tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62727291786127785112024-02-25T01:53:08.034-05:00wonders never ceasefrisking the ordinary for the presence of GodRebecca Ramseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14851717214205302476noreply@blogger.comBlogger490125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272729178612778511.post-64811094865573499452015-11-06T18:00:00.000-05:002018-06-22T13:53:49.421-04:00I've Moved. Come Visit!Hey friends, I've moved. I'd love for you to come see me at my new blogging home! You can find me at <a href="http://www.beckyramsey.info/">beckyramsey.info. </a><br />
Hope to see you soon!<br />
Love, Becky<br />
<br />Rebecca Ramseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14851717214205302476noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272729178612778511.post-14050027151855612522012-06-16T11:17:00.001-04:002012-06-16T11:17:44.911-04:00Notes to My Younger Self<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When I first saw this photo on Facebook this morning, posted by my sweet boyfriend/husband to celebrate our 26th wedding anniversary, I looked at that 21 and 24 year old and wanted to hug their precious, ignorant selves. And then I wanted to sit them down and give them a strong talking to and hand them a list of truths that would make their next 26 years easier.<br />
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Married or not, have you made your own list of what you'd like to say to your younger self? I'd love to hear what's on yours.<br />
I'll share a few things on mine- some meant just for me and some for both of us:<br />
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1. If you consistently throw up every morning before work and have at least one cry every night (and you're sure you're not pregnant) you're probably in the wrong job. It's okay. Get out of there.<br />
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2. Don't rent that apartment in Greenbelt, Maryland. Those people exchanging things in the parking lot are not trading baseball cards.<br />
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3. You can't be God's teacher's pet by trying to be good all the time. We're ALL God's teacher's pets. God loves all of us the same, whether we like it or not. :)<br />
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4. Get off that foil tanning blanket and throw away the baby oil! You'll thank me later. (Though the dermatologist won't.)<br />
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5 .If you want to work, work! If you're doing something that makes you happy, your children will benefit. And you'll be able to afford vacations which will make you more cheery and less grouchy.<br />
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6. Don't let well-meaning people talk you out of a job you want. You'll eventually come back to it anyway.<br />
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7. Be nice to yourself and buy good shoes.<br />
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8. If you're going to choose parts of the Bible to take literally, be ready to take it all literally- the shellfish ban, the multiple wives, the stoning a wayward child, slavery, the ban against mixed fibers. Consider taking a hard, serious look at Jesus instead, so you don't end up tangled up in law and estranged from love.<br />
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9. Remember that with your sweetie- and with coworkers and anybody- it's better to be kind than right.<br />
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10. Don't walk on an icy Denver street with a blueberry jello salad. Even if you do feel very coordinated at the moment.<br />
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11. Becky, if you work all the time and don't write and paint and sew and draw, you will start to wilt and wither and get easily irritated and mean.<br />
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12. Realize now that one of you is an extrovert and likes to talk, and the other is an introvert and likes to think inside her head. Allow each other space to be what you are. Neither way is better so don't try to be the other. It won't work and it will give you a headache.<br />
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13. Don't haul off your husband's favorite easy chair to Goodwill when he's on a business trip. <br />
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14. Don't try to pretend you're not squeamish. It's better to tell the doctor ahead of time so you don't end up on the floor with a wet towel on the back of your neck and a room full of nurses trying to give you Coke.<br />
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15. You will have difficult times and you will have delightful times. Hang in there and know that it really does get better and better.<br />
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Okay, so that's the short list.<br />
What would you say to your younger self?<br />
Becky<br />
<br />Rebecca Ramseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14851717214205302476noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272729178612778511.post-64558411873193684492012-06-10T20:10:00.000-04:002012-06-10T20:10:23.533-04:00Welcome to My Studio! Er... I Mean Office!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Maybe it's just me, but I love to see the spaces in which people work. What kind of tools do they use?<br />
How do they make their space their own? Inspire their own creativity? Make themselves laugh in the middle of their workdays?<br />
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Give me a trip to Santa's workshop over a visit on his lap anytime!<br />
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I'd love to hear about your own space, so I thought I might break the ice by showing you around my workshop/studio/office. Ready for a tour?<br />
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First of all I should remind you who I work for.<br />
I suppose it's God most of all, but as Minister to Children at FBC Greenville, the work I do is all about ministering to/with great kids like these... <br />
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and their families.<br />
Don't let the mustaches fool you- these kids aren't as old as they look!<br />
I work with kids 1st grade-5th grade. <br />
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They're super fun and creative and full of ideas, and I want them to feel happy and comfortable in my office- it's a space made for them too. <br />
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So along with all the supplies and books, there's plenty of toys and other stuff to keep them smiling and not bored.<br />
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There's a bench for lounging and a rabbit and turtle that can always use a hug, if somebody's giving them out for free.<br />
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I also hang a lot of art that makes me happy.<br />
Like this piece that I found amongst some Sunday school literature. It's probably about fifty or sixty years old. I love how it shows the child exploring her beautiful world, feeling God's presence. <br />
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We use the Godly Play approach in Sunday school (see my other blog <a href="http://www.godlyplayblog.blogspot.com/">The Wonder Circle</a> if you're interested) in which the children learn to listen and look for God in the sacred stories from the Bible, but also in their own lives. I think this picture shows that same quiet reverence.<br />
Plus I just love artwork from that time. It makes me feel good.<br />
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I love this too, Jesus calming the storm. Charles Pate, Jr. did it. Very powerful.<br />
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Karen Lucci, an artist friend, painted one of my favorite Bible stories for a postcard for <a href="http://triunemercy.org/">Triune Mercy Center</a>. It's the story in which Jesus appears to the disciples after his resurrection and makes them breakfast. <br />
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I've also hung a bulletin board full of pics of my sweet kiddos. When I first started it helped me learn their names. Now I enjoy looking at it and thinking of them. <br />
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A very important part of my office decor: the Jolly Ranchers!<br />
It's a great way to get the kids to come in and talk with me! <br />
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<br />Kids (and adults) seem to love the wind up toys. They'll stand there for surprising amounts of time, winding it up and watching it go.<br />
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This piece of art belonged to my friend Bev, who had my job before me. I love it--children all over the world, in a dance.<br />
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One of my duties is preparing the children's worship bags. Bags are always all over my office!<br />
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The kids seem to enjoy this piece, made by mixed media artist <a href="http://www.jeanettejanson.typepad.com/">Jeannette Janson</a>. They can't resist touching it as they try to figure out where all the parts come from. Father Time is written in the center. It's already made for some good discussions. If there is a Father Time, who is it? Why might he wear a crown? He's holding a key. Could it be the key to the kingdom? What might that be?<br />
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So that's my office!<br />
Now what about you?<br />
What's your favorite thing in your workspace? I'd love to hear about it.<br />
Oh, and if you're like me and love checking out the studio nearest you, you might want to hop over and give a look-see to <a href="http://wherewomencreate.com/">Where Women Create</a>. It's a fun blog/magazine sure to inspire you!<br />
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Love, Becky<br />
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<br />Rebecca Ramseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14851717214205302476noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272729178612778511.post-8601426966276201402012-05-25T09:11:00.002-04:002012-05-25T09:13:37.065-04:00Poppies, the Sensitive Soul, and the Wizard of OzToday's Wonder of the World is poppies!<br />
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They're finally blooming in the garden on our old coffee table.<br />
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And right in time for Memorial Day.<br />
