have kids. They're just too cute and too funny and everyone must know. I am definitely guilty of sharing lots of pictures and stories about them. Whether it's a romantic relationship or a parental relationship, the feelings are the same: people so undone by the love they're receiving that they need to share it. And by God, social media is ready and waiting, so why not?!<br />
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I have a really good friend, a single mom as well, that is in a new relationship and soooo in lurve. You can hear the excitement in her voice. When one is overwhelmed by love, they can't help but to share. Even if no words are spoken, their countenance speaks loud and clear.<br />
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How much more so with the love of God? I mean, seriously. If you think about how good he's been to you, what he's provided you with, how he's protected you, what bridges and valleys he's brought you over and through, how can you NOT talk about it, like, constantly. <br />
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A couple of months ago I blogged about the <a href="http://notthewayiplannedit.blogspot.com/2012/02/love-story.html" target="_blank">love story</a> God's writing in my life. And it has nothing to do with an earthly man. At all. It's all Him -- providing, protecting, honoring and caring for me and my shorties. Even in the little things, he has shown Himself to be "enthralled by my beauty" (Ps. 45:11). To the human eye, ain't NADA spectactularly beautiful about me! I'm just a brown-haired brown-eyed, freakishly short 30 year old. Yet it's His vision <em>of</em> me that should speak the loudest in my life.<br />
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I love how the above verse says "Your love has always been our lives' foundation...Your fidelity has been the roof over our world." As a single person, and especially a single parent, I've found it's easy to be your own foundation. In the natural, everything falls on you --- earning the money, disciplining, nurturing, decision making, cleaning and so on (and on and on). At times, it can feel overwhelming and a little lonely. For me, I sometimes desperately want someone else to just make a decision around here. However, this verse reminds me I am <em>not</em> my own foundation. And I never will be. Even if some stud was to come like it and put a ring on it, God would still be my ultimate foundation. He always has been, always will be. Even while I'm overwhelmed, I'm supported. I'm covered by Him, the roof over our head. He's keeping the mortgage paid, food on the table and clothes on our backs. Always safe. Always secure. <br />
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And I can't be quiet about it. Like the Psalmist, I never want to quit telling the story of His love. I'll never run out of material anyway. Especially with my kids, more than me telling them the story of everything that didn't work out in my life, I want them to hear the story of how God's faithfulness through and in spite of things not going the way I planned. Not just the big things but the play by play details. And more than anything, I want them to know His faithfulness for themselves. </div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16306994198853962168noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8008165545249576760.post-59886144373209236302012-04-18T12:43:00.000-07:002012-04-18T15:05:39.912-07:00Savoring the suffering<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-RKCASeh8XfFJdgm8ldxuGoccl7C-HZ771_rR6tATib3vc3IgaeOeTWqzbGwVA_O98z-O6HBlOcfbKuT92iBbqrAt-6jvvm8xVhVzOGHHJgEkuN-lk1CBVoppVGjomBy6ejQVpE7GX4Oe/s1600/There+is+always+hope-251688.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-RKCASeh8XfFJdgm8ldxuGoccl7C-HZ771_rR6tATib3vc3IgaeOeTWqzbGwVA_O98z-O6HBlOcfbKuT92iBbqrAt-6jvvm8xVhVzOGHHJgEkuN-lk1CBVoppVGjomBy6ejQVpE7GX4Oe/s320/There+is+always+hope-251688.jpg" width="320" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><i>Ecclesiastes 7:2-3 It is better to go to a house of mourning</i></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span">than to go to a house of feasting,</span><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span">for death is the destiny of everyone;</span><span class="Apple-style-span"> the living should take this to heart.</span><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Sorrow is better than laughter, for by the sadness of the countenance the heart is made better and gains gladness.</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Let me just put this out there: I love eating. Going out to eat, cooking for people, holiday meals, sharing dinner with a friend...all of it. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">All-inclusive food in resorts and on cruises? Yes, please. YES. I just LOVE it. I read this Twitter post yesterday and it made me laugh: "</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;"><i style="font-weight: bold;">Dear men, Actually our dream isn't finding the perfect guy, it's being able to eat without getting fat. Sincerely, women." </i>True story!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;"><i><br /></i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">So, when I recently read Ecclesiastes 7 (after listening to the song story for <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mxqfDs-64I0" target="_blank">this song</a> - more on that later), I was confuzzled at first. Based on experience, the logic struck me as a little strange. A house of feasting is fun. But, I've been to the house of mourning on a few occasions. Not so fun. When I think of mourning, I think of September 11. I was still living in NYC on what started off as a perfect Tuesday. After the planes hit, I saw fear and disbelief on the faces of people in the streets. I watched those buildings fall with my own eyes. I know people who lost loved ones. I know people who survived. My brother-in-law was a cop who worked down there in the days and weeks that followed. I have never seen so much mourning in my life as I did in the time following that horrific day. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">But I have also never seen so much hope. I remember that my church was packed for months after that. Heroes abounded. Random acts of kindness spread. New Yorkers were actually nice to each other. Even though I deeply wish it never happened, that Tuesday changed a lot of people, for the good, forever. Tragedies have a way of reminding us how short life is. That's what Solomon is talking in that verse. Mourning reminds you to live well. Now. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">Chances are you've dealt with intense sorrow at some point in your life. There are <b><u><i>plenty</i></u></b> of things worse than divorce, but divorce is one thing I can speak to. The sorrow of betrayal is deep. The humiliation is terrible. Life is interrupted, lies are exposed and confusion abounds. Sometimes the hurt is so heavy that it truly is hard to breathe. If you've been there or in a million other places of pain that doesn't make sense, you know. Yet, I can say this now: More than three years after the worst of the worst days, I wouldn't trade that pain for the world. I've never felt closer to God and I've never felt God was closer to me. Friends surrounded me. My kids gave me unspeakable joy and most days, they were the only reason I smiled. That pain helped me more than it hurt me. It taught me some very valuable lessons about life and love, and made me appreciate times of "feasting". The tears stung but, like a good cleaning, they scoured my heart (Ecc. 7:3 MSG) and made it glad.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">I guarantee you, at the time I wasn't thinking "Phew! I'm glad life SUCKS right now because my heart really needs some scouring!" I'm not that wise (at all). Looking back though, I see the good in it. I see how it's helped me help others and how I'm a better woman and mother for it. I'm still learning (sometimes the hard way), but definitely an improved Sarah. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">The other day something happened that hurt me. Minor, but it just opened up a lot of other wounds and I found myself sulking around and wanting Ben and Jerry's. That night I heard the song I've linked to below (which led me to the chapter in Ecclesiastes) and it reminded me that there is no hurt on earth that God can't handle. And just when you think you can't take one.more.second., the hurt and the Healer collide. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">Whatever you're facing today, as painful as it may be, savor the suffering. Breathe it in </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;">deep and know that not a tear is wasted. Let your heart be glad. You're alive.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16306994198853962168noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8008165545249576760.post-15359524864589027742012-04-02T17:23:00.004-07:002012-04-02T17:24:52.952-07:00Motherhood Mondays: We all need a reminder<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoeq8_vuzcje2-bDxgGj28et5cko6VTr06-BL0-EWPvf7zVtYrcIi_hdWGG34nZtdhfE4ORznnYYcYnV8WCSNZ0_FFTR16r4hwpCwPsLf-LPJnpW1h8KDTPgTpNO04bTZvFvUHVvHNKIj-/s1600/ella1yr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoeq8_vuzcje2-bDxgGj28et5cko6VTr06-BL0-EWPvf7zVtYrcIi_hdWGG34nZtdhfE4ORznnYYcYnV8WCSNZ0_FFTR16r4hwpCwPsLf-LPJnpW1h8KDTPgTpNO04bTZvFvUHVvHNKIj-/s320/ella1yr.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One day she'll wear real heels :(</td></tr>
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Oh believe me, I know how it is. A new morning begins and, as many times as you think today is the day you're going to have it all together, it never quite works out that way. I set my alarm for 5:00 am every day. Then when it goes off, I roll over and press snooze, thinking all I need is five extra minutes. Except I need those five extra minutes about 4 times. Every night I convince myself I will really wake at 5:00 am. And every morning I press snooze. <br />
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My life is full. Full of craziness, yes. Full of me losing my temper and coming very near to losing my mind, hell yes. But it's full of some really amazing things too: contagious laughter, excellent report cards, health, cute preschool songs sung by an even cuter voice, little girl manicures, and not-so-little-but-always-little-to-me boy hugs. I mean, I really couldn't ask for more.<br />
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I read a quote recently that said "<i>The days are long, but the years are short</i>". Isn't that the truth?! It made me think of how I spend those long (sometimes very long) days.<br />
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I read the blog below today, guest written by one of my favorite authors, Ann Voskamp (you can find her actual blog <a href="http://www.aholyexperience.com/" target="_blank">here</a>). Her words challenged me because all too often I find myself missing out on precious moments because I play one more round of Words With Friends, send one more work email, answer one more text message. The truth is, those things will always be there and there will always be more and more (and more) of them. These long days though, they pass quickly. It feels like yesterday I was throwing up in what felt like every train station in NYC, living out the disgusting stage of pregnancy that lasted well into the first and second...and third...trimester. (I also threw up while sitting AT the lunch table with my boss, but I digress). Now that tiny little body that made me barf is about to enter first grade. Next thing you know, he'll have armpit hair, a cracking voice and raging hormones. These times are just too special to waste.<br />
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I hope this blog inspires you as much as it did me! Happy Monday!<br />
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<b><a href="http://momheart.org/blog/why-the-kids-really-need-a-little-red-hen-mama#.T3mEAWeHgus.twitter" target="_blank">Why the kids really need a little red hen mama</a></b><br />
<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16306994198853962168noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8008165545249576760.post-72941295013214150052012-03-30T07:30:00.002-07:002012-04-18T14:39:14.336-07:00Fun Friday: Where the wild things areWelcome to my first Fun Friday post (you know, the one I promised, like, two months ago)!<br />
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If you have't noticed, the content of this blog is heavy. I can't help that. Divorce sucks and single parenting is hard. But, to bring a little balance (and because I'm a goofball in real life) I've started Fun Fridays here at the blog. Finally, Friday will offer more promise than the latest episode of 20/20! And yes, I'm a loser...<br />
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Today's post is courtesy of Facebook. I have a love/hate relationship with this phenomenon, but I also have some hilarious "friends" and even more hilarious conversations. It's also courtesy of my two sisters, Amy and Vicki, who make me look tame, if you can believe that.<br />
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Here's a little background: Well-meaning people are always trying to point out single men to me. One day, while doing her gift registry at Babies R Us, my sister says "Oooh, Sarah, there's a cute single guy over there...without a ring." I just stared at her. "Amy..." I replied, "single men do NOT shop at Babies R Us." In her one blessed year of marriage, she had forgotten the obvious. My mom is the worst though, and our conversations are usually like this:<br />
<br />
<b>Mom</b>: Oh, Sarah, there's a cute guy in your church's bulletin!<br />
<b>Sarah</b>: (Rolling eyes). Yes, I've seen him in real life . He might actually be shorter than me. (I'm 5'1" on a good day...so a shorter man is <i>very</i> short)<br />
<b>Mom</b>: But, he's a pilot!! He'll be gone most of the week. And they make good money.<br />
<b>Sarah</b>: Money won't buy him height.<br />
<b>Mom</b>: Ugh, you're SO picky!<br />
<b>Dad</b> (in his <b><i><u>thick</u></i></b> Brooklyn accent. Picture a younger Frank Barone...seriously): Celierrr - I wish you wouldn't be trying to do dat. I don't like dat!<br />