Perfect for a remembrance flower.<br />
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They make nice hair bows for Tanner the Slobber Dog, if he'd only let me bobby pin them on. <br />
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Nope, he's too busy wondering how they'd feel in his mouth. <br />
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That is, until the tomatoes are ripe.<br />
Remember <a href="http://rebeccasramsey.blogspot.com/2010/07/perils-of-loving-tomato-picking-dog.html">that</a>? I'd rather not. <br />
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"Who, me? I was just seeing how they felt on my whiskers."<br />
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I was looking at them yesterday, noticing how crinkly they are, like crepe paper.<br />
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And so delicate, almost translucent.<br />
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Better enjoy them now, because they fade so quickly.<br />
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They remind me of two friends I've had the pleasure/blessing/gift of being close to.<br />
Intense.<br />
Vibrant.<br />
Brilliantly beautiful. <br />
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So sensitive, though you might not know it.<br />
They were different and found life more difficult than we realized.<br />
I miss them.<br />
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I guess the poppy is a remembrance flower for good reason!<br />
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Do you have poppies around you? It's good to be reminded to keep an eye on them, to try to make sure they get the care they need. <br />
Being sensitive makes life beautiful, but it also makes life hard.<br />
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Anyway, let's move on. :)<br />
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My strongest memory of poppies is seeing them out my train window when I was nineteen. My dad had a business trip overseas and the whole family went along. I was so sleepy as I looked out at the poppy fields, not realizing I had a full blown case of tonsillitis. They were in bloom everywhere, and I was so tired...<br />
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It was just like the Wizard of Oz!<br />
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Kind of. Minus the tinman and the cowardly lion and the scarecrow and the dog.<br />
Add in a family of four from Raleigh, North Carolina-- and LOTS of gelato.<br />
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Have a great weekend, y'all!<br />
BeckyRebecca Ramseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14851717214205302476noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272729178612778511.post-545828787960395052012-05-17T08:36:00.002-04:002012-05-17T08:36:54.990-04:00Life's So Ruff When You're a Dog<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Things at our house have been crazy this week.<br />
Sarah moved off to her new town, to a new apartment, to a new school, to a new life-- and felt like she had to take all her worldly possessions with her. My arms are killing me and I didn't even load that much in the van.<br />
And tonight Ben and Todd drive to Charlotte so that he can catch his plane way too early tomorrow morning to Togo, Africa where he'll spend most of the summer.<br />
So for the last week we've been running all over, packing moving boxes and buying apartment supplies and bug repellant and Gatorade powder and trying our best to fulfill our duties as staff /support to our excited children. <br />
As you can see, it's exhausted Tanner the Slobber Dog.<br />
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Not even the camera flash would wake that doggie up.<br />
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Okay, well the second flash did.<br />
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But no worries, he's back asleep again.<br />
I think I want to be a dog. That is, if I could periodically yank my puppies back to the house by the scruff of their necks.<br />
But dogs have to go off and run their own lives, I guess.<br />
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Peace and plenty of pats on the head to you, friends! :)<br />
Becky<br />
<br />Rebecca Ramseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14851717214205302476noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272729178612778511.post-73695247150416133912012-04-27T23:40:00.000-04:002012-04-27T23:40:29.659-04:00Stuff<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Need stuff?<br />
If you're in the Greenville, SC area tomorrow (Saturday, April 28) from 8am-1pm, I know where you have to go! First Baptist Church is having a huge yard sale, with all proceeds going to youth missions. So all of these old couches and Christmas ornaments and Tupperware will be changed into building supplies for our youth mission trip. Very cool.<br />
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My daughter and I have done our part already, shopping for her grad school apartment. What did we snag? A comfy chair, a desk chair, a dresser (really it's a desk but Youth Minister Frank is such a good salesperson he convinced us to use it as a dresser-beware of him :) and tons of stuff for her kitchen. So yey. We have new stuff and contributed to a mission trip all in one shopping spree.<br />
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It amazes me that we do this every year, yet our church donations always manage to fill up the gym. It reminds me of what a missionary in an impoverished, far away country recently wrote to one of my friends: something to the effect of "we pray for you all too, because we know how hard it is to be close to God when you have so much stuff in your way."<br />
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Wow. Maybe I'll do a better job cleaning out and donating next time around.<br />
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Love and peace to you!<br />
BeckyRebecca Ramseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14851717214205302476noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272729178612778511.post-5544372598418182572012-04-26T14:43:00.002-04:002012-04-26T14:43:24.268-04:00One of the reasons I LOVE my job...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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One of the reasons I LOVE my job is that I get to see artwork like this every single week.<br />
Sometimes it just blows me away.<br />
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We're so lucky to hear the voices and see the thinking of children.<br />
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I think I want to be a child when I grow up.<br />
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Love and peace to you!<br />
BeckyRebecca Ramseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14851717214205302476noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272729178612778511.post-92206528243685827562012-04-22T19:12:00.000-04:002012-04-22T19:12:17.743-04:00I'm back and I've missed you!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Hey there, stranger!</div>
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It's been so long that you probably don't even know me anymore. I feel like I should offer you something for being so nice to stop by. How about some brownies and sweet tea in a classy plastic Doctor Pepper glass? There's no ice in there but I got it right out of the fridge so it's still nice and cold. Don't mind the bird there sitting on some dead-ish moss. I just like him there no matter what anybody says.</div>
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See the birthday napkin? We celebrated my Sweetie's 50th birthday yesterday (I know! I can't believe it either!) but since you're here, we can pretend it's your birthday. I was going to serve you some of the left over banana pudding and even put a candle in it, but I'm afraid you just can't make banana pudding look appetizing on film so we'll stay with the brownies. If you come over in real life I will give you two big dollops and more to take home because I've got way too much in my fridge and only three of us here to eat it. </div>
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So I hope you'll tell me how you're doing and what you've been up to lately!</div>
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I've missed my blogging friends and blogging too. Life got uncomfortably crazy and I got bloated and grouchy so I took a break for more than a year, and now I'm glad to start back again, blogging on faith and family and the wonders/curiosities/weirdness of life. I'm not sure how often I'll post. When I started the blog (back in 2008!) I posted every day and I loved it. And then I switched to three times a week and that was fun. But now I'm feeling so at ease with life and its nuttiness that I'll just say I'll post when I feel like it. How about that?! :) I hope you'll come by when you feel like it too. </div>
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So when you last left me back in February of 2011 (or I guess I left you--sorry!) I was making stew and writing for <i>Reflections</i>. So shall I catch you up a little on what's happened between then and now?</div>
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I'll make it quick. Sort of.</div>
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First I got a job working with these fine teenager people.</div>
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That's the youth group at my church. They needed someone to help part time, and they're a lot of fun.The job involved a sweaty hot mission trip, a sweaty hot youth camp, and a sweaty hot retreat, but I can still truthfully say that I really enjoyed it! (Just not the sweating part.) The kids made me feel good about the future and humanity and let me keep tabs on my youngest as well, so what more do you want?<br />
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Meanwhile, my middle baby was getting ready to graduate from high school.</div>
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I will always think of him like this.</div>
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No one ever told me that when your middle child (who was your baby for many years, during a time when you had exceptionally big hair and no thought of a third child) gets ready to graduate, you do crazy things like deciding to put down engineered hardwood in the sun room before all the family comes for graduation. </div>
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What poor posture. Don't look. Instead, focus on Tanner. What a lazy bones. He wasn't any help at all with the vacuum.</div>
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Sometimes I worked to the tune of tuba music. </div>
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Oh, and Ben finally decided what school to go to. It's in Durham, North Carolina and it rhymes with Puke.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw5zDg6bHKqpAosoZgH0aH1cdvy0JX9eR0eg56GtB2dR-WBsuT9HfKVUp4YL45Txb7IOeizBZXiE87NKjo2pt2iF7c8IN8CTwUCeLbjpMGUVasLCfISQViNTX6EXghfAFdhdKg6Y3oktk/s1600/DSC_3232.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/AVvXsEjw5zDg6bHKqpAosoZgH0aH1cdvy0JX9eR0eg56GtB2dR-WBsuT9HfKVUp4YL45Txb7IOeizBZXiE87NKjo2pt2iF7c8IN8CTwUCeLbjpMGUVasLCfISQViNTX6EXghfAFdhdKg6Y3oktk/s320/DSC_3232.JPG" width="212" /></a>Sorry, but I'm an NCSU fan at heart, and anyway, it's hard to cheer for the Devil. But I'm really happy for him and I will still love him just as much as long as he doesn't become obnoxious. :) He's promised me he won't and he hasn't so far. </div>
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So graduation came and went and we all survived. Then in June (on Flag Day, as usual!) I celebrated my 25th wedding anniversary with this lovely man. Do not fear, he has shaved since the photo was taken.<br />
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And in July, guess what movie the whole family went to see?</div>
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And yes, we took the broom.<br />
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It will be over soon.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu_rdbY9OAYhyphenhyphensbElUeugyJJ2zEMiVWPFdQr7A9qg36QIK_u0p1gmoow5gH0P3O_yiwlfKQJ08dSfMlSOEeM7hQQ6RA2TWJAAUNHVuVh86v5p4bgOKgxYEtECHq7lOxZE9zbrChZvIys8/s1600/206000_10150338087353885_28078898884_9686185_5478953_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu_rdbY9OAYhyphenhyphensbElUeugyJJ2zEMiVWPFdQr7A9qg36QIK_u0p1gmoow5gH0P3O_yiwlfKQJ08dSfMlSOEeM7hQQ6RA2TWJAAUNHVuVh86v5p4bgOKgxYEtECHq7lOxZE9zbrChZvIys8/s320/206000_10150338087353885_28078898884_9686185_5478953_n.jpg" width="320" /></a>Then, on the very hottest record breaking day of the year, we granted my mother's birthday wish (for which she had pined and hinted way too many years) and had a professional photo shoot of our whole family. It was 99 sweltering degrees, but Ashley Stephenson at <a href="http://www.storyphotographers.com/">Story Photographers </a>actually made it fun! (And no one had expected that! At least I hadn't!) And Mom brought Popsicles so that helped.</div>
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Okay, speeding things along here...<br />
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School started again. Sarah went off for her senior year, Ben started his freshman year, Sam started 7th grade at a new school, and a couple months later, I got my dream job! Really!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtfBlcIQDrf7RbhfgcMKKL38V6xnI7X3GqhKJ0CxxaRtVxTatxOLe_oYgKCOLMzJlj03UUtI0hYk5KP0UsStOPRfgJztYWwoQsRG9pxnrfi_CiG1hy893OHPJPMOWbWdAGMxfVmzSHt9c/s1600/DSC_4231-1.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/AVvXsEjtfBlcIQDrf7RbhfgcMKKL38V6xnI7X3GqhKJ0CxxaRtVxTatxOLe_oYgKCOLMzJlj03UUtI0hYk5KP0UsStOPRfgJztYWwoQsRG9pxnrfi_CiG1hy893OHPJPMOWbWdAGMxfVmzSHt9c/s320/DSC_4231-1.JPG" width="212" /></a>As Minister to Children at my church, I get to do all the things I love the most. I work with children ages 1st through 5th grade, directing their Sunday school experience and working with a faculty of awesome teachers. I get to write a lot--new Godly Play lessons for them to enjoy, a Godly Play blog <a href="http://www.godlyplayblog.blogspot.com/">The Wonder Circle</a> for their teachers, and a weekly newsletter for families. I work with the Children's Committee to plan monthly fun activities for the kids, and I do whatever it takes to support their families and the church in building their faith. This summer I'll co-direct 2 sessions of Children's Mission Week, take a group to Camp Prism for 4 days, and lead Excellent Adventure, a VBS experience for elementary kids. I couldn't be happier and I never ever want to leave. No matter what.<br />
Really. Don't fight me for my job. I might have to smite you.<br />
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I could go on and on about my job (and I will I'm sure) but what else happened while you were away?<br />
My sweet Sarah got accepted into an Occupational Therapy program for grad school and got in some early practice on her grandma when my mom had her hip replaced over the winter.</div>
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Christmas came and my Sam got a prank kit.</div>
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How that boy loves to freak people out. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwQe_Nw-sHfXreyrdK8BZkV9CYc37ef-_la47A3UFEeVN9mzdi7mNiEL7AffT-dCiUVSpC1tyjMlhU-tdFN7qOUrXpW0625vCexk53s-ElTf8VJaJ8SG5HXf5h8R7N8VtzGB6QsJ5RXIQ/s1600/IMG_1780.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwQe_Nw-sHfXreyrdK8BZkV9CYc37ef-_la47A3UFEeVN9mzdi7mNiEL7AffT-dCiUVSpC1tyjMlhU-tdFN7qOUrXpW0625vCexk53s-ElTf8VJaJ8SG5HXf5h8R7N8VtzGB6QsJ5RXIQ/s320/IMG_1780.JPG" width="320" /></a>Ben started racing with the cycling team at school. He loves it, and only has flown over the handlebars once or twice. (Yey for helmets.)</div>
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Then yesterday, my honey turned 50 and we had a party. Oh yeah, I told you about that. It reminded me how much I love having a house full of people, as long as Tanner the Slobber Dog is at the Doggy Motel where he can't eat off your plate and sneak a lick of your hands whenever you aren't expecting it. Maybe that's part of what I miss about blogging--having a house full of people ready to chat whenever they have a moment. And getting to stop by your place too. No trips to the kennel or cleaning and cooking required.</div>
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Won't you say hi and tell me what's new in your life?</div>
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Much love,</div>
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Becky </div>
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<br />Rebecca Ramseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14851717214205302476noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272729178612778511.post-36324046422109415802011-02-05T13:00:00.000-05:002011-02-05T13:00:51.679-05:00Stew, Anyone?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/jessgambacurta/4396803572/sizes/m/in/photostream/"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPvqwSAKriPUIQJnI_a3MrJ_8l6TzCdelfAPBLTH2g1pyD6NxZJ0zGd7AL4RpqQiR5hDAKH5HY0QqyxC1sG8cHO8-sb9n0Cxi_XDUSZnEPBFjfNxYDtH8LUVQNaXAGwwvHYaVbDjvrMmI/s400/4396803572_28dc9ee119.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5569606348634127618" border="0" /></a><br />On an cold wet day like the ones we've had lately, what could be better than a bowl of hot stew, maybe with a big hunk of crusty baguette? Sounds like comfort food to me. Shall I set a bowl for you?<br /><br />I think there's another reason I've had stew on the brain the last week or so. The folks over at Smyth & Helwys asked me to write a series of devotionals for their <a href="http://www.helwys.com/curriculum/info_reflections.html"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">Reflections </span></a>guide a month or so ago, (yey!) and the ten scripture passages recently arrived in my inbox. I'm LOVING the whole writing process, mostly because it's reminding me of the mysterious way God can teach me when I allow God some thought-time in my day. If I had to invent a name for the method, it'd be easy. STEW!<br /><br />First and most important step?<br />Just manage to read the verses at some point each day.<br />That's like assembling the ingredients, dumping God's words into the crockpot, and setting the switch on low.<br /><br />On good days, the words stay in the background on the kitchen counter of my brain, and as I go through the hours, their aromas swirl, bringing out the flavors of God's message hidden within conversations and images, within mundane chores or memories. Sometimes even within a story I hear at the grocery store or a random thought in the carpool line.<br /><br />I wish it <span style="font-style: italic;">always</span> worked that way.<br /><br />Some days I manage to read, but then I get swept into the tornado of the day. The words sit frozen in the pot. I'm too busy to let myself entertain open passage between my spirit and God's. I focus on my own words and nothing simmers. No aroma. No tender morsels. Just a tough cut of meat and raw potatoes. No comfort there.<br /><br />Other days I put bad things in the pot. Instead of God's promises, I stew on worries and fears. I pile them on top of each other, and set the temp on high. I stand by the pot and wait for them to bubble up. I breathe in the smell, even when it makes me cough.<br />When I start dining on fear, I push aside love and don't even know it!<br />I focus on getting my share. On what if's.<br />It's not pretty, y'all.<br /><br />But stew done right?<br />Tastes great. More filling!<br />I really must ask God to help me get better at doing this every day. To help me not be so consumed by busyness that I shut out God's voice as He/She tries to speak.<br /><br />What about you? Is stew part of your daily diet?<br />I wish God's best love-stew to you!<br />Love,<br />Becky<br /><br />Photo by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/jessgambacurta/4396803572/sizes/m/in/photostream/"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">Jess Gambacurta</span></a>,<a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/deed.en"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"> creative commons</span></a>Rebecca Ramseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14851717214205302476noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272729178612778511.post-22615437937285561312011-01-25T12:30:00.001-05:002011-01-25T12:45:06.181-05:00Doubt, Trust, Fear, and Crowd Surfing<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/38730115@N02/3776442810/sizes/z/in/photostream/"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq64xSbP85EOotaWj7smQQPmCa0LFMPVUxDVBNl4GuFy2_PkqDMy6FeT3dy5E2S-EdncwdpfrhYWgRh9bnKF7bIwDSi3TtdvkG8-24rbjZieSepv8g-Xmod2VodGAmpOYOO8QDGacNHBg/s400/3776442810_e7f21c40e5_z.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5565764197740298962" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"It's not how I hoped my faith would be," I told my friend as we sipped our coffee and shared in whispers the darkest moments of our lives.