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The places that people tell me to meet guys are hilarious, so I asked for feedback from my fb friends (mostly my other sisters because no one "got" it), and compiled a list of the top ten places you won't (or shouldn't) find a man. Feel free to add to the list!<br />
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<ol>
<li><b>Baby stores or baby showers. </b>Not happening, ladies. If it's too good to be true...</li>
<li><b>OTB</b></li>
<li><b>Hooters</b></li>
<li><b>Free health clinic</b></li>
<li><b>Prison penpal program (I DIED when my sister said this hahaha)</b></li>
<li><b>AA/NA</b></li>
<li><b>MySpace </b>- Because it's not 2006.</li>
<li><b>Victoria's Secret</b> - If he's single and shopping there...he's either weird or shopping for his mother. Which still makes him weird.</li>
<li><b>Child support enforcement office - </b>Whatever story he has to explain it, it sucks.</li>
<li><b>Court - </b>Thanks to my need for speed, I've been to traffic court. It gave me the willies.</li>
</ol>
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If you have an idea for Fun Friday, send it my way! Happy weekend, peeps!</div>
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<br />Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16306994198853962168noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8008165545249576760.post-52523046109739266552012-03-27T10:54:00.001-07:002012-03-27T12:18:27.088-07:00Letting it be<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4rC_qokZ6ey6pyu_0hPfXrw1xXmiu6iDEt-g66EdX_Gp0sNW8VNn3S3EvJksUxIEu5WEu2zJVwRLx9mMw1MK8soFLIhOBagg7VAWY22WcdUOS5eAUMell2PyvbObza9hquCc6HNTkZixg/s1600/white-flag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4rC_qokZ6ey6pyu_0hPfXrw1xXmiu6iDEt-g66EdX_Gp0sNW8VNn3S3EvJksUxIEu5WEu2zJVwRLx9mMw1MK8soFLIhOBagg7VAWY22WcdUOS5eAUMell2PyvbObza9hquCc6HNTkZixg/s320/white-flag.jpg" width="232" /></a><i>God, I look to you</i><br />
<i>I won't be overwhelmed</i><br />
<i>Give me vision, to see things like You do</i><br />
<i>Give me wisdom, You know just what to do - <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CR5IoWH9OiI" target="_blank">Jenn Johnson</a></i><br />
<br />
"But mommmm-mmmm-mmm-mmmm-yyyyyyyyy..." my four year old whined, complete with the melodrama that usually accompanies her cries for justice. I knew what was coming next. "It's. Not. Fai-www". <br />
<br />
She and her brother were fighting over something meaningless. As usual. I'm convinced that if there was an actual piece of crap laying around, and there was only one, they'd fight over it. But I digress. <br />
<br />
Usually they fight, one wins, and the winner does a victory dance and teases the other incessantly. The other cries because it is't fair. And it usually isn't. Life isn't fair.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I feel like they feel. I spend the day waking sleepy children, making breakfast, packing lunches, running for buses, driving to preschool, working, conference calling, picking up from preschool, working more, cleaning, picking up from the bus, working more, making dinner, forcing homework, making snacks, serving dinner, threatening no dessert if said dinner isn't eaten, cleaning up tables, playing referee and...and...and. Just when I'm about to wave my white flag in surrender, their dad's visitation time arrives and he gets to swoop in and save them. From me. And you know what comes next? Mother's guilt, for coming very close to losing my mind. Again. <br />
<br />
Keep in mind, I want to be very careful how I word this because I love my kids more than anything in the world. I love that they love their dad and I don't want to get in the way of that. I want them to choose their feelings for him based on their experiences, not mine. And I never want to write anything I don't want them reading later, about him or about our situation. So, I'm trying to craft my words wisely, while also trying to explain how I feel.<br />
<br />
When they are with their dad they have little rules or discipline because it's just a few hours per week. They don't spend nights with him, so they're stuck with me at bedtime too. When I do discipline them or set rules they don't like, I often hear "I want daddddddddy." And though I hate to admit it, inside I am suddenly the one screaming: "It's not faiwwwww!"<br />
<br />
And it's not. So what am I going to do about it? What <u>can</u> I do about it? <br />
<br />
Recently, I've been struggling with this more often than I'd like to admit. All I ever wanted to be was a mom. All I still want to be is a mom, just not a single mom. And definitely not responsible for the large majority of the parenting. Currently, it's not quite happening that way, but as you know, this is not the way I planned it. It's easy to get caught up in anger and resentment. I guess I have every right to be angry...every right to feel like I've been left with a huge responsibility. Yet, living in a place of anger won't (and can't) do me any good. Being resentful won't change the situation. It will keep me, and eventually my kids, in a prison of unforgiveness and that is the last place I want us to be.<br />
<br />
All I can do now is let it be. Keep on keeping on. Do the best I can. Make meals. Drive short people everywhere. Hug my babies. Stop focusing on everything I lost and focus on everything I have. Stop thinking of everything I wanted and dreamed of and planned for, and be thankful for more time with these healthy, beautiful, patience-wearing, impressionable kids I have here. I'm lucky that I get to be their mother. No, life isn't perfect. And rarely is it fair. For now, though, I choose to let it be.<br />
<br />
What are you learning to "let be" in your life?<br />
<br />
Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16306994198853962168noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8008165545249576760.post-43143977914542237992012-03-12T19:54:00.000-07:002012-03-14T06:05:49.536-07:00Motherhood Mondays: New dreams<div style="text-align: right;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilNvYFyz110K5dWrtK8XZNYmAemryE1JZeoS9LIWE7DNoGDvo5peQS41xJD9q1JRkJarvyootG7bu9D3Tk0sO4v1mxEHh_cjUjPKT81TjtMgF8GYLdr-ZeV3du1Id3CubsqkbcsZNK38O-/s1600/ella2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilNvYFyz110K5dWrtK8XZNYmAemryE1JZeoS9LIWE7DNoGDvo5peQS41xJD9q1JRkJarvyootG7bu9D3Tk0sO4v1mxEHh_cjUjPKT81TjtMgF8GYLdr-ZeV3du1Id3CubsqkbcsZNK38O-/s320/ella2.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She's got spunk.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Never be afraid to trust an unknown future to a known God. - Corrie Ten Boom</i></span><br />
<br />
My daughter loves to hear the "stowy" of when I was pregnant with her. I love to tell it, because it was one of the best times in my life. It was also the last few months of my "normal", before the truth of her dad's infidelity <a href="http://notthewayiplannedit.blogspot.com/2011/07/lasting-love.html" target="_blank">began to unravel</a>.<br />
<br />
On a summer day in 2007, I went to my doctor for a routine sonogram. I was 19 weeks pregnant and knew they'd be able to tell us the baby's gender. I walked into the examination room, cautiously optimistic. I wanted a little girl so badly. I'd lost my mother as a young girl and really wanted an opportunity to have a mother/daughter relationship I'd seen others enjoy, even if it was from the other side. <br />
<br />
When the nurse casually announced "you got your girl", I was beyond thrilled! That weekend, I went shopping for all the cute little outfits I could find. And in four years, the shopping hasn't stopped. Really. It's the most ridiculous kind of fun. <br />
<br />
On a windy Monday morning in November, she finally arrived. The first time I laid my tired, puffy, a-human-just-came-out-of-my-body eyes on her perfect little face, the dreams I had for her filled my mind. Fun dreams of bows and ballet, sharing shoes, and shopping for prom dresses. And then the more intent dreams. I wanted her to have a "normal" family, a healthy upbringing. <br />
<br />
Yet, even before I had given birth, the "normal" had already begun to unravel. At age 4, the idea of a mommy and daddy living together is foreign to her. A broken home is her "normal". And that's not what I wanted for her. Ever. Who does?<br />
<br />
If there's anything I've learned in the past few years, it's that I can't control some events that happen in my life, never mind theirs. At first, it was easy to get wrapped up in the statistics of children who grow up in broken homes. I mean, google them (at your own risk). They're heartbreaking. Divorce affects kids physically, socially and psychologically. Single parent households are at risk for a number of different things.<br />
<br />
I also become concerned when I look back on the issues I was dealing with when I was young, and how they affected my relationship choices. I met and married my ex-husband seeking emotional protection and refuge...looking for what my heart needed in a human, and not in God.<br />
<br />
However, greater than those statistics and experiences is a God who loves her more than I ever could. A God who has her best interests at heart and has already given her all she needs to deal with life's joys and hurts. <br />
<br />
Even though I've had to let go of some of the dreams I had for her, that's not going to stop me from dreaming new dreams. Above all the new dreams I have, my greatest dream is this: when she faces life's storms, I hope she rests in knowing that God is carrying her through them.<br />
<br />
And she is watching me. She's watching to see if I trust, if I rest, if I make it through life's storms. Dr. Phil (who I love...don't judge!) always says the greatest role model a child has is the same sex parent. Even if I don't notice it, she's observing every thing I do, learning how to be a woman. That alone makes me want to do better, try harder, and most importantly, trust God more.<br />
<br />
What are the new dreams you have for your children?<br />
<br />
<i>I thought I'd share these tips for single moms raising daughters. They were taken from the <a href="http://blog.altonjamison.com/2010/04/10-tips-for-single-moms-raising-girls.html" target="_blank">same site</a> I used in my post about <a href="http://notthewayiplannedit.blogspot.com/2012/01/future-man-of-house.html" target="_blank">single moms raising boys</a>. What are </i><br />
<i><br /></i><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">1) Don't punish the girl because you see things in her that you hate about yourself. Learn how to deal with YOU first so you can more effectively help her.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">2) Being hard on her doesn't automatically equate a virtuous young woman. I'm not implying to let her do anything, heaven forbid, however; I'm implying that you should provide structure and boundaries, but not act as a prison warden.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">3) Don't live your life through your daughter. Just because you were a cheerleader, doesn't mean she has to be one. Just because you were in the band, doesn't mean that she has to play an instrument.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">4)When it comes to boys, she is looking at you to see how you treat (</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;"><strong>your husband, boyfriend, etc</strong></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">). She is listening to how you talk about men (good or bad) and this is what she is going to model in her life.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">5) You can control what she wears. It's important that you train your daughter to have value in herself, long before someone "</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;"><strong>whispers in her ear</strong></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">." Don't say, I can't help what she wears or does. This is the door way for a long life of regrets for your daughter.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">6) Just because you may have had bad experiences with men and/or relationships, don't raise your daughter to hate men, or be distrusting of everyone that she meets for the rest of her life. She is not you, even though she may have some of your traits and attributes. You can't raise her to be a "</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;"><strong>second you</strong></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">."</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">7) Build her self esteem continually with positive words and affirmations. She needs to know that she is complete all by herself and that she doesn't have to go looking for wholeness in another person or thing.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">8) Spend time with her outside of school, housework, and the day to day, especially when she get older. She may not say it, but she still needs you. Spend some quality time, go out to eat, to the park, for a walk. You can't get those moments back once they are gone.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">9)</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;"><strong>Raise your daughter in love and NOT fear</strong></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">. When you fear if she is going to get pregnant, meet the wrong guy, make the same bad choices you made, that's often what we attract. Raise her with the love of God and the faith to know that after you have done all that you can do, God will intervene and bring it all back to her remembrance.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;">10) Teach her how to love herself, love God, and how to remain pure and virtuous in a society where everyone is compromising. Remember,</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;"><strong>when you teach your daughter...you teach your daughter's daughter.</strong></span></i>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16306994198853962168noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8008165545249576760.post-75290626818625190822012-02-29T08:44:00.000-08:002012-02-29T06:57:27.184-08:00Winning Wednesdays: When your vacuum sucks (or doesn't)There are few certainties in life; death, taxes, and your vacuum dying within three years of purchase. I've never met a vacuum I didn't hate. And so begins this story...<br />