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"I knew it would happen to me some day. Of course sorrow and fear would visit me too. Why wouldn't it? I expected that at some point I'd experience a life and death crisis, a fear that terrifies. I knew it would happen, but when I'd imagined what it might be like...I don't know," I said, feeling my eyes well up, remembering it as if it had happened just days ago. "When it did come, I didn't react how I thought I would."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">My friend nodded, listening generously, not rushing me or trying to squeeze in words.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"I guess I thought that when it happened, when I was plunged into darkness, I pictured myself locking arms with God, tossing aside my fears and springing out of the murk, into the light. It wasn't like that at all."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"What was it like?"</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"I couldn't even pray. I thought I'd stay in constant communication with God, but instead I felt kind of stony, focused on getting through each hour.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">God wasn't as much a presence as a motor in me, pulling me up from the floor to my hands and knees, helping me crawl from one moment to the next. But I knew God was there, even if I didn't hear words."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Even if you didn't talk to God. You trusted," she said. "That's trust."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">"Maybe," I said. "I guess that's what it was. I didn't feel capable of much else but trust, to be honest. If I could trust, it's only because of my circle of friends. I knew that they would pray even when I couldn't. I felt the quiet inside me, and I knew where it had come from. I was so thankful for their prayers."</span><br /><br />I remembered this conversation when I saw the opening photo.<br />I was that person, carried high by the hands of others. Knowing that they were taking my concerns to God, I could still myself and listen to the faint echoes of scripture and prayers of my past sewn into me. I'm so thankful for community, both online and in flesh and blood. Friends to sit with me beside still waters, to carry me to the Shepherd.<br /><br />My faith wasn't what I imagined it would be, but it was real. And thanks to my friends, it was enough.<br /><br />During the dark moments of your life, how has your faith surprised you?<br />I'd really like to know.<br /><br />Love, Becky<br /><br /><span style="display: inline; font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);" class="versetext" id="ps23-1">The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not want; </span><span style="display: inline; font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);" class="versetext" id="ps23-2"><br />he makes me lie down in green pastures.<br />He leads me beside still waters; </span><span style="display: inline; font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);" class="versetext" id="ps23-3"> he restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name's sake. </span><span style="display: inline; font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);" class="versetext" id="ps23-4"><br />Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil; for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me. </span><span style="display: inline; font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);" class="versetext" id="ps23-5"><br />Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of my enemies; thou anointest my head with oil, my cup overflows. </span><span style="display: inline; font-style: italic; color: rgb(0, 153, 0);" class="versetext" id="ps23-6"><br />Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I shall dwell in the house of the LORD for ever. </span><br /><br />Photo courtesy of <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/38730115@N02/3776442810/sizes/z/in/photostream/"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">Wild_Child_HC</span></a>, through <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/2.0/deed.en"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">creative commons</span></a>.Rebecca Ramseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14851717214205302476noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272729178612778511.post-17129053000580341812011-01-21T09:30:00.001-05:002011-01-21T09:36:39.897-05:00What's That Growing on My Coffee Table?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVqSxCQ0RJLmEDQ6AtqXpTBGABk_Q7l-2uhASRva9LNGktlDVPV108wjHNW6FQNRMa-FUjA_81ohpas_gdFm3Lrhn7CXoE67On7xKHBHSATWT6elGYUTbcgqllFtbsrJtwwazgLBNfdvs/s1600/DSC_2427.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVqSxCQ0RJLmEDQ6AtqXpTBGABk_Q7l-2uhASRva9LNGktlDVPV108wjHNW6FQNRMa-FUjA_81ohpas_gdFm3Lrhn7CXoE67On7xKHBHSATWT6elGYUTbcgqllFtbsrJtwwazgLBNfdvs/s400/DSC_2427.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5564636879393063618" border="0" /></a><br />Don't misunderstand the title of this post. I haven't totally given up on trying to keep a somewhat halfway sanitary house.<br /><br />Nope, I'm talking about the coffee table outside. You may remember that because of my doofus dog and his intense desire to dig up the entire back yard and transport it between his doggy toes to my white bedspread, Todd and I are not able to garden like normal people. We grow our tomatoes and peppers and herbs on top of an old coffee table out our back door.<br />As you can see from the photo above, it's not tomato season.<br /><br />So what's that growing on my coffee table?<br /><br />Just a couple months ago, the coffee table box was vacant, except for the dirt.<br />Then Todd worked in a box of bone meal, which was supposed to make our tomatoes even more juicy and delicious, and (of course) Tanner sniffed out the scent of bones, hopped on top of the coffee table and did the backstroke through the soil. Then he ate up half its contents.<br />He felt a little sickish after that.<br /><br />So anyway, after his dirt binge, the box sat empty.<br />And then I started noticing bits of green freckling the soil. I hadn't planted anything. Was the wind transporting tiny seeds to my garden? Or did the birds do it? Maybe there were already seeds in the soil that we didn't know about.<br /><br />This morning it's a mass of green, as you can see, growing up and out of the box, trying its best to tickle the cement pig keeping watch. And whispering a word to me.<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Entropy.</span><br />And then it recited <span style="font-style: italic;">The Second Law of Thermodynamics</span>.<br />Or maybe that was the former chemistry teacher in me talking.<br /><br />(Science Nerd Police, close your ears. I'm about to get a little loosey goosey here.)<br /><br />The garden full of mystery weeds reminded me that unless you've got an outside organizing force at work, everything tends toward chaos.<br /><br />Like a twelve year old boy's room. If left alone, a room previously straightened by a loving mother will slowly transform into a pig sty.<br />If left alone, no one can find the remote in the den and dirty glasses pile up. And microwave popcorn bags are left on the coffee table.<br /><br />It takes INTENTION to change things. (Or a mom who threatens to take phones away or computer time.)<br /><br />If we don't plan anything for the garden and weed the soil and plant what we want, chaos takes over.<br />If Todd and I don't take time to think about what we want our family life to be like and we let the kids sign up for whatever they want, soon we'll be sucked into the craziness of running all over the county every night of the week, just like so many other people.<br /><br />This leads me back to my faith life too. What am I missing? How do I need to change?<br />I need to set aside time to imagine what kind of faith I want, and then time to think about how to get there. Do I need to set aside a set time for prayer? Or a plan to turn the radio off after I drop Sam off from school, to think on God? To listen for God's voice. Where do I want to be in my service to others?<br />If I don't take time to think about what I want my life to be like and what I have to do to get there, it just won't happen. Chaos - or just busyness, American style - takes over.<br /><br />Do you struggle with this too?<br />Do you make time for thinking and planning the most important areas of your life? Or are you like I am sometimes, remembering the need for intention as the river of busyness and noise tries its best to sweep me downstream? I'd love to hear your thoughts!<br /><br />Have an awesome day and weekend, y'all!<br />Love, BeckyRebecca Ramseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14851717214205302476noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272729178612778511.post-11564913708305375752011-01-18T09:15:00.000-05:002011-01-18T11:49:41.172-05:00I Finally Did It! (A happy/sad/embarrassing story of procrastination)<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/nassergazi/2849019437/sizes/z/in/photostream/"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyuLi9GjUxk_o2xSPsKUb6vb0Mi3eChv9YvCcU4zzFKnSS29VLVPsx2xA1DAXSJsdHlec0kk2wG2YT2eAdZ11uSZ1htyvTlEfPQsv-yAP5QYRrAB9NIEhQIcCEcS_vW-mYgBWCKINiD1M/s400/2849019437_d670cd8086_z.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563519518785602290" border="0" /></a><br />Dearest Snow,<br />How can I ever thank you? I'm forever in your debt!<br /><br />If you hadn't kept us home bound for four delicious days, we would have missed the hot chocolate.<br />We would have missed the finger numbing fun of readjusting the plastic bags over our sneakers as we plodded around the yard.<br />And we would have missed seeing this face.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgECFHiA2pBGMtvRSZtYS0HBPimVcp4HpF0KXyPB6JtWXieCkAteuJl89C5RoFpyLy_tn7Ud-K5K05mrE6779UglvY1dOmG5gP-7MptQd9HOByOB4LuspDWERXkPvyhzACvTRcKuK7u7Q/s1600/DSC_2299.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgECFHiA2pBGMtvRSZtYS0HBPimVcp4HpF0KXyPB6JtWXieCkAteuJl89C5RoFpyLy_tn7Ud-K5K05mrE6779UglvY1dOmG5gP-7MptQd9HOByOB4LuspDWERXkPvyhzACvTRcKuK7u7Q/s400/DSC_2299.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563523064258174194" border="0" /></a><br />Thanks!<br /><br />You provided us a ton of fun, but there's something else, something more amazing that particularly compelled me to write. It's a little humiliating, so don't tell anyone. Ready?<br /><br />Snow, if you hadn't come to visit, the couch in my bedroom would still look like this.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAwaHsMXnz39cI2bGF5YXAckxA7mRgqgjh6FKs8Aa3mzKmG0gDx-30meQyOS9ErZalnwMIwZgWQTPQz0-pfihqS4frdi4A9yEkhPa6Blpm0lYPlc3rkB5CID7Nsa8jifeqMs2lg5_idRQ/s1600/CIMG2627.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAwaHsMXnz39cI2bGF5YXAckxA7mRgqgjh6FKs8Aa3mzKmG0gDx-30meQyOS9ErZalnwMIwZgWQTPQz0-pfihqS4frdi4A9yEkhPa6Blpm0lYPlc3rkB5CID7Nsa8jifeqMs2lg5_idRQ/s400/CIMG2627.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563514161704659586" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And often like this.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3J-6rYO9WblOUnoI4_yTOR_z3wL-dwBUqQSOFBex04eD1WmWOswJTIKJPA4eb3vyBFFAf9xAD41-lLtRdVuyWQhbMuMWAdmaSWO6IZhkkzKTXY8xFKYZ9dlSUeuPCSq1kAjJkZ3Biyuo/s1600/CIMG0798.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3J-6rYO9WblOUnoI4_yTOR_z3wL-dwBUqQSOFBex04eD1WmWOswJTIKJPA4eb3vyBFFAf9xAD41-lLtRdVuyWQhbMuMWAdmaSWO6IZhkkzKTXY8xFKYZ9dlSUeuPCSq1kAjJkZ3Biyuo/s400/CIMG0798.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563514095921517298" border="0" /></a><br />See, after two days of hot chocolate and oatmeal cookies warm from the oven, of tromps through our neighborhood and gazing at the moon on the breast of you, I began to get bored.<br />A nice kind of bored. The kind that comes with mysterious urges to do useful things.<br />Things like organizing the linen closet and cleaning out the junk drawer in the kitchen.<br />And when I finished all that stuff, the couch called to me.<br /><br />[Readers, remember the couch? I'm embarrassed to remind you that back in August, I wrote a post titled <a href="http://rebeccasramsey.blogspot.com/2010/08/unfinished-business.html"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">Unfinished Business</span></a> in which I shared how I'd found the flowery couch for $25 at a garage sale back in the spring of 2008. I planned to slipcover it in red denim for my bedroom and got as far as finishing the pillows. Then I took a long look at the frame, took a second long look at the 17 yards of red denim, and decided I should really start a blog. That was three years ago! In my August post, I preached on how good it feels to finish unfinished projects, and challenged my readers to whip me with a wet noodle if I didn't finish the couch project by August 18.<br />Nobody whipped me. Y'all are way too nice.]<br /><br />Snow, if it weren't for you, this would have never happened!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRyxiop0fek4KdvtEGI-C9olnnn-DCRXKgniAJJj4T6x3CyH_h0V24WOGB2CiRPhPaBIdETFsYfOCcFAQSK6X4HprHh8-sw7WKf6efwQUD4wbZPTZqRNcHReM14UEx83l0qKrhRv3hL2Y/s1600/DSC_2420.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRyxiop0fek4KdvtEGI-C9olnnn-DCRXKgniAJJj4T6x3CyH_h0V24WOGB2CiRPhPaBIdETFsYfOCcFAQSK6X4HprHh8-sw7WKf6efwQUD4wbZPTZqRNcHReM14UEx83l0qKrhRv3hL2Y/s400/DSC_2420.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563513976557756562" border="0" /></a><br />Yey!<br />You helped me remember how good it feels to face something I've been avoiding.<br />It feels GREAT!<br />It makes me wonder what other things I could cross of my list.<br />I think I'm going to make this a late resolution for 2011: When I pick up a To Do list, find the item I want to do least, and take care of it first.<br />So thank you, Snow!<br />Love, Becky<br /><br />Readers, I wonder if I can do it. I don't usually suffer from a tendency to procrastinate when it comes to my work, but in other parts of my life? Oh yeah. (You should see the attic. Maybe on another snowy day...no, it would take a snowy week!)<br /><br />Do you fight the urge to procrastinate? What helps you face what you want to avoid?<br /><br />Have a great Tuesday, y'all!<br />Love, Becky<br /><br />Thanks to <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/nassergazi/2849019437/sizes/z/in/photostream/"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">Phototrope</span></a> for the first photo, licensed through <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">creative commons</span></a>.Rebecca Ramseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14851717214205302476noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272729178612778511.post-828152069609770522011-01-17T08:20:00.003-05:002011-01-17T08:26:14.030-05:00In Defense of Todd's Shirt<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB9EpIe9kd6BJmfeNQlECYru82cpYHW4iewEP_ebelrxqzibCUxOxiaDtsegKV-9q18FqRasywJIsSS6oo20AsEiPCm_PL3jOAj6NBWtkI___De8GPNzZ-18_PntjErBI-WsiNrvYdP-k/s1600/DSC_0619.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB9EpIe9kd6BJmfeNQlECYru82cpYHW4iewEP_ebelrxqzibCUxOxiaDtsegKV-9q18FqRasywJIsSS6oo20AsEiPCm_PL3jOAj6NBWtkI___De8GPNzZ-18_PntjErBI-WsiNrvYdP-k/s400/DSC_0619.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519374838670438978" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">(In honor of MLK Day, I'm re-posting this. I hope you enjoy the day!)</span><br />Do you like the shirt?<br />Apparently some people don't.<br />Todd bought it in Atlanta a couple years ago when our church youth group took an afternoon off from their mission work and toured <a href="http://www.thekingcenter.org/"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">The King Center</span></a>, learning more about the work of Martin Luther King.<br />In case the words are too tiny for your peepers, it says "<span style="font-style: italic;">nonviolence or nonexistence.</span>"<br /><br />Todd wore it last Sunday when he was out with Sam, and he hadn't given the shirt a single thought until a dad on the baseball field noticed it and grunted loudly in disgust.<br />"You better be glad we're not nonviolent in America," he said. "Or else our country wouldn't be where it is today."<br /><br />"He said WHAT?" I asked Todd from the kitchen as he put his glove in the closet.<br />"Yeah, it kinda surprised me too," Todd said. "Then he muttered something about bravery and gratitude."<br />"BRAVERY AND GRATITUDE?" I said a little too loudly, storming into the bedroom with my butcher knife.<br />Sam stuck his head in. "What's wrong?" he said.<br />"Nothing," Todd said. "Go get your shower."<br />"Did you say anything back? Like maybe YOU SPENT FOUR YEARS OF YOUR LIFE AS AN AIR FORCE OFFICER and what service did he ever do?"<br />"Why is Mom mad?" Sam said.<br />"She's not mad," Todd said, "Go on and get in the shower."<br />Then Ben came in and wanted help with a calculus problem and everybody left me standing there, holding the knife, dripping chicken juice on my bare feet, steaming.<br /><br />I could just imagine the scene. The guy read the shirt and smacked a label on Todd's forehead.<br />Liberal.<br />Maybe even Communist or Socialist. Who knows. Labels seem to fly fast and furious these days.<br /><br />I gritted my teeth and flew into an argument with the man in my head.<br />By the time Todd and I finally got a moment to return to our conversation, I had a whole list of things to whack this guy over the head with in my defense of nonviolence. (And yes, I see the irony.)<br />Things like:<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Why don't you ask what this shirt is about before you start fussing at my husband?</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Do you think he's making an anti-war stance? What if he was? Maybe someone who actually served might have something to say about that. </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Ask about Todd's brother's service in both gulf wars, in Afghanistan, in Bosnia. Todd's dad's service in the army. My granddad's service that cost his life in WWII. They were all willing and glad to serve. So was Todd. Violence is sometimes necessary, but service members know the price better than anybody else. </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Maybe that's part of why Todd wears the shirt. Why he's such a believer in the words of Martin Luther King. </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">And how is it braver to use violence, anyway? Does non-violence not require bravery? Maybe even more bravery?</span><br /><br />When Todd walked back in the room, I was still living our previous conversation.<br />"So what did you say? Surely you said something!"<br />"Yes, I said something," he said. "You ought to put that knife away."<br />"Tell me what you said first."<br />"I just looked at him and I said that I got the shirt at the King Center down in Atlanta. I said, 'You ought to go down there and tour it. It's a great place to take your kids and it's only a couple hours' drive.' I told him you can see King's grave and learn more about his life and what he gave to our country. Then the guy wandered off and didn't say anything else."<br /><br />Todd left the room and I sat down on the bed, trying to keep my mouth from falling open.<br />There I'd been, waving my knife around, ready to fight, while he practiced what the shirt preached. No slamming doors, no smacking labels on people's foreheads, no accusing the guy of meaning anything in particular. Just a nonviolent response, inviting the guy into his circle instead of standing in the middle of it, throwing barbs his way.<br /><br />I do love my husband. I love that he's always willing to widen the circle.<br /><br />And I love Martin Luther King, another circle-widener. He certainly wasn't a perfect man (there was only One of those) but he used his life in service to others and in motivating the rest of us to do the same.<br /><br />Enjoy two of my favorite quotes of his about nonviolence:<br /><span style="font-style: italic;" class="body">Nonviolence is a powerful and just weapon. which cuts without wounding and ennobles the man who wields it. It is a sword that heals.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;" class="bodybold"> </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;" class="body">Nonviolence means avoiding not only external physical violence but also internal violence of spirit. You not only refuse to shoot a man, but you refuse to hate him.</span><br /><br />Have a wonder-full day, y'all!<br />Love, Becky<br /><br />PS. Here's a clip from my favorite speech of King's.<br /><object width="450" height="286"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/TSr6cIK-FWU?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6&border=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/TSr6cIK-FWU?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="450" height="286"></embed></object><br /><br />And here's MLK talking about his ideas on nonviolence.<br /><object width="445" height="364"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/UQGJ43I7Cdw?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6&border=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/UQGJ43I7Cdw?