<br />
Meet my frenemy, Bissell:<br />
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Oh, sure. He <i>looks</i> good. He describes himself as "easy empty". He throws out big phrases like "12 amps" and "dual edge cleaning". Be fooled not. His strong work ethic is short lived.. That's the way vacuums are. They suck. Well, actually, they don't suck...which is the problem I found myself with recently. Every time I'd vacuum, I'd look over the path I 'd just completed, only to find more dust than when I began. It made me crazy (well, if you know me, more crazy). I wanted to yell at him (okay, I did). Rip up the carpets. Move into the bathroom. ANYTHING to not have to deal with a broken vacuum.</div>
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So the days went on, and I decided I'd have to buy a new one. Money was a little tight so I was waiting a couple of weeks. Meanwhile, the floors were filling with dust. It annoyed me every time I looked at it, but I didn't know what to do. So after a month, they were looking a little (a lot) disheveled. Last week, I couldn't take it any more. The superwoman deep, deep, deep inside of me decided to throw caution to the wind and try to repair it myself.</div>
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I went and pulled out my snazzy pink tool set. Be jealous. </div>
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The job called for dissembling the bottom of the vacuum . Cue oh-so-chic pink screwdriver. And yes, I really do look that rough at night. And I'm blind. Feel free to laugh at me.</div>
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I noticed there was a bunch of funk in this tube thingy. I don't know what it's called. I have no interest in learning what it's called either. I just noticed it wasn't supposed to be white, so I took a chance.</div>
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I got a wire hanger, which is the tool in my house voted Most Likely to be Used. For everything. Clogged toilet? Wire hanger. Clothes stuck behind the dryer? Wire hanger. Random junk stuck in vacuum hose thingy? Wire hanger!</div>
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Using my trusty wire hanger, I slowly began to unpack the clump of crap...and this came out. Oops. I don't even know what it is, but I'm willing to bet it doesn't belong in a vacuum.</div>
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And then...Ahhhh-HA! The hateful green crayon strikes again. Why am I not surprised? I have it on my walls and permanently melted inside my dryer. Why would one NOT be in my vacuum hose? </div>
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After a little more digging and a lot more sneezing, this was the pile of filth that I found in there. Now I know vacuum hoses need to be cleaned. Ooops.</div>
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I must admit, I wanted to flex my muscles when I was done. Pat myself on the back. Hug myself. Tell myself I'm awesome. Fix every other broken household item. Instead I just rolled my eyes at myself, because after a month of complaining about it, I'd fixed it in less than 30 minutes. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just another job for Super Screwdriver<br />
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The next day I vacuumed all of the bedrooms with no issues. #winning. <br />
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The moral of the story? Just <i>do</i>.</div>
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I know as a single woman (and especially a single mom) running a household is no easy feat. I don't have a handy bone in my body. I don't even want one. Would it be easier to have a handy man around here? You bet your butt. But there's not...and that's okay. In the past three years I have learned that sometimes just <i>doing</i> is better than just complaining. Or ignoring. Or worrying. I'm preaching to the choir here because rarely do I just <i>do</i>. I avoid household fix ups like the plague. Yet, when I force myself to do whatever it is, I often find it isn't that big of a deal. If I fix it, awesome. If I call my tools mean names and never end up being able to fix it, awesome. At least I tried.</div>
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Annnnnd for the surprise ending...my vacuum still sucks. Or doesn't. Which means it does. But for those thirty minutes, I got clean rooms. <br />
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The winning is in the doing, anyway.<br />
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</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16306994198853962168noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8008165545249576760.post-56896905978949913292012-02-23T14:59:00.000-08:002012-02-23T15:00:49.993-08:00Thankful Thursday: A Crown of Splendor<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIyKgGUS6yHQVUPZrU_IhpRxjKrsaL06geoKOwSXSZjNaMc4ZCxdgU70Y75U7Oa2yOJ-qZHD78UFnWJj_CLwkHi8oBFiRj9bzF4Vgx4xqKAXLBaYm-P3zv5Bx8V-UvXumiKLjRSuktqnvs/s1600/AuntRo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" lda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIyKgGUS6yHQVUPZrU_IhpRxjKrsaL06geoKOwSXSZjNaMc4ZCxdgU70Y75U7Oa2yOJ-qZHD78UFnWJj_CLwkHi8oBFiRj9bzF4Vgx4xqKAXLBaYm-P3zv5Bx8V-UvXumiKLjRSuktqnvs/s320/AuntRo.jpg" width="239" /></a><em><br />Proverbs 16:31 - Gray hair is a crown of splendor; it is attained by a righteous life.</em><br />I just got off the phone with my sweet Aunt Roberta, back home in New York. When I asked her how she'd been feeling, she responded, "oh, I'm okay...just a little tired." Aunt Roberta celebrated her 99th birthday yesterday. I'm only 30 and complain about being tired! She's amazing. </div>
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Growing up, Aunt Roberta was a constant fixture in my life. She was my great-aunt and quite the character. She lived on the 5th floor of a cozy co-op building in Bayridge, Brooklyn, just minutes from the Verazzano Bridge The building itself smelled like lint balls and retirement, but my sister and I loved visiting. She had shelves filled with the cutest trinkets that Amy and I loved to play with. She had fabulous lime-ish/puke-ish green rugs. She had a real rotary phone that we always played pretend with. She always bought us totally rad (umm, it was the 90's) Easter outfits from department stores we'd never usually get a chance to buy clothes from. She took us out for dinner for every occasion. She had never married or had children so after my mom (her niece) passed, she set up a college savings account for us. When my sister and I graduated high school, we each had a little something to start us off.<br />
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She was (and is) a character! Her signature drink was Dewar's on the rocks and she had a glass every day, later saying that's what kept her young. She joked around a lot, and had the gift of sarcastic wit. A devout Catholic, she went to Mass daily and was very active in her parish. She was very proud of her Irish heritage and told stories of kissing the Blarney stone, which folklore said endowed the kisser with the gift of gab. When I expressed interest, she graciously told me "I think you already have the gift of gab, dear". Word. <br />
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In a recent conversation, she mentioned that every night she thinks she's going to pass. "I always wake up thinking---geez, I'm still here?!" At 99, you can't blame her for wanting to be in heaven already!<br />
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Aunt Roberta is one of the most special people in my life, and I am blessed to have had her this long. She now lives in a nursing home in Long Island, NY, so I don't get to see her often. However, I carry her in my heart and think about her often. I call as often as I can and love to hear her voice, even if it's hearing about the "rotten" food and "crazy people" at the nursing home. Can you blame her?<br />
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Even though she still gets her hair dyed (she would kill me if she knew I was telling you), underneath it lies a beautiful shade of silver hair, and it is a crown of splendor that I admire. I am thankful for who she was and is to me in so many ways. She has lived a godly and righteous life, and I can only hope to live life the way she has.</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16306994198853962168noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8008165545249576760.post-24946198018980768862012-02-16T10:07:00.004-08:002012-02-16T10:07:54.008-08:00Changes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The title of this post is less than impressive. And it bothers me. But my brain is pretty much fried today, so just pretend it's some witty, creative, enticing title.<br />
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In the six or seven months since I've been blogging, I've gotten a lot of feedback from my posts. Some have poured their heart out to me. Some have told me they laughed (with me, I hope haha). Some I've even talked to on the phone, random strangers brought together by a common journey.<br />
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Many people have been asking and encouraging me to update it more often. There were a few things that made this difficult. First of all, like most of us, my life is just all kinds of busy. My day usually begins around 5:45 am and ends after midnight. And like most mothers, working or not, I do about 3,402 things in that time period. Second of all, the topics here are quite heavy. I can't just decide I'm going to talk about forgiveness and come up with some words that stir you. Usually, if I post on something like forgiveness, its because the previous day I have FLIPPED out on someone I was having trouble forgiving. Just being honest...<br />
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One of my closest friends, Jenn, <a href="http://www.jenniferroth.me/" target="_blank">writes a blog</a> that is a great read. Check it out when you have a chance! Anyway, she started a little schedule on hers and I'm totally copying off of that idea. So, here is the schedule I'm going to try to follow from here on out. Obviously, when I flip out on someone and realize I need to blog more about forgiveness (or anger management classes), I will. This is just a short list for now, because I want to ensure I can keep with it. As usual, if there's anything you'd like to read about, feel free to comment on my <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Not-the-way-I-planned-it/288372997871022" target="_blank">Facebook page</a>, letting me know your thoughts! <br />
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Here they are (excuse the cheesy alliteration of the titles...but, we all need to be cornballs once in a while):<br />
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<b>Motherhood Mondays</b> - Blogs about the ups and down of single parenting. Sharing the laughs, misfortunes, near-death experiences, meltdowns, smiles and lessons learned. Even married moms can relate on some level, but no matter how much your husband works, single parenting is a different BEAST altogether...so this should be fun. You may also think I'm a psycho mom. Again, fun.<br />
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<b>Winning Wednesdays</b> - I'll be sharing some of the ways I'm winning in this journey. I've only dedicated one day to it because, well, guess. Every so often, though, the stars align and I find myself winning some battle. I also look forward to hearing about how you are winning in this game of life.<br />
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<b>Thankful Thursdays </b>- I love and am slightly obsessed with the book <a href="http://onethousandgifts.com/" target="_blank">One Thousand Gifts</a>. It really is probably the best book I've ever read. Therefore, I really wanted to dedicate some posts to focusing on all the things I am grateful for because there are many!<br />
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<b>Fun Fridays</b> - Something funny. My life is full of fun and awkwardness and randomness and more fun. I also have funny friends. Laugh with me. Laugh at me. Whatever!<br />
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<b>Singleness Sundays </b>- When inspired, I'll try to pay homage to my excellent adventures in singleness.<br />
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Stay tuned for more! <br />
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Peace out.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16306994198853962168noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8008165545249576760.post-51483969135357138702012-02-15T12:10:00.001-08:002013-11-06T10:28:51.269-08:00A Love Story<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Happy belated Valentine's Day! Hope it was, as my son says about nearly everything, "awesome"! <br />
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You've read the title of this blog and efore you get all excited, let me burst your bubble. I am not about to tell you I met someone. Not even close. Not even close to close. Actually, I'm pretty sure my 6 year old has a better love life than I do. Oh, many an awkward moment I've had, that's for sure...but no one even slightly acceptable (on a good day) has crossed my path. When my ex-husband moved out, everyone asked me when I would start dating again. <b><i><u>Date?!</u></i></b> I'd rather scratch my eyes out with a spork, thankyouverymuch. My feelings aren't that strong anymore, but the opportunity just hasn't presented itself. I said I wouldn't date until I was 30 (I was 27 at the time). 30 just came. I now joke that every birthday, I will start saying "well, I didn't want to date until I was 31 anyway...".<br />
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However, there <i>is</i> a love story in the works here. The story began before I was born. A God who formed me and knew me in my mother's womb. Who carried me through to a healthy birth, all 9 lbs. 12oz. of me (my poor mother). A God who brought comfort when I lost my mom. A God who was near in the years that followed, both good and bad times. A God who protected me in my comings and goings, safety I too often take for granted. A God who was with me when I lost two babies, practically unknown and unseen to the world, but so very real to me. A God who smiled with me when my two living babies were born. A God who was with me during some very dark, confusing and humiliating times, a comforting and constant presence in the midst of chaos. A God who has provided for me financially, who has protected my children, who has given me all I ever need and even some things I don't.<br />
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This is so hard for me to admit, but there are times when the beasts of loneliness and disappointment hurt like you can't imagine (well, you probably can). It's that familiar weight on the heart that I can physically feel. Usually I'm too busy to deal, but sometimes I have to allow myself to feel it. I'm a huge joker, so most people can't even imagine me being all weepy and hot-mess-ugly-cry-ish, complete with dripping snot and what not. But it happens. It isn't too often, really. Most days (yes, even Valentine's day) ridin' solo is just fine with me. I don't even think about it. But then I pop in some stupid Nicholas Sparks movie. Or I can't take one more nanosecond of my daughter's attitude, and there's no one to save me (or her). Or I have to drive my tired self home from the airport after midnight when returning from a business trip. Or my car makes noises that I'd rather just ignore.<br />
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There are certain roles husbands are supposed to play such as protector, provider, leader. Though it'd be nice to have that in a human, God has been that and more. A lot of it is too personal to blog about, but I have been through situations that could've been much, much worse! <i><b>Protector</b></i>. I have a job that allows me to work and earn a decent living, but also be home to meet my kids when they return from school. We have a home, a car in the driveway, food in the fridge, toys well...everywhere. <i><b>Provider</b></i>. The kids have somehow, some way, made it to their 4th and 6th birthdays. They're healthy, they're happy and they drive me nuts. There are times when I feel like I'm 'bout to LOSE MY MIND up in here, but they are also my greatest joy (omg, I'm a sap). He's constantly giving me what I need to raise them and I have to lean on Him, because in reality, I don't know what the heck I'm doing! <i><b>Leader</b></i>.<br />
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Just before Christmas, the women's ministry at <a href="http://www.therefuge.net/" target="_blank">my church</a> felt led to give all the single moms a financial gift, along with praying for us. Like me, I'm sure many single moms feel forgotten, especially around the holidays. While they prayed over us, I just kept hearing the phrase "love story" in my head. This was such a beautiful love story. (<i>Well</i>, <i>I also ran out of deodorant that afternoon, and while they prayed, I was also thinking how the bright lights were making my pits sweat...but I digress.</i>) A lover remembers you, thinks of you, places value on you. Even in seemingly insignificant times. Again God showed that His <a href="http://notthewayiplannedit.blogspot.com/2011/07/lasting-love.html" target="_blank">lasting love</a> is tenderly caring for me. <br />
<br />
It's a love story that life can imitate, but never reproduce. Sure, it'd be nice to meet someone (under 50 and not socially awkward) one day. There's a beauty in human relationships I can appreciate and marriage is His design. Yet I also know that this love story is as good as it gets. His love runs deeper than any human's ever can and I can rest in it, because it is as sure as He is.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16306994198853962168noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8008165545249576760.post-62069318066171542162012-02-01T14:34:00.000-08:002012-02-01T18:52:32.451-08:00Seven times seventy<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;"></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy2cfg4EQTqZ4JpLddbftwIIYvE2A92BfA_DqIldUxmJIe0ERx1R_bbGpsa60zmUonftNyB7-dS3NrDtgCpvd6cYCvXK-i6-wsZcENOK88lRQdpvOSRRRWyXSf6p-FCTzmc6G6yFHlp3hU/s1600/forgive-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy2cfg4EQTqZ4JpLddbftwIIYvE2A92BfA_DqIldUxmJIe0ERx1R_bbGpsa60zmUonftNyB7-dS3NrDtgCpvd6cYCvXK-i6-wsZcENOK88lRQdpvOSRRRWyXSf6p-FCTzmc6G6yFHlp3hU/s1600/forgive-2.jpg" /></a><span style="color: #131313; font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">Forgiveness is an
act of the will, and the will can function regardless of the temperature of the
heart. - Corrie Ten Boom</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #131313; font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">____________________________</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #131313; font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">You know the
feeling. The house is quiet, the kids are playing together nicely,
and you're using the moment to pick up (again). Suddenly, you
are aware. Oh my goodness, there's peace. Before you get a chance
to wonder what constellations aligned for this moment, you hear the dreaded
word: "Moooo-mm-mmm-mmmy". Four year olds have a way of making
a two syllable word into nine. You'd worry, but you know better. Someone
must've looked at someone. Or touched them. Or copied their
picture. Or breathed too loudly. You know, the usual savagery.
</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #131313; font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">The other day was
one of those days. Both kids ran down the stairs. The 6 year old was
screaming, crying, coughing, and apparently, dying, all at the same time.
The four year old came down with a smug look and an clandestine smirk.
</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #131313; font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">I wish I could tell
you how spectacularly wise my counsel to them was. I wish I had ten bullet
points, advising you on how to deal with your kids' constant bickering. I
don't. My response was more like this: "I AM SICK AND TIRED OF
THIS CRAP!!!" Tender, I know. (You can forward your Mother
of the Year vote to notachanceinhell@youwish.com).</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #131313; font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">I turned to my
daughter and told her to apologize. With a full serving of dramatic flair, she
turned to her brother and said "I. Am. Sorry! ". There was
nothing sorry about it. I made her do it again. And again. "Say it
like you mean it, El!" Finally, she said with an atom of love laced
into it. I'll take it. Her brother responded with "I don't
forgive you." My first thought was, "good grief! Here we go
again." Then it happened...that still, small voice asked
me..."sound familiar?"</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="color: #131313; font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">Crap. Yes. It does
sound familiar. My six year old isn't that much worse than his mother.
Oh, I've forgiven some things. But, if I'm painfully honest with
myself and with God, there's a lot I haven't forgiven. Even worse,
there's things I don't <i>want </i>to forgive. Things I feel are
unforgivable. Betrayal that is unimaginable. Wounds that run deep.
Blemished memories and dreams unfulfilled. And every time I feel
like I've forgiven something, I am reminded of something else. I look at
pictures and I can see the pain behind our smiles. I think of days that
should've been my happiest, yet they were some of the most hurtful. The
anger rises. The bitterness seethes. My mind says "he doesn't
deserve forgiveness". Gulp. Did I deserve forgiveness?</span><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="color: #131313; font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">Matthew 18: 21-22
- </span></i><i><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">Then Peter came to Jesus and
asked, “Lord, how many times shall I forgive my brother when he sins against
me? Up to seven times?" Jesus answered, “I tell you, not seven
times, but seventy-seven times".</span></i><span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">I can <i>so </i>identify with
good ol' Peter. Forgiving is a painful process because it involves
letting go. We think we are letting someone off the hook. We think
they're getting off easy. We think we may be justifying their actions.
And as my kids say all the time, it's not fair. Yep, it's not. But
our lives were never intended to be fair. Jesus' time here on earth was
anything but fair. He knew betrayal. He knew intense pain. He knew
taunting. He knew how it felt to appear weak. Yet, even on the
cross he cried "Father, forgive them."<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">If he did that for me, how could
I not do it for the one who has hurt me the most? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">How can I pick and choose how
many times I forgive? How can I draw the line between forgivable and
unforgivable. Seventy-seven, meaning, over and over. Over and over I have
to choose to forgive. I can't offer up weak, dishonest prayers asking God to
help me. It's an act of the will. I choose forgiveness. Even if I
have to do it over and over. Even if the memories still hurt. Even if the
scars remain. Even when I am treated unfairly again. Even when my
mind screams "no!", my heart needs to choose it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 10.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">Will you?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment--></span>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16306994198853962168noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8008165545249576760.post-43428727257527226312012-01-27T11:20:00.000-08:002012-01-30T12:19:14.174-08:00The (Future) Man of the House<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhN7dU6U_7yqcVLjJDDI5br7U0rh0FVaxY7AHUnWrrq5_Xz22ljkxHyPWMKa7yhJ0T1UrkiFjC-pjeOCdc_RscH-E375wPhen1DGC9LBITtd5fPWTYShtg6hg9A7nmcDtvP4cx5fbFJVA8/s1600/boy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhN7dU6U_7yqcVLjJDDI5br7U0rh0FVaxY7AHUnWrrq5_Xz22ljkxHyPWMKa7yhJ0T1UrkiFjC-pjeOCdc_RscH-E375wPhen1DGC9LBITtd5fPWTYShtg6hg9A7nmcDtvP4cx5fbFJVA8/s200/boy.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So lucky to have my boy.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Not too long ago, we walked out of my front door and there, lurking in the shadows (<i>it was daytime, but whatever</i>) like a dangerous predator (<i>hey, it could have been poisonous</i>) was...a spider. I tried to act cool but my 6 year old wasn't fooled. He's fully aware that I hate bugs. He giggles like a maniac when he pretends he's throwing a dead bug at me. Hilarious. That day, within seconds, he sprung into action, using his sneaker as a weapon and killing the vicious would-be predator in one quick swoop. His little sister cheered and applauded. I exhaled. Josiah smiled victoriously. "The man of the house kills the bugs!" he said in his very (<i>very</i>) squeaky, pre-pre-pre-pubescent voice. When I heard it, my heart sank. Then, a few days ago, someone said it again --- "...because you're the man of the house!" It felt wrong. A six year old shouldn't be the man of any house, much less my house.<br />
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<br />
It's tough raising a boy. I know girls. I know what it's like to be one. I know the different stages of girl to tween to teen to woman. When my daughter enters those stages, I will be prepared. You know, kind of like being prepared for scorpion handling or walking on broken glass.<br />
<br />
With a boy, though, its different. I don't know how to raise a man, much less a good man. Although J sees his dad often, he lives with me full time. He doesn't see a man in our house, doing all the things a husband and father is responsible for doing. What he <i>does</i> see is me flip my lid when my toilet becomes clogged, scream when I see a bug, stare at power tools with eyes glazed over, and face an almost certain death trying to move furniture down the stairs by myself. I remember when I started potty training him, I worried about how I'd teach him to stand being that women, well...don't. Somehow, it worked out (although his aim still sucks).<br />
<br />
In the past three years of being his primary caregiver, I've come to the realization that I can't teach him how to be a man. I desperately need God for that because, like any mom, I have dreams for him. Dreams of him being a godly, honorable man. Dreams of him breaking the cycle of infidelity and irresponsibility. I hope he's a hard worker and finds a career he loves (right now he wants to work at ChickFilA, so I have my work cut out for me). I hope that, in time, he finds a good woman; a wife he loves, honors and cherishes his commitment to. I hope he protects and provides for his family. I hope he sets high standards in his life. I hope his children can look up to him. I want him to be the man of a house one day, but not today.<br />
<br />
Today he needs to be a boy. He needs to make messes. Needs to jump...on everything apparently. Needs to get outside on his scooter and bike and skateboard. Needs to bother his little sister. Needs to run. Needs to learn. Needs to not worry about adult things. And he definitely needs to not worry about his mom. <br />
<br />