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="445" height="364"></embed></object>Rebecca Ramseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14851717214205302476noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272729178612778511.post-6432471155160345742011-01-14T07:15:00.000-05:002011-01-14T07:15:00.190-05:00On Throwing Paper Airplanes in Church<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUseL_CaGaNG9T8hyoqLDZxsuPu4byp7iE2yPxZi16wdcxRmTkAmNdAA8-RotIwmF6QvsgYPpu8SVSz5NbIpMopol745Ejp4xagtH8h4xGVgkUN-7EdKhrRTuiVAHy3H5Tudmj7b0mGOg/s1600/airplane2.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 293px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUseL_CaGaNG9T8hyoqLDZxsuPu4byp7iE2yPxZi16wdcxRmTkAmNdAA8-RotIwmF6QvsgYPpu8SVSz5NbIpMopol745Ejp4xagtH8h4xGVgkUN-7EdKhrRTuiVAHy3H5Tudmj7b0mGOg/s400/airplane2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561319411538166722" border="0" /></a><br />I should have known something was up when I picked up my Sam from youth choir rehearsal one day last fall, asked him how it went, and he said, "<span style="font-weight: bold;">IT WAS AWESOME!</span>"<br /><br />Not that he doesn't usually enjoy youth choir. He likes it fine, but <span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">IT WAS AWESOME!</span> isn't his usual response.<br /><br />So I wondered what made it so amazing, so different. I knew the choir had rehearsed in the sanctuary for their upcoming musical, not in their regular spot in the choir room, but surely <span style="font-style: italic;">that</span> wasn't it.<br /><br />Sam sits in this sanctuary just about every week,<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGtrBtBezFwMS5gdRL4248IIoiXcojarZvwzcpLijgUk3U_verIk-NLuhrIaTNII0IExN1sp2ph2UToXy-YlynhuTXu_odgQGjfjyKE_hDWOVr8eqkpQ4m9QvM2eHXdQ7f1ToHTKysaBg/s1600/DSC_1571.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGtrBtBezFwMS5gdRL4248IIoiXcojarZvwzcpLijgUk3U_verIk-NLuhrIaTNII0IExN1sp2ph2UToXy-YlynhuTXu_odgQGjfjyKE_hDWOVr8eqkpQ4m9QvM2eHXdQ7f1ToHTKysaBg/s400/DSC_1571.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561371763489260610" border="0" /></a><br />often with the same enthusiasm he demonstrates when I make him put away his clean underwear and socks.<br /><br />So on the drive home, Sam told me the reason for the twinkly eyes and sudden zeal. I should tell you that the Dana Carvey church lady in me just about had to pull out of traffic and search the minivan for smelling salts!<br /><br />It seems that his mother had been a ding dong and dropped him off an hour early (in my defense, they changed the time,) so with an extra hour to spare, he and the other sixth grade boys with ding dong mothers had found some worthwhile pursuits to while away the time.<br /><br />Pursuits like climbing to the top of the balcony and throwing paper airplanes.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiDpAfh-SlNjZkq6b0hTUUz7wRomki3x-4lmJEYguJsOkV0HHk9HUhnxIFEAgu5jz1Ya5Umd7ZdSXVy8xd3Q9w8f3uOvg9Jx_nyIB3znA58GnaT5TQDjuHsR0Z3tcpywGHv6ZQSIGxdz0/s1600/DSC_1599.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiDpAfh-SlNjZkq6b0hTUUz7wRomki3x-4lmJEYguJsOkV0HHk9HUhnxIFEAgu5jz1Ya5Umd7ZdSXVy8xd3Q9w8f3uOvg9Jx_nyIB3znA58GnaT5TQDjuHsR0Z3tcpywGHv6ZQSIGxdz0/s400/DSC_1599.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561371645518129570" border="0" /></a><br />"<span style="font-weight: bold;">It was so fun!</span>" Sam said. "You wouldn't believe how fun it was! Oh, and you got double points if you hit the baptistery!"<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6w2Som-XsDG67sZ57Gei_Dosg4v3sWGBpjEIqF3iVrepgiaIXxIk_0sIEHTO7rEGkGn8QEUsmvuf3ZY-GSkzeArGPduikeoSiqxmXlxwGtkWUsyC3UO_TQfun9l1T7_CbU3SkQuyBBDw/s1600/DSC_1634.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6w2Som-XsDG67sZ57Gei_Dosg4v3sWGBpjEIqF3iVrepgiaIXxIk_0sIEHTO7rEGkGn8QEUsmvuf3ZY-GSkzeArGPduikeoSiqxmXlxwGtkWUsyC3UO_TQfun9l1T7_CbU3SkQuyBBDw/s400/DSC_1634.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561371301692448386" border="0" /></a><br />I nearly choked on my tongue.<br /><br />But that wasn't all they did.<br />Nope.<br /><br />"That sanctuary room is amazing! Have you ever thought of how many hiding places it has?"<br />"No, I don't think I have."<br />"There's the pews of course. Dozens of those. I counted them one Sunday when I was bored, but I don't remember how many there were."<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3yfuTyLHmfqwEJrSyz9-f6KBl9wmfsky6KtyWQXT2mpu6dc1rqtFwKd5VkXmGwodmDeYqGXpEfKpyfONhv2q1A0CB8VkU3EEtIbVsjesW-67oynJ7nJAOEaaxGygWLvl0MHjYsV0mPHk/s1600/DSC_1620.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3yfuTyLHmfqwEJrSyz9-f6KBl9wmfsky6KtyWQXT2mpu6dc1rqtFwKd5VkXmGwodmDeYqGXpEfKpyfONhv2q1A0CB8VkU3EEtIbVsjesW-67oynJ7nJAOEaaxGygWLvl0MHjYsV0mPHk/s400/DSC_1620.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561372498535994146" border="0" /></a><br /><br />"But the best place is that little nook in front of the organ. You know, behind that short little wall? You can hide there and NOBODY will find you. You could do ANYTHING and nobody would know!"<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9wyCS9lXVW1hfolxVavI30hKBc1A_rh5dE2k4Qvb0exv-ixVj8duiuw9_-_WjNzp_Epz_s4o0xn-mZ90QDlbN_IVONWV6MHl-6EkhlkL0SwQoRf-FHwD8B5cW07KAUFjG83X__ZIjOIw/s1600/DSC_1593.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9wyCS9lXVW1hfolxVavI30hKBc1A_rh5dE2k4Qvb0exv-ixVj8duiuw9_-_WjNzp_Epz_s4o0xn-mZ90QDlbN_IVONWV6MHl-6EkhlkL0SwQoRf-FHwD8B5cW07KAUFjG83X__ZIjOIw/s400/DSC_1593.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561371511444090274" border="0" /></a><br />"But you know the best part?"<br />"I can't imagine."<br />"<span style="font-weight: bold;">The secret slide!</span>"<br />"What secret slide?"<br />Sam explained it, but allow me to show you.<br />See how the pews are arranged theater style, descending toward the front of the church?<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzwUMRZMw9MXGkG2XI6s4w_2t7l2iPLv1hBJcQTsx-Xz6obhRZDtZltmZoUlF06wpsplGF-ATEtERZ-0pzn3SpgwzVqGWZUTIN0cPM3MS04lIKEnQUVN5J0eXwahXyAQNv14VN6AjrJA0/s1600/DSC_1607.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzwUMRZMw9MXGkG2XI6s4w_2t7l2iPLv1hBJcQTsx-Xz6obhRZDtZltmZoUlF06wpsplGF-ATEtERZ-0pzn3SpgwzVqGWZUTIN0cPM3MS04lIKEnQUVN5J0eXwahXyAQNv14VN6AjrJA0/s400/DSC_1607.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561372036069554834" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Well, take a look at this...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJxj1AiAgEQc9rOYwuUL6_aJKa2vjjnfApmP-rzN30dbSfGBqBSeDfMjffQ3sRT-ojQx274lKyn9XelYl3DKKaUlgStoqfeINoza1cAXRWWskAPBn_1h7UnTehOkWUgGZ2PAQC16Tetfk/s1600/DSC_1610.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJxj1AiAgEQc9rOYwuUL6_aJKa2vjjnfApmP-rzN30dbSfGBqBSeDfMjffQ3sRT-ojQx274lKyn9XelYl3DKKaUlgStoqfeINoza1cAXRWWskAPBn_1h7UnTehOkWUgGZ2PAQC16Tetfk/s400/DSC_1610.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561372175123972866" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Now come closer.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfRLvEtyimEuEf_Eb78pNIxiKupj0r_cz23uevEGaTOdZtVJuU7R8jPfXWEiHsPJyuDaFlJWN2jOTIQIq407LzlEiTO3FdmLeE-4pvUbkU5qJR-bN0sQXT_p9DqaIfxhCqG8dP4dQP2Fs/s1600/DSC_1613.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfRLvEtyimEuEf_Eb78pNIxiKupj0r_cz23uevEGaTOdZtVJuU7R8jPfXWEiHsPJyuDaFlJWN2jOTIQIq407LzlEiTO3FdmLeE-4pvUbkU5qJR-bN0sQXT_p9DqaIfxhCqG8dP4dQP2Fs/s400/DSC_1613.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561372353607580418" border="0" /></a><br />Yep. That's the secret slide.<br />I doubt it works for adults, but it might. I haven't tried it.<br />Come to think of it, I could have been brave and given it a try if I'd wanted to. Nobody was in the room when I was taking pictures.<br />Sam says it's real slippery and slide-y. You just lie on your back, push off with your hands, and whatever you do, don't raise your head up. Those pews have sharp edges.<br /><br />The whole time I was listening to Sam , I have to admit, I was having a fight with myself.<br />Part of me was thinking I should probably thump him on the head. Launch myself into a lecture about sacred space and reverence.<br />The other part of me secretly wondered what time of day might be best. Just when might no one notice a forty-something woman putting down her purse, taking off her shoes, and slipping under the center of the very back pew?<br /><br />In case you're wondering, the forty-something secret slider won my internal debate.<br />You know who convinced me?<br />The sanctuary itself.<br /><br />You might not notice it at first, even if you're sitting right there in a pew, but the worship room of First Baptist Church, Greenville, is designed to make us feel as if we're sitting under a huge tree together.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij5YbQig3ps7mahQT6cExTuEldeNlooGfTYAPj3PvOW83F6vDlH3Kft-Cu1y1Z69M25q5sHWq8r_Y8BE9bmR9YFyRxpzk2ybRr-vSnDV1eUsFAcyPLEfR5fXNyoxROkwTYftGdloyFvdo/s1600/DSC_1631.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEij5YbQig3ps7mahQT6cExTuEldeNlooGfTYAPj3PvOW83F6vDlH3Kft-Cu1y1Z69M25q5sHWq8r_Y8BE9bmR9YFyRxpzk2ybRr-vSnDV1eUsFAcyPLEfR5fXNyoxROkwTYftGdloyFvdo/s400/DSC_1631.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561371108922562834" border="0" /></a><br />See the branches and limbs hanging over? The mammoth trunk rising up behind the pulpit?<br />Can't you imagine a crowd sitting under a tree, listening to Christ tell his stories? The children wouldn't sit stone faced. They'd play!<br />I can't imagine a better place.<br />But not during worship, of course. That might just earn you a thump on the head. :)<br /><br />So what do you think? How do we manage teaching our kids reverence without worshiping the things of our sacred spaces? I'd love to hear your thoughts about finding play in church!<br /><br />Have a beautiful, wonder-full weekend, y'all!<br />Love, Becky<br /><br />Thanks to <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/degeuzen/2980637951/"><span id="yui_3_2_0_1_1294845475279631" class="name"><strong id="yui_3_2_0_1_1294845475279635" class="username">Renée Turner</strong></span></a> for the paper airplane photo, licensed through <a style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/">creative commons</a>.Rebecca Ramseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14851717214205302476noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272729178612778511.post-38754753412129430352011-01-11T11:15:00.001-05:002011-01-11T11:53:52.576-05:00Watching Cat TV<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlCpJI87oUIRXid5cHlKbJhjk0gVe-59MsgsfSUfa5Gjn6Iv5EHXRjVEFswV1gCGla3MPNqRVcMXBzfbLiITkpLdtg8XFzbEM3A8A6Qhp2JAAM_ZhBQ_jiuC9eCkgFiSChUVFP-whRi7Y/s1600/DSC_2233.