Single moms, let your son be your son. I believe that having time as a boy will allow him to be a better man. After seeing the movie, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i9VT_NBIVfs" target="_blank">Courageous</a>, I started looking for advice on how best to raise a good and more importantly, Godly, man. In my search, I found this list of practical advice <a href="http://blog.altonjamison.com/2010/04/10-tips-for-single-moms-raising-boys.html" target="_blank">here</a> and thought they were great tips to use and to share. It applies differently to each person, depending on you and what level of involvement the father has, but still great advice. Also, feel free to share your own tips, Bible verses, books you've read and lessons learned in the comments section below or on my <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Not-the-way-I-planned-it/288372997871022" target="_blank">Facebook</a> page: <br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">10 Tips For Single Moms Raising Boys</span></h3>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />1) Don't disrespect his father around him. Even if you don't get along with the father, you are attacking his maleness when you put the father down around your son.<br /><br />2) Teach him how to manage money (ex. balance a checkbook, save, give to charities, and </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">invest). If you don't know how, take him to someone that does know so he can learn.<br /><br />3) Don't allow him to see you dating multiple guys. Even though you might not be "doing anything" it sends...a subconscious message to your son that men can come in and out of </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">your life, and it's ok.<br /><br />4) Teach him what I call the man fundamentals (ex. To tie a necktie, to iron, to shave, to </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">wash clothes, to maintain proper hygiene). You may be saying, well, I don't know how to </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">do some of those things. Mom, you are it, so you have to learn or at least get a uncle, church member or someone that can ensure that your son has these necessary skills.<br /><br />5) Don't push him to just go to college and get a job, but teach him how to think for himself, explore his artistic and creative side and understand the power of being an entrepreneur.<br /><br />6) Don't buy and give to your son out of guilt or because you didn't have it.<br />Teach your son to value what he has and what he is given so he can learn to appreciate </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">everything.<br /><br />7) Teach him to not just go to church, but develop a personal relationship with God. This </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">is key, because many single moms keep their young men in church, thinking that church is </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">the solution. Actually the solution is showing him what a personal relationship with God </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">means and he needs to see you model that at home.<br /><br />8) Teach him that his life is not about being "better than his dad", but it's about being the </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">person that he is destined to be. Tell him that he has traits from both of his parents, but God </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">has made him a unique person with unique abilities.<br /><br />9) Teach him that relationships are about unconditional love, but most importantly, responsibility.<br /><br />10) Teach him that "his past doesn't determine his future". Show him that he can't control </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">his situations that he was born into, but he can control what's ahead of him in life.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #7e7655; font-family: Georgia, Utopia, 'Palatino Linotype', Palatino, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 22px;"><br /></span></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16306994198853962168noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8008165545249576760.post-82255588699653040312012-01-19T11:07:00.000-08:002012-01-19T11:15:38.000-08:00The shame game<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Imagine the bacteria.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i>I was ashamed, He called me beautiful...now I'm Yours, You call me beautiful.</i> - <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8dPfC0E4u2A" target="_blank">Forever and a Day</a></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Here's something that's outrageously pitiful to admit (and probably reason why I'm single #192), I often lay down at night and my mind won't stop producing clever status updates. It's obnoxious. Sometimes, i just can't turn off the jokes. The wheels in my heard are constantly spinning. Unfortunately, the short term memory wheels are a little rusty these days. They're pretty much, wait...what?</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I also often think of what people think of me. "What?", you say? "The girl that feels the need to stick her head under high-powered hand dryers just for laughs...she cares what people think?" I do. And I think of what it is they're thinking. Most of which they're probably not thinking at all, but in my head they are. And then I stress.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">As an example of the absurdity, here's what it's like to be inside my head sometimes:</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Jane Doe</b>: Hi Sarah, <<i>insert ever awkward <a href="http://www.jonacuff.com/stuffchristianslike/2008/04/106-the-side-hug/" target="_blank">side hug</a> here</i>> where are the midget wrestlers?</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Me</b>: "Heyyyy girl (cause I always have to say that)...they're with their dad today."</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><b>My brain</b>: <i>Good one. She's probably going to think you had them out of wedlock or something. Maybe you should say "ex-husband" next time. Oh, but ex-husband sounds so...bitter. She'll probably think you're some bitter divorcee</i><i>, on the prowl for a new man, probably her husband. Great. </i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I often play this game with myself. I'm sometimes embarrassed when people see me out in public, wrangling in two wild animals (children), with no wedding band on. Oh, it's not so bad when the midget wrestlers are behaving like angels, but that happens (way) less often than I'd care to admit. I feel like people eye my ring finger and think "tssk, tssk, tssk".</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">When I first started going to my new church, I was a little embarrassed by my marital status, or lack thereof. No one there knew my story. Many still don't. Its not like you want to sign your kids into Sunday school, and promptly announce the reason for your divorce. It's not cool. And it's not necessary. Oh, but it's tempting.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">You see, I thought I did everything right. Dated for two years. Went through pre-marital classes. Took personality tests to analyze our compatibility. Got my dad's approval. Got my pastor's approval. Married in church. Waited two years before babies. Yet still, it all blew up in my face. And I think "how did I not see it?!" And then I feel stupid. And ashamed.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I sometimes feel the need to justify myself. Justify the divorce. Explain that I waited over two years before I even went through with it. Explain his unwillingness to change. Explain the fact that I called my pastor in NY to get some counsel about it. Explain how difficult asking my ex to move out was for me. And a million other things I dealt with during that time (none of which are blog-appropriate).</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">During those times though, I often call that <a href="http://notthewayiplannedit.blogspot.com/2011/07/lasting-love.html" target="_blank">familiar verse</a> to mind: "<i><span class="Apple-style-span">Do not be afraid; you will not suffer shame.</span><span class="Apple-style-span"> </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span"><i>Do not fear disgrace; you will not be humiliated... (Is. 54)". </i></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">I have felt shame. And I most definitely have been humiliated. Those times were moments though, not a state of being. Not caused by my decisions. And not who I am. I know that I know that God and I have dealt with this. I know that, to the very end, I honored my commitment to God and to my spouse. I know that I received Godly counsel from my pastor in NY (which was a godsend, love you PJR and Evelyn!) and that it meant more to me than they'll ever know. I know that the few friends I love and and respect and trust more than anyone in the world supported me. God doesn't condemn me, so why do I feel like if others do, it matters? More over, why do I feel I condemn myself? </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Instead of lending myself to those feelings, I want to let my life speak in the here and now. I can have joy. I can have peace. I can attempt to raise normal human beings. I can speak to others going through similar situations, telling them there is a light at the end of the long, dark tunnel. I can live without shame, leaving the past where it is, but appreciating all it has given to my present and future.</span></div>
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</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16306994198853962168noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8008165545249576760.post-14916801238157967102012-01-12T08:45:00.000-08:002012-01-12T14:13:51.938-08:00Choosing to see...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>What if your blessings come through raindrops, what if your healing comes through tears? What if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise? </i></span><br />
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I heard a commercial for a jewelry company the other day. The last line said "you shouldn't have to settle on the engagement rings of your dreams." Really?? It's crazy to me that some may consider "settling" on a diamond to be so cruel. Yet, sometimes we (I) get so comfortable in how lucky we are, that we begin to have a very warped perception of suffering.<br />
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Suffering isn't a smaller diamond than you'd like (<i>hey, you're getting married</i>).<br />
Suffering isn't singleness (<i>you definitely won't get in a fight tonight)</i>.<br />
Suffering isn't that there are no Starbucks within a 1 mile radius (<i>you just saved $4.00</i>).<br />
Suffering isn't the fact that <a href="http://abcnews.go.com/GMA/good-morning-america-anchor-josh-elliotts-biography/story?id=13450884#.Twut6WCEbEU" target="_blank">Josh Elliott</a> hasn't realized I'm the woman of his dreams yet (<i>oh...he will</i>).<br />
Suffering isn't the inability to buy the shoes I want (<i>I have plenty</i>).<br />
Suffering isn't turning 30 (<i>you're alive</i>).<br />
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How many times have I allowed foolish discomforts to take away appreciation of my blessings?<br />
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I've often shaken the proverbial fist at God, wondering why I've faced some of the situations I have. I wonder why I had to grow up without my mother. I'd look at friends who'd gotten married around the same time as me, and I'd wonder why I was the the unlucky one. Before I had my two living children, I lost two. I wondered why are other people had healthy babies and I was losing mine. Why do some people seem to have the good life and some people have it so hard? Why do some people experience so much suffering, and some experience none?<br />
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Despite some trials in my life, the past couple of weeks have reminded me about how blessed I am. I've been reading <a href="http://onethousandgifts.com/" target="_blank">One Thousand Gifts</a>, challenging me to count the gifts in my life. I was also recently reminded of how fleeting life is. Two people from high school passed away recently, one leaving three small children. Then one of my closest friend's friend went to be with the Lord this week. I'd only met her once but she had kids around the same ages as mine, and I remember us comparing parenting survival stories. She was a beautiful woman who passed way too young, leaving two small children and a husband behind.<br />
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It was another opportunity to ask God, WHY? Why do this woman's young children have to grow up without their mother? It brought up feelings that linger from experiencing my own mother's death as a young girl, never really having an opportunity to grieve the loss. In your head you know God is good. In your heart, though, you can't make sense of tragedies like that.<br />
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Do you have a hard time making sense of your life? Why that husband left? Why you lost that job? Why you're still single? Why you're sick? Why you lost a loved one?<br />
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I'm beginning to learn that, in situations like that, we will sometimes never see the sense in it on this side of eternity. God's ways are higher than ours. He works ALL things together for our good. Sometimes we just have to let go and trust Him. Believe me, I have NOT mastered this. Yet, when I look back on the past few years, purposefully looking for the good things, I notice that so many blessings have flowed from my pain. I have strength and self-confidence and trust like I've never known. I am closer to God than I ever was. I know He is protecting and providing for my children and I. <br />
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And then there are seemingly little things, but they are huge. Warm homes. A cup of coffee in our hands. A tiny voice begging to play. A baby's squeals of joy. Tea parties using plastic utensils covered with God knows what. Health. A job. A good song. A sunny day.<br />
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Sometimes it's hard to see blessings with our bare eyes. Search for them. Choose to see them. They are worth finding.<br />
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This song has such great lyrics...will you choose to see His "mercies in disguise"?<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/XQan9L3yXjc?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16306994198853962168noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8008165545249576760.post-61049578566805982942011-12-22T13:47:00.000-08:002012-02-02T12:29:12.093-08:00We (I) need a little Christmas...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<strong>Matthew 1:23</strong> (Amplified Bible)</div>
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<em>Behold, the virgin shall become pregnant and give birth to a Son, and they shall call His name Emmanuel--which, when translated, means, God with us.</em></div>
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I'm going to admit something horrible. Here we are, three days before Christmas and I am not in the Christmas spirit. No matter what I do, I can't catch that feeling. I grew up in New York City and, for all the bad things NYC offers, it is the best place in the world to be at Christmastime. Lights are everywhere. People are kind of cheery (kind of cheery is saying a lot for NYers). It's just the most magical place to be at this time of year. Growing up, all of my family was there. Christmas was always loud, with firecode breaking amounts of people stuffed into my grandmother's tiny railroad apartment in Queens. We had lots of laughter, yelling over eachother and kids running wild. That's the feeling I'm chasing.</div>
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I've tried to catch the feeling. My Pandora has had a Christmas station on all month. I put up our tree. I decorated our house. I went Christmas shopping. I attended two kiddie Christmas parties. I went to see lights at the local speedway (yes, I'm offically a southerner...and they were lame). My church has been playing Christmas carols all month. I watched my kids perform "Away in a manger". I even watched <em>It's a Wonderful Life. </em>Nada. <br />
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Just this morning I was talking to my cousin about my Scrooge-ish feelings. I just want Christmas and New Years to be over. As excited as I am to see my kids open their gifts on Christmas morning, I'm dreading that lonely feeling because (you guessed it) this is not the way I planned it. I always dreamed of having a "normal" family. I dreamed of plotting and planning and hiding Christmas gifts with a husband. I dreamed of watching pajama-clad cuties opening their gifts, with both of their parents watching in enjoyment. That's just not the way it turned out. In fact, as a parent, I've had more Christmases as a single parent than as a married one.<br />
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As I was reflecting on my inability to "feel" Christmasy (is that a word?), I started to think about the real reason for Christmas. I know it sounds cliché, but when you really think about it, I'm sure Mary was feeling anything but Christmasy on the night she gave birth to the King of kings. I've given birth and my first child came four days before Christmas. While each contraction seemingly ripped a hole through my abdomen, I guarantee you I had no Christmas cheer. Receiving my epidural was about the closest I came to merry that night. We all know Mary had no pain medications. She had no bed in which to lay. She had no fancy equipment to monitor the baby's heartbeat, no one to tell her it wouldn't be much longer. She lay in a odorific stable surrounded by farm animals. She was giving birth to the Savior. It sounds glorious, until you remember he was going to be the ultimate sacrifice just a short time from then.<br />
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I looked up a couple of verses relating to Christmas (God bless those <a href="http://www.youversion.com/" target="_blank">YouVersion</a> folks...download the app if you don't have it!) and came upon the one up top. This line is the one that got me: <em>"...and they shall call His name Emmanuel--which, when translated, means, God with</em> <em>us</em>". Do you think that's a coincidence? Surely God could've chosen a name that meant "Savior", "blameless", "sacrificial lamb" or a thousand other things He was and is. I don't believe there are coincidences with God though. That name reminds us, thousands of years later, He is with us. Always. In the good times and the bad. When life has somehow become exactly what we wanted or when it falls into crumbles around us while we watch helplessly. His presence is the one thing we can rely on. That alone should bring us comfort and joy. <br />
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I'm still not really "feeling" that feeling. Yet, like Mary, I want to give birth to hope. Obviously, bearing the son of God can't be matched but you and I can birth the things which the Christ child offered: joy, peace, hope, love. Even if it's painful. If you are a single mom/divorcee, or walking through any other kind of difficulties in life, Christmas can be painful. Be that as it may, my kids are not going to miss out on memories and traditions because life is a little non-traditional right now. They are not going to see me sulking the day away, dismissing everything that the birth of Jesus offers. It still may hurt, but I know I am birthing those things into my life and the lives of my children, and that's a better gift than I could every buy them. There's a Christmas song we sang at church and one line says, "Joy, unspeakable joy...overflowing well, no tongue can tell. Joy, unspeakable joy, rises in my soul, never lets me go." He truly is joy and when something overwhelms your soul, you can't help but experience it on the outside. This season, I celebrate the unspeakable joy he offers, in good times and bad.<br />
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Okay, I'm actually feeling a little more Christmasy now! Merry Christmas and a happy, healthy and hopeful new year to you!</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/tC3SwhJsLqU?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16306994198853962168noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8008165545249576760.post-32017424783606770942011-12-14T22:25:00.000-08:002011-12-14T22:26:53.324-08:00Sharing is caring<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV3aEai6fdHYfZLpBjkQ9IYKtZpKOkZnPpcdVkTC7Jy1RdWgxII2DAgtgCqS-IJqDxvZT8a-vvCNMag7ohjcVRklo03myTWclL-sGcWul6S8QML9N6w63vgao97EKXYbPHtrjyinAcxc4j/s1600/One-Thousand-Gifts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV3aEai6fdHYfZLpBjkQ9IYKtZpKOkZnPpcdVkTC7Jy1RdWgxII2DAgtgCqS-IJqDxvZT8a-vvCNMag7ohjcVRklo03myTWclL-sGcWul6S8QML9N6w63vgao97EKXYbPHtrjyinAcxc4j/s200/One-Thousand-Gifts.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>I'm reading a book titled <a href="http://www.amazon.com/One-Thousand-Gifts-Fully-Right/dp/0310321913/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1323929814&sr=8-1" target="_blank">One Thousand Gifts</a> by Ann Voskamp. It is one of the best books I have <i>ever</i> read (I only <a href="http://notthewayiplannedit.blogspot.com/2011_11_01_archive.html" target="_blank">recommend</a> books that I love) and is changing my life! Oh, and yes, there's an app for that (One Thousand Gifts by Zondervan, available in the App Store). Anyhow, the book is really helping me to deal with emotions I've been stuffing down for years! Yes, I'm a stuffer.<br />
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I've been kind of quiet on the blog, on facebook and twitterland because I've been so into the words of the book, and blown away by what God is saying through the author! I could write a thousand blogs on it, but for now I am going to share one of <i>her</i> blogs.<br />
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I so identify with the feelings she expresses here. Take a look and tell me if you can relate...<br />
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<a href="http://www.aholyexperience.com/2011/12/when-you-wonder-if-you-disappoint/" target="_blank">A Holy Experience: When you wonder if you disappoint</a>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16306994198853962168noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8008165545249576760.post-110926535479899572011-12-09T07:11:00.001-08:002011-12-09T07:11:47.569-08:00There is ALWAYS hope...Check out this video from singleandparenting.org. Angela Thomas, who authors the book I talk about <a href="http://notthewayiplannedit.blogspot.com/2011/11/redemption-and-book-you-need-to-read.html" target="_blank">here</a>, discusses how there is still hope even when one is single parenting. Check out all the related videos too and let me know what you think in the comments below or on my <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/Not-the-way-I-planned-it/288372997871022" target="_blank">Facebook page.</a><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="225" mozallowfullscreen="" src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/26442278?title=0&byline=0&portrait=0&color=E38E40" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="400"></iframe><br />
<a href="http://vimeo.com/26442278">There’s Always Hope</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user241355">Church Initiative</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16306994198853962168noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8008165545249576760.post-49766360191113485082011-12-08T10:07:00.000-08:002011-12-09T07:31:31.608-08:00Being Supermom<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">When you get a chance, check out <a href="http://backwoodsmom.danoah.com/2011/12/children-will-remember/" target="_blank">this blog</a>! A friend posted it earlier this week and it's probably why all this "supermom" stuff was on my mind. It speaks to every mom, single or not. </span></i><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>__________________________</i></span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3q7dhzvxx90X2G-RVQf44Ut0-MQod-Cvgs7H_5NPjuyUoUE5AChNA2MDyFznamaisZ4c6qO6gtjaAkOPyrSEC_TtDxwuON2vNHnZpGYe2qNWhSxRQm1vHAZcHHfTIqwDBNXkqJeo2aUkI/s1600/superheroes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3q7dhzvxx90X2G-RVQf44Ut0-MQod-Cvgs7H_5NPjuyUoUE5AChNA2MDyFznamaisZ4c6qO6gtjaAkOPyrSEC_TtDxwuON2vNHnZpGYe2qNWhSxRQm1vHAZcHHfTIqwDBNXkqJeo2aUkI/s320/superheroes.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>The other night, the midget wrestlers came to dinner dressed in their superhero costumes. I joked on twitter that if my kids were Spiderman and Supergirl, that <i><u>must</u></i> make me Supermom. I say "joked" because I know I am <b><i>anyone</i></b> other than Supermom or Superwoman. And because I'm pretty much always joking around.<br />
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I admit it. I'm not one of "those" moms who makes a homemade advent calendar that I sewed together with thread I found on clearance. I don't make perfect little color coordinated chore charts. I don't make my kids' birthday cakes from scratch. I work. I probably have unknown species of dust on my wood floors at any given time. I shout at my kids' sometimes. I forget snacks for their class. I don't do 20 minutes of reading with them every single night. I don't do coupon clipping (yet). The idea of homeschooling makes me twitch. J's scrapbook of his first year is only 3/4 finished. He's about to be 6. Don't even ASK about the second child. Oh, and there is a lot more. Add that to the guilt of them growing up in a single parent household and it's obvious -- they've been cheated in this life with me as their mom.<br />
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Or have they?<br />
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Us women are so quick to beat ourselves up. I, for some reason, have a hard time accepting compliments. If you tell me I look pretty, I joke around about how I'm really not as pretty as it looks and I spent an ungodly amount of time doing my hair that morning. If you tell me my outfit is nice, I start announcing where I got every piece and how much it cost (because it's always inexpensive). I even have friends who tell me "you look pretty and just say thank you before I hit you." I don't know why I do that..but I do. Have you diagnosed me yet? Good, bill me. When people tell me I'm a good mother, in my head I think "ohhhh, but you don't live with me." <br />
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You see, this is never the way I envisioned my motherhood experience. I had visions of driving a minivan. My daughters would all go to ballet and my sons would all be in little league. I'd be a stay at home mom and drive them around wherever they needed to go. We'd go on annual vacations to tropical locales. I'd have time to volunteer. On every holiday we'd make a perfect little craft and then I'd save it in my perfect little bin and store it in my perfectly organized garage. My husband and I (yes, there'd be a husband) would have Christmas parties every year and I'd make 193 homemade dishes for said party. We'd have movie nights where the whole family would pile up on the couch and stuff popcorn down our mouths. My children would always be well-behaved. I wouldn't dare co-sleep. We'd all wear matchy-matchy outfits for Easter. <br />
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Ah, life. It didn't turn out quite the way I planned it...at all. In reality, my daughter loudly announces every occurrence of her flatulence, no matter where we are. They fight. Every night, at some point before dawn, my four year old still climbs in my bed. I don't drive a minivan (nor will I ever). And, I don't have a husband.<br />
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I think every mother, single or not, struggles with guilt at some point or another. Every time I travel for business, I feel like the worst mother in the world. Every time they eat fast food, I can almost imagine their little insides rotting away. When I microwave food, I think "how about if this is the time the radiation is a little too much?" It bothers me that their dad gets to be "fun Chuck E. Cheese dad" and I have to be "for the 100th time, go upstairs, brush your teeth and get your pajamas on" mom. (What the FLIP is so fun about Chuck E. Cheese anyway? It reeks of sweaty kid feet and old cheese...but I digress.)<br />
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Last night, I took my son to one of those snazzy self-serve yogurt joints. He dug some change (and lint balls...and a candy wrapper) out of his little pockets and paid for $.65 of the bill. I told him I was so proud of him for being such a gentleman. He hugged me and said "you are just the most super mommy there ever was and you're the most beautiful mommy in the world". (Tell all your daughters to take a number.) I thought to myself "I must be doing <i>something</i> right."<br />