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlCpJI87oUIRXid5cHlKbJhjk0gVe-59MsgsfSUfa5Gjn6Iv5EHXRjVEFswV1gCGla3MPNqRVcMXBzfbLiITkpLdtg8XFzbEM3A8A6Qhp2JAAM_ZhBQ_jiuC9eCkgFiSChUVFP-whRi7Y/s400/DSC_2233.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560955785269022162" border="0" /></a><br />Libby's enjoying a late Christmas present...a window seat to the Bird Channel!<br />With seven inches of snow, topped off with ice, the cardinals and finches have rediscovered our feeders.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO1vkdssfzgH7aQSl-xYhIanx221GWptnK0_5mLC8PPveLX3ShBxWUj3skZ5TblD5meBIWiC5qBEMRgeXhZ9zA-3rdpcw2_VLYZqKKqzeoSi1S0TFLRD3atNcZicKfEHEdpegqLIaGfMo/s1600/DSC_2188.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO1vkdssfzgH7aQSl-xYhIanx221GWptnK0_5mLC8PPveLX3ShBxWUj3skZ5TblD5meBIWiC5qBEMRgeXhZ9zA-3rdpcw2_VLYZqKKqzeoSi1S0TFLRD3atNcZicKfEHEdpegqLIaGfMo/s400/DSC_2188.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560955984996120834" border="0" /></a><br />It's great entertainment for a cat-- and for us.<br /><br />Watching them hurry in, so hungry.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbC6bPNXHeLKnptwX50DAh4FkQtrVOydwIjtc-CrPLCq-vtEiThRRFHB_6Idr9KxaDqvfsYR9LU_AbixXYpBp0cmICR-dRHAnimBagAEXhKzX5g8wl87hYd8b0lJYEugSesV8qtVhl3VA/s1600/DSC_2148.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbC6bPNXHeLKnptwX50DAh4FkQtrVOydwIjtc-CrPLCq-vtEiThRRFHB_6Idr9KxaDqvfsYR9LU_AbixXYpBp0cmICR-dRHAnimBagAEXhKzX5g8wl87hYd8b0lJYEugSesV8qtVhl3VA/s400/DSC_2148.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560956644385287922" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Or just nibble quietly.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOtuecwoXRY4Qnq9r_3tH5wxioq2BuX60ose6zUC4sVUi7vj-WgEe0jsM9sQ4nNcXOvN7IZKnBbdsxwsyeamfEdSGfom96GeGj-XsqKGRc32Zm017hGDJy_euEh_7XYVuPny_GCWYKNIE/s1600/DSC_2147.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOtuecwoXRY4Qnq9r_3tH5wxioq2BuX60ose6zUC4sVUi7vj-WgEe0jsM9sQ4nNcXOvN7IZKnBbdsxwsyeamfEdSGfom96GeGj-XsqKGRc32Zm017hGDJy_euEh_7XYVuPny_GCWYKNIE/s400/DSC_2147.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560957878843983810" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I love to see them feed each other.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQkIKr0F55ilGkJ4Up8kiM_SK0sI_qrFx8Zba2sxesDSuEMnDiQHbvVY0KLa2STWObR1XB5OuYPDvB76HvGGxiB3ImF9-2uJEVvekToirf-P2zhbqMTegxRL5sXwpFivONqFDg1FcZBds/s1600/DSC_2149.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQkIKr0F55ilGkJ4Up8kiM_SK0sI_qrFx8Zba2sxesDSuEMnDiQHbvVY0KLa2STWObR1XB5OuYPDvB76HvGGxiB3ImF9-2uJEVvekToirf-P2zhbqMTegxRL5sXwpFivONqFDg1FcZBds/s400/DSC_2149.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560957277578252322" border="0" /></a><br />It reminds me what my friends (like you) do for me.<br /><br />Equip me to keep going.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Z6L1w7eEp0AGJ9k1Bagl65uExm_B3tUKurxvdcesDidcSL_Vz5iamC7FGzzFlShEOk90UtOj8Qi1ZnwHO56hrZQ01UOc6U5grK_70HXR9j32lQfs_cEKxGK9LWY6HXTkwQo0ozfGBuI/s1600/DSC_2187.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 272px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Z6L1w7eEp0AGJ9k1Bagl65uExm_B3tUKurxvdcesDidcSL_Vz5iamC7FGzzFlShEOk90UtOj8Qi1ZnwHO56hrZQ01UOc6U5grK_70HXR9j32lQfs_cEKxGK9LWY6HXTkwQo0ozfGBuI/s400/DSC_2187.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560959330570612514" border="0" /></a><br />Help me puff up my feathers against the cold, with energy in reserve to enjoy--and see--the wonders around me.<br /><br />The elegance of the ordinary birds<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju05rWplJZexWb6DkfV6whxZ8GZrJj4cf4MKslZKlmWbBdlQAhPqOiWzClaafsdJtsrdCDJ258yogrsWxW7VQlsV4VQ7T7U-B9fXGapr2dFYd98TraqrmCATaF6vxfqNEoHFSeo_ilCLI/s1600/DSC_2213.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 291px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju05rWplJZexWb6DkfV6whxZ8GZrJj4cf4MKslZKlmWbBdlQAhPqOiWzClaafsdJtsrdCDJ258yogrsWxW7VQlsV4VQ7T7U-B9fXGapr2dFYd98TraqrmCATaF6vxfqNEoHFSeo_ilCLI/s400/DSC_2213.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560961351674331154" border="0" /></a><br /><br />As well as the flashier ones.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWd3uy1VGzSG31YMKNVZVs89exEIA2EUWVPh3W__3gRA5YTwQrfBAyRRA00tZJ6vqzxy_RzeAJVvBDuaUoYzgkgULhNrfvgWzeVU8GYaHdLJltQRR_l4TDCoS-3x-_bwzMf_52MHDoi30/s1600/DSC_2237.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 301px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWd3uy1VGzSG31YMKNVZVs89exEIA2EUWVPh3W__3gRA5YTwQrfBAyRRA00tZJ6vqzxy_RzeAJVvBDuaUoYzgkgULhNrfvgWzeVU8GYaHdLJltQRR_l4TDCoS-3x-_bwzMf_52MHDoi30/s400/DSC_2237.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560957114844638962" border="0" /></a><br />We all need nourishment for the journey.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii8yBozn9bIAB6xnZDbOGOxGXRyBXLvVJuuttkJkBSdTr6qlN-mIGhwzV3Biy4jgMqFWf_6_fYBRtmzQDrN6fPfd3omhuU14H9f9__bVxbOIkwOj2KGupWbaD7rNyLMSMR8dqcsF9je-c/s1600/DSC_2226.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 256px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii8yBozn9bIAB6xnZDbOGOxGXRyBXLvVJuuttkJkBSdTr6qlN-mIGhwzV3Biy4jgMqFWf_6_fYBRtmzQDrN6fPfd3omhuU14H9f9__bVxbOIkwOj2KGupWbaD7rNyLMSMR8dqcsF9je-c/s320/DSC_2226.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560956834640304498" border="0" /></a><br /><br />You know, all these redbirds remind me of a book I haven't reread in a while.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiaGsrxmtW508L8UoZO8jDfd5A4N8SMEzENc-V8nxSpYU3ZXu6K8VHwbpr8MTY3kr-KCxxfOunG_Gz5OCNUa5Hu7FhBdmmMDncyWdltdM1rhHwOX0XvgrOUSGulkwmMPpb56d6AwGM3yY/s1600/400000000000000030133_s4.png"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiaGsrxmtW508L8UoZO8jDfd5A4N8SMEzENc-V8nxSpYU3ZXu6K8VHwbpr8MTY3kr-KCxxfOunG_Gz5OCNUa5Hu7FhBdmmMDncyWdltdM1rhHwOX0XvgrOUSGulkwmMPpb56d6AwGM3yY/s320/400000000000000030133_s4.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560956718000802898" border="0" /></a><br />Do you know it? It's one of my favorites.<br />Perfect to read on a snowy afternoon like this one.<br />Libby, I'll leave you to the window.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_-44I6X-ib3mq3k_pilJHjR_QElBh_y7js9S8jYsA4GR9D4x6J2AnPEEw7NfnqwXi4h1yfntkL269aUX46IhO7TpDfh-FpAB0Bf__Cv2qwfU30LXmt5AkRO0lj0TFxlFbw9pMSFo-aVQ/s1600/DSC_2235.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 328px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_-44I6X-ib3mq3k_pilJHjR_QElBh_y7js9S8jYsA4GR9D4x6J2AnPEEw7NfnqwXi4h1yfntkL269aUX46IhO7TpDfh-FpAB0Bf__Cv2qwfU30LXmt5AkRO0lj0TFxlFbw9pMSFo-aVQ/s400/DSC_2235.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560957432977797122" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Don't worry about the birds, folks. Libby's an inside cat for the time being, and besides, some of those fellas look like they could take her, should she make a surprise appearance.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNsxybwoeDtbTA_yktFowq_XAIBC2LUwrVIW9NhaWoeaiY8H2_LZUy4RB6v_SQmmwmMapMC6GfzQqetsr8d6m_ckKAOep5utLeVMC2sCrUbbI6Oftfv-RSmU9wliOqY4xK_P1lq3lLZqs/s1600/DSC_2180.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 397px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNsxybwoeDtbTA_yktFowq_XAIBC2LUwrVIW9NhaWoeaiY8H2_LZUy4RB6v_SQmmwmMapMC6GfzQqetsr8d6m_ckKAOep5utLeVMC2sCrUbbI6Oftfv-RSmU9wliOqY4xK_P1lq3lLZqs/s400/DSC_2180.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5560957197137305010" border="0" /></a><br />Have a great Tuesday, y'all!<br />Love, Becky<br /><br />PS. Thanks to Todd for all these great photos!Rebecca Ramseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14851717214205302476noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272729178612778511.post-71463812463527580172011-01-07T08:00:00.025-05:002011-01-07T09:23:57.681-05:00Meet Our New Addition!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoINXD2ba6ih5noxnnUCQGZP7MgqtkatcRu_kDRPY7VCKqqlmsbPn9pGF7lVy3-WlXU50XbMtTGGQZzPh_1MRdu6mIUH2k0vT4H2J9h14UpGvXV1Wxld9Z8IsvEkj-H-soXtj9xDvU47c/s1600/DSC_2045.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoINXD2ba6ih5noxnnUCQGZP7MgqtkatcRu_kDRPY7VCKqqlmsbPn9pGF7lVy3-WlXU50XbMtTGGQZzPh_1MRdu6mIUH2k0vT4H2J9h14UpGvXV1Wxld9Z8IsvEkj-H-soXtj9xDvU47c/s400/DSC_2045.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559259130411819634" border="0" /></a><br />Isn't she a sweet girl?<br />Libby looks so dainty and demure in that photo, but don't let her fool you.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgApaUuEATuK1n3BvFln2WqicvtPpq67UcwmIhv_4tJkwPKutv5sHgwrvOhuXfcZx0vD-01fMoYdsWLYuigEwC8p_LqyWxjWEnkiAZ7wO6Pwk_PxdcLD4Zi2DG6Q-wwf28PBdieCXWuGXc/s1600/DSC_1885.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgApaUuEATuK1n3BvFln2WqicvtPpq67UcwmIhv_4tJkwPKutv5sHgwrvOhuXfcZx0vD-01fMoYdsWLYuigEwC8p_LqyWxjWEnkiAZ7wO6Pwk_PxdcLD4Zi2DG6Q-wwf28PBdieCXWuGXc/s400/DSC_1885.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559258611390355394" border="0" /></a><br />Innocent she's not.<br />That's a look that says, "Yes, I will wear this ridiculous bow to give you a false sense of ownership, but just wait. You shall look into my eyes and I shall hypnotize you. Serve me, human."<br /><br />Yes, Libby. We will obey.<br /><br />Here she is, hypnotizing Tanner. (After he got his first full snort of her behind. Some pictures are best not shown.)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhegvDrSppTUlX-jOdUG930zV_ZksZr4lpebQa16zW2N9S7Xq6Dkmzc-q7PYw4_bt7AhsDxTK9QN-RNd5OrSclswsPZ75YF3fXJnIQFHrcv2dMVMGqWT9oVcDCkg_bTieYLej63G9Lv_BI/s1600/DSC_1883.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 259px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhegvDrSppTUlX-jOdUG930zV_ZksZr4lpebQa16zW2N9S7Xq6Dkmzc-q7PYw4_bt7AhsDxTK9QN-RNd5OrSclswsPZ75YF3fXJnIQFHrcv2dMVMGqWT9oVcDCkg_bTieYLej63G9Lv_BI/s400/DSC_1883.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559259027932040882" border="0" /></a><br /><br />After the introductions were over, Libby commanded Tanner to play Jingle Bells.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvmV7hIa9jkX3A0s-K4fGzjNvf9Ay447qEjSkBezhbdXHcBN21t61ktRFMKaBKveZ70jWR4N9x9ibv5YyMpv0qfobiUIiv4zB3Te-m9Oc2u05wx_PiZREHt5YxpGdVk-IC32fiAIvvWyo/s1600/DSC_1891.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 305px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvmV7hIa9jkX3A0s-K4fGzjNvf9Ay447qEjSkBezhbdXHcBN21t61ktRFMKaBKveZ70jWR4N9x9ibv5YyMpv0qfobiUIiv4zB3Te-m9Oc2u05wx_PiZREHt5YxpGdVk-IC32fiAIvvWyo/s400/DSC_1891.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559258481604204114" border="0" /></a><br />He did his best.<br /><br />Then she made Tanner watch while she played chess.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhczzKGa3mmYyd51MELxb8IOjydDWajeeJZlFacExOfVXKTygvH_NoJZkx3MpsKFib7iwHAQN02ckE-mcoqF65V1PVYiBaMwTwROha8BEXMSV7j8cluEFKqWM0vlcIwu7YatBj7pjQRWUI/s1600/DSC_2098.