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For a change, I thought of what I had done <i>right </i>recently. I packed his lunch with a little note saying I loved him. I let him buy a Rice Krispies treat. I met him at school for lunch. I bought 20 cans for his school food drive, so his class could win a pizza party (oh yea, and so that hungry people could eat). All three of us had an impromptu dance party...I even did the Running Man (and no, it wasn't pretty). I made Josiah mashed potatoes the way he likes them. I bought E a(nother) fabulous outfit. We did morning devotions. I prayed for them before they walked into school. We prayed before they went to bed. I read them a Christmas story. I listened to my daughter's Christmas wish list for the 104th time. We made silly (ugly) faces and took pictures of ourselves.<br />
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I don't say all that to brag because believe me -- for every thing I've done right, I've done about 100 things wrong (see, I can't even accept my <i>own</i> compliments!). I only say it to encourage you to think of the things you are doing right. Push back concerns of everything you <i>can't</i> offer your children, and celebrate what you <i>can</i>.<br />
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What makes you supermom (or superdad) in the eyes of your children?Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16306994198853962168noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8008165545249576760.post-52023437028142008272011-12-06T17:55:00.000-08:002011-12-06T18:01:18.509-08:00Follow me...<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
I'm officially a loser. I am asking you to follow me. No shame in my game, though! It's a great way to stay in touch in between posts, while also providing you a great way to post feedback! Go on now...follow me. Gracias :)</div><br />
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</ul>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16306994198853962168noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8008165545249576760.post-33422103446047586102011-12-05T20:36:00.000-08:002011-12-06T11:56:40.449-08:00Enjoying the ride<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKIadzlw7crja7EYQmbjxWYER4IsNN4LnJ_APtSxoIejQkfYLFnYUa5AQcJGsCQteLJSVkicmUKFbBVL_DmBY9mCss6t4LSRdHytX84mLBwdUYcc1ZXy2i38mwVQ8fCemB5Rw6YUN2ES1F/s1600/snow.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKIadzlw7crja7EYQmbjxWYER4IsNN4LnJ_APtSxoIejQkfYLFnYUa5AQcJGsCQteLJSVkicmUKFbBVL_DmBY9mCss6t4LSRdHytX84mLBwdUYcc1ZXy2i38mwVQ8fCemB5Rw6YUN2ES1F/s320/snow.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Snowstorm" in Charlotte</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I've learned by now to be quite content whatever my circumstances. I'm just as happy with little as with much, with much as with little. I've found the recipe for being happy whether full or hungry, hands full or hands empty. Whatever I have, wherever I am, I can make it through anything in the One who makes me who I am. - Philippians 4:11-13</span></i></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">______________________</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Ever been lost? My sister, Amy, gets lost everywhere she goes. And by everywhere, I mean <u><b>everywhere</b></u>. When we were younger, she never had to rely upon any sense of direction because I was older and where I led, she followed. Actually, she hopped incessantly...but that's a whole 'notha blog. When she started college, she was a mess. She'd get lost on the same subways we had rode since middle school. She couldn't understand how the whole uptown/downtown thing worked and assumed if a train said it was going to Queens, it must be the right one. One year, NYC experienced a citywide blackout. I instructed her she needed to walk home across the 59th Street bridge. Her response? "WHERE IS THAT?!" (And yes, it was on 59th Street.)</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Luckily, I rarely get lost. I've also never really had a hard time feeling like I "fit in." I've had moments of awkwardness, sure. However, until all the infidelity was discovered, leading to the separation and divorce, I never felt "lost".</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Let me rewind to a Saturday night a few months back. A friend had invited me over for a girls' night at her house, but I couldn't go because I had no one to watch my kids. I stopped by to drop off something I had bought for the party and as I left, I felt that familiar feeling wash over me again. It was the feeling of being lost in between two worlds, seemingly having no place to belong. Yes, I have a family. I'm incredibly lucky to have two children I'm raising, experiencing both the glamorous and the not-so-glamorous moments in parenting. We do the family things; food shopping, cartoons, baths, meals, tantrums, hugs, kisses etc. Although they drive me insane sometimes, I am unbelievably privileged to be their mom. However, I'm also a single woman. Here in suburgatory, single parents aren't found too often. It's sometimes awkward going to family and school functions, being the only single parent there. Almost every single mom (and maybe single dads too) I know identifies with this feeling of being caught in between two worlds. It's easy to feel forgotten. Life as you planned it is passing you by and there is nothing you can do about it. </div></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div></div></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">On that Saturday night, I ended up taking the kids out and had a great time just being with them. A outdoor band was playing and my son shook his bony little butt like nobody's business. (I don't know where he gets it, I swear.) I laughed, but I had no one to share the moment with and once again, that feeling returned. I looked around at all the families walking around that night and couldn't help the "why me?". This is never the way I pictured my life looking and it sure isn't the way I wanted it.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">As soon as that thought passed in my mind though, I immediately regretted it. I looked at my kids. They were happy, healthy and exhibiting pure tomfoolery in public. Parenting them is tough sometimes but they also bring me joy like I have never known. I am healthy. I have a great job. I have wonderful friends. I have a nice car. I have a nice house. I have a great family. And on this night, I really could not ask for more.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">I'm not lost. I've just detoured off the planned route. However, I'm learning to enjoy the detour, because life is still happening here. I don't want to miss out on this part of my life, and especially of my kids' lives, because I am so worried about getting back on track. Even though there is sometimes rough terrain, I know that I am right where I'm supposed to be.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">What have you learned on life's detours?</div></div></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16306994198853962168noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8008165545249576760.post-41403817552495635712011-11-17T10:35:00.000-08:002011-11-30T11:55:26.850-08:00Redemption (and the book you NEED to read)<a href="http://blog.singleandparenting.org/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/My-Single-Mom-Life.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://blog.singleandparenting.org/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/My-Single-Mom-Life.jpg" width="126" /></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I know it's been, um, forever since my last post! Life is crazy and full of school, report cards, birthday parties, book fairs, school lunches and a very active social life...and that's just my kids. As for me, you can find me on any given Friday night in front of an episode of Dateline. Lucky me. Anyway, I promise I have a few coming down the pike very soon! </span><br />
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</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Now, if you are a single mom and have a pulse, you NEED to read this book: <i>My Single Mom Life </i>by Angela Thomas. <a href="http://www.amazon.com/My-Single-Mom-Life-Practical/dp/B0041T4RL4/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1321551548&sr=8-1">Buy it</a>...now. It's $6.00 new on Amazon...you'll live (maybe) if you give up two cups of Starbucks to buy this book.</span><br />
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<div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Ok, done? Great.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">So, when my ex-husband first left and I was in an unbelievably confused and stressful emotional state, my friend, who had been through a similar situation, recommended this book (big shout out to my fellow Queens girl, Rachel!). It sounds a little crazy now, but when it first happened I was so worried about my kids. Although I still worry about them, my worries are a little more rational now. Back then, all I could do was picture them as adults on an episode of Intervention, sticking a needle in their arm and explaining, through high-induced drooping eyelids, that this all started when their parents divorced. I've since learned that, although divorce is never what you want for your children, God is bigger than anything this world will throw their way! They are safe in His arms. </span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Okay, Im going off on a tangent here...bear with me! As I was saying, I love this book so much that I have read and reread it numerous times. Sometimes I read the entire book, sometimes just chapters at a time. Today I picked it up and although I had highlighted this portion before, it really blew me away today. I believe it's because I am now 2 1/2 years away from what was probably the worst day of my life. I am looking at it from this perspective now, instead of being inside it. I know I've made it out of things I'd never thought I'd make it through. So, hold on to your hat and read this:</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><b>Making a trade</b> (page 26)</span></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Redemption is when you bring something of little value or which has become a liability, and an exchange is made for something better. You trade in wounds and consequences for astounding, lovely blessings, in spite of the negative, or maybe because of it. In the fullness of redemption, brokenness is mended by love. Aimless wandering becomes satisfied, visionary living. Lies are traded for truth. Mourning becomes dancing. A million broken pieces are rearranged into a vibrant, intact, beyond-your-wildest-dreams journey.</span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">That kind of redeeming trade has happened for me. And the exchange just keeps on going. The One who is making the trade, the Redeemer, is the One I call Perfect Love, God, the only One who can turn broken into beautiful. Apart from his faithfulness to me, there would never have been redemption. I am convinced that His mercy is the means by which my life began again. Without His precious love, I'm sure I'd be in an unmarked cave somewhere, probably all moldy by now and nearly blind from squinting in the dark. Instead, I am incredibly grateful that God wouldn't let that happen, even to a woman like me. And what He has done for me, He is ready to do for you.</span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">He redeemed my soul from going down to the pit, and I will live to enjoy the light - Job 33:28</span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Good, right?! I told you. Oh, by the way, you should really buy the book.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">Reading through it, again and again, made me focus on the ways I have experienced redemption in the past two years.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><ul><li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I used to cry every.single.day. Now, I don't! Speaking of, do you ever cry at those new Fisher-Price Christmas commercials?? No? Me neither.</span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I'm not constantly consumed by who, what, when, where and why. When everything first happened, I was completely obsessed with finding out the truth. I never found out too much. These days, I have learned to be okay with the fact that I won't ever know everything. And that's okay. Actually, I don't think I WANT to know much more. Each little piece of information tears out a piece of your heart, and I've learned the hard way that the knowledge isn't worth the price.</span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">The peace I have now is something I felt was completely out of reach for me. </span></span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px;">I'm getting a little wiser. Wisdom is something I've really been trying to pursue recently. I've been reading the book of Proverbs and making a conscious effort to KNOW wisdom. Proverbs 2:10-11 says <b>"</b></span><i>For wisdom will enter your heart, and knowledge will be pleasant to your soul. Discretion will protect you, and understanding will guard you." </i>Homegirl, I don't know about you, but I want my soul to be pleasant and I want my little family to be protected and guarded by wisdom. As a single mom, you need LOTS of wisdom. I'm definitely not a expert on wisdom...I let my son bring a water gun into the bathtub the other night. NOT wise. However, I'm pursuing it and I know God has redeemed my worry for His wisdom. What a bargain! </span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">My kids have survived thus far...and are happy and healthy.</span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I have survived my kids. </span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I have had numerous people approach me with difficulties they are experiencing in their marriage. I have been able to offer them words of advice and pass on a little bit of the hope I have acquired in the past few years. I remember how a few friends were my LIFELINE back then, and I am happy to be someone else's.</span></li>
</ul><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I can think of a hundred more, but I don't want to bore you. I want to know from you now! Look back on your life. In what ways have you been redeemed? Even if you dont want to share in a public forum, I encourage you to write them down. I promise you that you will be so encouraged!</span></div><br />
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</div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16306994198853962168noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8008165545249576760.post-26858865460480663112011-09-21T08:32:00.000-07:002011-09-21T12:19:51.382-07:00Mr. Right<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0_K28-xtns1tyE5nCV_mn96wAaQwfNcAcB_a-svJGa7ADaTFF-F32TQnZlFd1NEtVn2S5sowjZKPDNI4-s_UOWHC90tcZ5EYVAh1yFGO0ytjOhBiG70kQAdAK9pckWViDLzvV1bq_Xxba/s1600/mr_right.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0_K28-xtns1tyE5nCV_mn96wAaQwfNcAcB_a-svJGa7ADaTFF-F32TQnZlFd1NEtVn2S5sowjZKPDNI4-s_UOWHC90tcZ5EYVAh1yFGO0ytjOhBiG70kQAdAK9pckWViDLzvV1bq_Xxba/s320/mr_right.jpg" t$="true" width="320" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; line-height: 14px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Loneliness accepted becomes a gift leading one from a life dominated by tears to the discovery of one's true self and finally to the heart of longing and the love of God. </span></i></span><br />
<br />
"Don't worry, you'll find someone who will love and take care of you and those kids". I've lost count of how many times I heard that statement, especially in the first few months following our separation. It didn't make me mad. I knew it was just people's way of trying to make me feel better. I often just laughed it off thinking "do 'Mr.' and 'Right'" even belong in the same sentence?! (Don't worry, I'm no longer a man hater).<br />
<br />
I never understood how women jumped in and out of relationships, especially after ending marriages. After being in this situation though, I understand it well. Single parenting is a lonely job. I think some are under the assumption that you have children, so you can't be lonely. The opposite is true, at least for me. You are stuck in between two worlds; that of being a parent/ head of a family, and that of the single woman. Those two worlds have a difficult time coexisting, especially when (as is my case), one parent has full custody.<br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong, there are MANY perks to being single!! My children and I have traveled up and down the east coast countless times in the past two years, just because we can. I can cook or I can not cook. New shoes? Yes, please! I control the remote control and I can blast my music at home, even if it is "chick" music. I have learned so much about myself and have gotten to enjoy my own company. There are days when I fully enjoy the single life, but then there are days when I'm over it.<br />
<br />
There's nothing wrong with desiring a man in your life. That's the way God created us! Though I've always considered myself pretty independent, woman are designed to want to be taken care of. It's VERY humbling for me to admit that I sometimes get sick of being alone, sick of driving us everywhere, sick of taking care of myself when I'm not well, sick of car maintenance, sick of handling my own money, sick of fixing things in the house, sick of not being taken out, sick of carrying sleeping children up the stairs, sick of breaking up midget fights...and the list goes on and on. I can easily understand how it'd be much easier to just jump into a relationship and get all that temporarily resolved. Temporary fixes are just that though, temporary. And around here, my temporary fixes are usually never done right.<br />
<br />
Just last week it was about 96 degrees outside. I was sitting at Josiah's bus stop, hot. Not hot looking, just hot. Two days later, we woke up to 45 degrees and the daytime high wasn't much higher than that. I broke out my boots and fall jacket, and enjoyed every sip of my hot cup of coffee...perfect on a chilly morning. Facebook was full of status updates commenting on the changing season. Everyone was seemingly over summer and ready for fall. It made me think – without the scorching summer sun, we would never appreciate the cool winds of fall. Without the dark winter days, we would never enjoy the spring's sunshine. In my life, I am <i><u>learning</u></i> to appreciate and embrace whatever season I am in. I value the days where I am happy and complete in my singleness. Yet I also value the times where the pain of loneliness has been almost unbearable, because I have learned so much during those times. Walking through those valleys has taught me that it IS possible to be alone. Somehow, I have survived without a man for over 2 1/2 years and I have lived to tell about it! I wouldn't trade that time for the world.<br />
<br />
Allow yourself to feel both the blessings and difficulties that singleness brings and you will never be desperate for a man to come "save" you. Allow yourself to rely on God for the love that you need, because His love is perfect, fulfilling and stands the test of time. Take time to figure out what you really want and need in a man, and what you really want and need to be <i>for</i> a man.<br />
<br />
So, hold tight....it will be worth the wait.Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16306994198853962168noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8008165545249576760.post-13979674277695936372011-09-14T11:26:00.000-07:002011-09-14T11:33:28.937-07:00Explaining the unexplainable<div class="deleteBody"> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlWbhplyOJerfhHgfTlVhM42kiRHqfR15RYyi5sHD0Tzkdp4ztoUV_XhbGl1Yu_u5YI0jBlh_rP-dFpPVaTQEnisKDUWegSAdbkD4KMFlPQiUZK7rgAhdwdiguSRoMYly1REx435rsxjUE/s1600/josiah.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlWbhplyOJerfhHgfTlVhM42kiRHqfR15RYyi5sHD0Tzkdp4ztoUV_XhbGl1Yu_u5YI0jBlh_rP-dFpPVaTQEnisKDUWegSAdbkD4KMFlPQiUZK7rgAhdwdiguSRoMYly1REx435rsxjUE/s320/josiah.jpg" t$="true" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My "favorite" son</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <br />
<div class="postBody" style="color: #777777;"><i>Proverbs 24:14<br />
Know also that wisdom is sweet to your soul; if you find it, there is a future hope for you, and your hope will not be cut off. </i><br />
<i><br />
</i></div><div class="postBody" style="color: #777777;">My firstborn, Josiah, is the sweetest little guy. He has such a soft heart and as a baby he'd often cry when my sister sang him lullabies. Sometimes, when he laughs so hard that he cries, he often ends up actually crying...it's hilarious to watch. Josiah was only 3 1/2 when his dad left, but he remembers him living here. He doesn't remember much of the tension that was in the house at that time (or he doesn't mention it) but I know he felt it back then. <br />
<br />
After their dad left, I had no idea how to explain it to my children. My daughter was only 18 months so I couldnt really tell her much, but I knew Josiah needed an age-appropriate explanation. At the time, I just held him over with short answers and at times, changed the subject. I just didn't know what to say. He was still seeing his dad regularly, but I knew one day I'd have to explain the situation in a little more detail.<br />
<br />
One night when he was about 4, we were driving home and out of nowhere, Josiah burst into tears. "I miss my daddy!" Without knowing how to handle it, and without being able to comfort him while driving, I just kept saying "its okay, Josiah...its okay to miss daddy." By the time we got home, he had already stopped crying but I knew his little heart was still aching. For a second I considered putting on a cartoon, reading a book, playing a game; anything to take his mind off of it and to save me from having to explain the unexplainable. However, I knew I had to confront the issue. How do you explain divorce to a child? I could barely wrap my mind around the questions of "why?" so how was I to explain the unexplainable to a preschooler?<br />
<br />
I went up to his room and sat him down. I quickly asked (begged) God for wisdom, hugged him and told him one thing: "it's okay to be sad". He looked at me as if to say "Really?!"<br />
<br />
As moms (or dads), we want the best for our children. Unfortunately, its impossible to go throughout this life and not experience pain. The important lesson I'm trying to teach my children (and trying to learn myself) is to allow themselves to feel the pain and embrace the lessons they're going to learn from that time. I feel bad for them often. I hate that they're hurting. I hate not being able to protect them from that hurt. I hate that they don't get to experience a "normal" family (whatever that is these days). I hate that they may one day experience the issues that having stepmom or stepdad may bring. I hate having to explain someone else's bad decisions to them. I do know one thing, though...this will <strong><u>not</u></strong> define them. I never want the term "divorce" to be a crutch to them throughout their lives. <br />
<br />
Yes, its unfair. However, if handled wisely, hard times can often bring about stronger people. Even if this never would have happened, difficult times would have still come knocking at their door at one time or another. I hope that, through this situation, they will gain great wisdom. I hope my son will learn to honor and treasure his future wife. I hope my daughter learns to choose her mate wisely, and isn't led astray because she is looking for love in all the wrong places. I pray that they value marriage, even if they don't marry. Most of all, I pray that they are confident in their future knowing God walks alongside of them, in the good times and the bad.<br />
<br />
How do you deal with your child's hurt, whether divorce related or not? </div></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16306994198853962168noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8008165545249576760.post-32470359684299032302011-08-08T06:34:00.000-07:002011-08-08T06:40:14.376-07:00Mourning the loss<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtzko2bwPZZUv3SihDKqdjYD_icEnYB8eKI8pDd40_5XrtbOy_aGb1MArf8f-SknE7ap38MS8jZnBrK6t52iRPZ4xHOV1YwyAqQYuXxi9LgwRpiKCNL2n-nhM2m_NCqzBESJsDt9Ey_uKi/s1600/rainydayinjuly1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtzko2bwPZZUv3SihDKqdjYD_icEnYB8eKI8pDd40_5XrtbOy_aGb1MArf8f-SknE7ap38MS8jZnBrK6t52iRPZ4xHOV1YwyAqQYuXxi9LgwRpiKCNL2n-nhM2m_NCqzBESJsDt9Ey_uKi/s320/rainydayinjuly1.jpg" t$="true" width="240" /></a></div>Psalm 71:20-21<br />
<em><strong><sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">20</span></sup></strong> Though you have made me see troubles, many and bitter, you will restore my life again; <br />
from the depths of the earth <br />
you will again bring me up. <br />
<sup class="versenum" id="en-NIV1984-14998"><strong><span style="font-size: x-small;">21</span></strong></sup> You will increase my honor <br />
and comfort me once again. </em><br />
<em></em> </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">It has rained at almost every funeral I've ever been to. I was only seven years old at the time, but I can still remember the day of my mother's burial. My mind can still picture being inside the black limousine, watching the rain fall in sheets outside the window. There was a dark grey sky and a cold chill in the air. Depressing, and rightfully so, because my mother was only 38 years old. She was a wonderful, godly woman and loved by all those around her. My sister and I were only five and seven. It wasn't fair. No mother should miss out on raising her children and no child should miss out on having their mother around. </div><br />
The day my divorce was to be finalized, I woke up to another dark grey sky, the ground wet from rain. The day was almost full of torrential downpours and powerful thunderstorms. After an over ten day stretch of sweltering hot weather, I'm sure many people were happy to see the rain. I wasn't one of them. I figured a little sunshine would've made the day more bearable. I wasn't surprised by the rain though, since today was the day I was to face the burial of my marriage and all that came along with it; hopes, dreams, promises, lies, hurt, betrayal, etc.<br />
<br />
The day I got the first legal papers, a few months prior, was harder than I thought. Something about seeing my childrens' names on a legal document broke my heart. "It wasn't supposed to be this way" I thought to myself. On this day, however, I didn't have to go to court to sign anything. I didn't have to face my ex-husband who, at one time, promised to love, honor and be faithful to me. I didn't have to walk into a courthouse and watch a judge take two seconds to sign away almost eight years of my life; both happy times and sad times. I wasn't going to hear the truth about things that were and are kept secret. I wasn't going to get any answers to the countless questions I had.<br />
<br />
The only way I could describe my feelings that day would be to compare it what I think it would be like to have a terminally sick relative. You know they are sick and you know their final breath is imminent, but its hard to wrap your mind around the actual threat. Somewhere, deep inside, you hold out hope. The day they actually die, there is considerable sadness but there is also some relief. That's how I felt that day. Over two years went by between the separation and divorce. In a lot of ways, I knew that the marriage was beyond help and I already felt divorced in a lot of ways. Still, the nonchalant email I received from my lawyer's paralegal sealed its fate:<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>"Dear Mrs. Xxxxx,<br />
<br />
I just wanted to let you know that your divorce has been finalized and I have mailed a copy out to you.<br />
<br />
Thanks and have a good weekend."</em></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br />
<br />
(To which my sarcastic little mind replied, "Oh, you too!")</span><br><br />
That day, I had to make a decision in my heart to once again grieve the loss. This time it was final. Like an actual death, there was some sadness and then there was a small sense of closure. That chapter of my life was now over. I could finally exhale.<br />
<br />
Just because I have mourned and buried this part of my life doesn't mean I won't ever feel sadness again. Just like I still cry for my mom sometimes, my kids and I will cry over this. As sure as I know my future holds some sadness, I also know it holds good things! Hard times and happy times are on the horizon for my kids and I, and we are not staying at the cemetery!<br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Sarahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16306994198853962168noreply@blogger.com6