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhczzKGa3mmYyd51MELxb8IOjydDWajeeJZlFacExOfVXKTygvH_NoJZkx3MpsKFib7iwHAQN02ckE-mcoqF65V1PVYiBaMwTwROha8BEXMSV7j8cluEFKqWM0vlcIwu7YatBj7pjQRWUI/s400/DSC_2098.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559258352309662498" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The pieces are wonderfully rolly on a hardwood floor.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUwU7zjbIS-dJJkFkfHb_6vBn5C8TmNQmphP33Eadi10IL3Mgbd0UMsFSGIRF8odxxZoRrvv1OV7rzFuXG52NNGUZAmloT3VUtLAKM9o0Q6JqdlCukBlM790DnaOH3c5BrmKWEuAkNI9Y/s1600/DSC_2093.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUwU7zjbIS-dJJkFkfHb_6vBn5C8TmNQmphP33Eadi10IL3Mgbd0UMsFSGIRF8odxxZoRrvv1OV7rzFuXG52NNGUZAmloT3VUtLAKM9o0Q6JqdlCukBlM790DnaOH3c5BrmKWEuAkNI9Y/s400/DSC_2093.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559262699290248914" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Playing so hard tuckers them out, so they take lots of naps.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9nY-5Ip3W1gLdijX2jesViPjiYBU8EFMWDkHEo77oyldT-jxpaYDCrwPlgmZBUEbjO-i0NdOZcxzKtvODlxSm_WywybfUmSa-rRGekm1hmeOeUHkt6Pa3-abEcjbS967hD243Zap8Fdc/s1600/DSC_1935.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9nY-5Ip3W1gLdijX2jesViPjiYBU8EFMWDkHEo77oyldT-jxpaYDCrwPlgmZBUEbjO-i0NdOZcxzKtvODlxSm_WywybfUmSa-rRGekm1hmeOeUHkt6Pa3-abEcjbS967hD243Zap8Fdc/s400/DSC_1935.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559258254176229922" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Libby loves, loves, loves to sleep.<br />Especially if it's on top of people.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTiv9BqvGrTGGh1AcNLbu1o2fwdVUXBydDQ-SpWmaJDdNaFbWnsrVsN7j8HvbV9GNNBUNtlCJsrxA8WiubdOkWUzlAzDWCZD1WAKjmTv5Hb-FAwQq7O9lzhFUZV91euIutSPyvVVOfP5I/s1600/DSC_1898.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTiv9BqvGrTGGh1AcNLbu1o2fwdVUXBydDQ-SpWmaJDdNaFbWnsrVsN7j8HvbV9GNNBUNtlCJsrxA8WiubdOkWUzlAzDWCZD1WAKjmTv5Hb-FAwQq7O9lzhFUZV91euIutSPyvVVOfP5I/s400/DSC_1898.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559258001534670802" border="0" /></a><br />Sam loves it.<br />Me? I'm not so sure.<br />She slept on my back one night. That was weird.<br /><br />She probably sleeps so much because of all the running she does. And the hopping.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6aK96UZdoOmH-gtvbzhb_rG9ITSIEkOfP3kay0VvwtXrDU7Xq3wVE1URAiNj5F3Ge75pLexehXM9wVMM6NLAzae2TC5vlVciCcq4abEfi7eXroNFp2wpAD30kp8hpe-3JkskvlfIVsTY/s1600/DSC_2097.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6aK96UZdoOmH-gtvbzhb_rG9ITSIEkOfP3kay0VvwtXrDU7Xq3wVE1URAiNj5F3Ge75pLexehXM9wVMM6NLAzae2TC5vlVciCcq4abEfi7eXroNFp2wpAD30kp8hpe-3JkskvlfIVsTY/s400/DSC_2097.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559257750431856434" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And the leaping tall buildings.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-mYB7_IFZP8UkNSIwW2HX-1fL5eEsASx8CEMief02aE9FH5ZXhDgqBPatHakfy_RgJBr1KLh84za8nKQrU51emqnnDouYE2XshO1OX7-1NoAI62DEZUXXih_2-HogdCOW7Rb5WALOCsk/s1600/DSC_2055.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-mYB7_IFZP8UkNSIwW2HX-1fL5eEsASx8CEMief02aE9FH5ZXhDgqBPatHakfy_RgJBr1KLh84za8nKQrU51emqnnDouYE2XshO1OX7-1NoAI62DEZUXXih_2-HogdCOW7Rb5WALOCsk/s400/DSC_2055.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559256589402334866" border="0" /></a><br />Zombie eyes!<br />Look away!<br />She won't come down until we make her a landing pad of pillows.<br />(I guess she does have us trained.)<br /><br />Libby also trains us to dangle string.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9q4XqcwDjPogsAE6MIyU7uCNQqugxs_0I0oo8_gJ1otRO_s-1pYMYEPvy-QxjFpcJvuiGr4IZBUUlVej7FnPp_b_NMshPZbrBaUS2i5Hc4rcvmXrv5Ld4H5q9rlbVKBMQurYj0SGF4TU/s1600/DSC_2102.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 331px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9q4XqcwDjPogsAE6MIyU7uCNQqugxs_0I0oo8_gJ1otRO_s-1pYMYEPvy-QxjFpcJvuiGr4IZBUUlVej7FnPp_b_NMshPZbrBaUS2i5Hc4rcvmXrv5Ld4H5q9rlbVKBMQurYj0SGF4TU/s400/DSC_2102.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559255253784622562" border="0" /></a><br />It's just about her favorite thing.<br /><br />Tanner tried it too...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP3lVBbrs0OOGoYnz6n1u7lIrtcEn6Sp7xgVFgRF2Z4UH4x2InwCuDuGV0ApyjCDqIhxHd4htyZ6dmzYSay27cl1th1M6GolpfTDL-UG0Ihx5vqtfBExhAzdyuprYCiXaY6CtNNuEZ3do/s1600/DSC_2106.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP3lVBbrs0OOGoYnz6n1u7lIrtcEn6Sp7xgVFgRF2Z4UH4x2InwCuDuGV0ApyjCDqIhxHd4htyZ6dmzYSay27cl1th1M6GolpfTDL-UG0Ihx5vqtfBExhAzdyuprYCiXaY6CtNNuEZ3do/s400/DSC_2106.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559255562209103890" border="0" /></a><br /><br />But then he got distracted by Libby's zombie eyes again.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdHkgct3BnM3g5ZOnPM-HfPnf7bzfcWIG5e1rg5CZ8wxTSSwNZJtd96EgYvrs7QXU-wCvazVvK04D2oak1LKu8H_1niiUcClQPE7cFF3HYCd4ql7-w2Yr94EdhXr4_zOyU4rNNowC0m-c/s1600/DSC_2107.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdHkgct3BnM3g5ZOnPM-HfPnf7bzfcWIG5e1rg5CZ8wxTSSwNZJtd96EgYvrs7QXU-wCvazVvK04D2oak1LKu8H_1niiUcClQPE7cFF3HYCd4ql7-w2Yr94EdhXr4_zOyU4rNNowC0m-c/s400/DSC_2107.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559255453971856962" border="0" /></a><br />Maybe she's hypnotizing herself.<br /><br />He just doesn't get her fascination with boxes.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcrLFQ24ltGhhGmxCmytfhOeULA-QON6KiyQJTvzr2Gda0sqVTFZwn079v_9lSWKzneYwESFpLMEBFz9Mg0zfxHjaqrBShrwUH1XTjxJRRYirImUytMFymmDmcrYX2L-Rgc99cM0r8BB8/s1600/DSC_2074.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcrLFQ24ltGhhGmxCmytfhOeULA-QON6KiyQJTvzr2Gda0sqVTFZwn079v_9lSWKzneYwESFpLMEBFz9Mg0zfxHjaqrBShrwUH1XTjxJRRYirImUytMFymmDmcrYX2L-Rgc99cM0r8BB8/s400/DSC_2074.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559254990899172290" border="0" /></a><br /><br />He investigated, but there wasn't anything edible in there.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7syBfy5b1jwXsxecTrA0x3ZptdkPURE0h5W8zWxRsYPseEbkwuFjCd6ZSutCZSYQeEUR0JLO9FnD1t5YZQc0YxefJZaP2_wQEvu5EhLCGbAUlS_xhTEoXsSrMqRlXzgMQr2UA-PnqzXY/s1600/DSC_2080.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7syBfy5b1jwXsxecTrA0x3ZptdkPURE0h5W8zWxRsYPseEbkwuFjCd6ZSutCZSYQeEUR0JLO9FnD1t5YZQc0YxefJZaP2_wQEvu5EhLCGbAUlS_xhTEoXsSrMqRlXzgMQr2UA-PnqzXY/s400/DSC_2080.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559254887336634610" border="0" /></a><br />No hummus. No bones. Not even a stale tortilla.<br />Why bother.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjzDFeuDZummpaDlbbE6PvgcNadO6l7izGKKpAv9h6k_Ci6JoLmHxvojkkwgoPDqhDfJoKcH-jXqg5Fu_L5nEmhyMtema1Bt2wkTMIhfcf8Sa88khOHX9vJ9mL7KqE4lfqF2aLSvFWbv0/s1600/DSC_2082.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjzDFeuDZummpaDlbbE6PvgcNadO6l7izGKKpAv9h6k_Ci6JoLmHxvojkkwgoPDqhDfJoKcH-jXqg5Fu_L5nEmhyMtema1Bt2wkTMIhfcf8Sa88khOHX9vJ9mL7KqE4lfqF2aLSvFWbv0/s400/DSC_2082.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559254627218325826" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The whole box business was very tiring, so it was nap time again.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic6MojTe53zhs28LijuMJwz2FY03vrkfL_9PD5cpPgvyobyQCUso3kiKeMPqjl_byJ2dMsftGDt98dODSS_Uwawo0eQSC6VL011JEyOqX5dN6ZAeEJ4rJSw59PIoefzyhCrqp2msdEfjI/s1600/DSC_2048.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic6MojTe53zhs28LijuMJwz2FY03vrkfL_9PD5cpPgvyobyQCUso3kiKeMPqjl_byJ2dMsftGDt98dODSS_Uwawo0eQSC6VL011JEyOqX5dN6ZAeEJ4rJSw59PIoefzyhCrqp2msdEfjI/s400/DSC_2048.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559253451781532562" border="0" /></a><br />At least I think that's what she's doing. Of course, it could be some kind of trick.<br /><br />You know, I suddenly feel a strange compulsion to go buy string.<br />Maybe I'll stop at the U-Haul place and pick up some extra boxes while I'm out.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm0lX0ftfdU-SED-pqw7vU7MGeXnqC6Vsckm8kTfDZPwpIr_Iuazfi6JpUCD4a8zoEwzoaEJiNLC1MTl8Isk-4NYyLXJ6s6kQFD72Wudf0Zkj76jQJqTSKU1UThSXthV22daSFuMvepfc/s1600/DSC_2051.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm0lX0ftfdU-SED-pqw7vU7MGeXnqC6Vsckm8kTfDZPwpIr_Iuazfi6JpUCD4a8zoEwzoaEJiNLC1MTl8Isk-4NYyLXJ6s6kQFD72Wudf0Zkj76jQJqTSKU1UThSXthV22daSFuMvepfc/s400/DSC_2051.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559253281673394482" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Have a delightful weekend, y'all!<br />Before you scoot, tell me, are you a cat person? Dog lover? I'd love to hear about the pets at your house.<br />Love, BeckyRebecca Ramseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14851717214205302476noreply@blogger.com26tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272729178612778511.post-68463732081124128682011-01-04T10:15:00.003-05:002011-01-04T10:27:40.372-05:00Happy New Year, Paul Bunyan<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5yScQJyKk6lslm2DMylmK0ykVmWADPbRCBGP6hqF3iKJ2L3k3vJyJ5BbOQgjiFxFPJ8Nm9efJwfMksVo33na-mZLVi2jt0Y5q1-UzE3uDHBjRdOQoPVdpOGczKBsdlMgv9rCE6VLL_HQ/s1600/DSC_1994.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5yScQJyKk6lslm2DMylmK0ykVmWADPbRCBGP6hqF3iKJ2L3k3vJyJ5BbOQgjiFxFPJ8Nm9efJwfMksVo33na-mZLVi2jt0Y5q1-UzE3uDHBjRdOQoPVdpOGczKBsdlMgv9rCE6VLL_HQ/s400/DSC_1994.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558342469879462402" border="0" /></a><br />How did you welcome in the new year?<br />We lit a fire and stood around it in the freezing cold, watching the flames flicker, the dog snap at flying sparks, and Sam pile on the logs. Now that he is 12, he was finally allowed to fulfill his life long ambition to swing an axe, so we had a winter's worth of kindling stacked up. (Probably three bonfires worth-- remember, this is South Carolina.)<br /><br />The family loved it at first. We roasted a couple marshmallows, poked at the fire, enjoyed the smell of the smoke and the quiet of the night. But eventually the grandparents got cold, Ben and Sarah got bored, and Sam got spooked by a ghostly voice from the tree house up the hill, leaving Todd and me all by our lonesome, fireside.<br /><br />It was kind of nice.<br />We were quiet at first.<br />In some ways, it's been a really tough year.<br />We were glad to throw our worries of 2010 into the flames.<br />The car accident. The health scare that turned out to be nothing, but petrified us for a while. The wandering on my part, wondering what God might hold for me in the future. What to do, where to put my energy.<br /><br />We talked a little but we didn't need to say much. Each of us knew what the other was thinking, doing. Tossing into the flames all the balled up, pent up worries and struggles of 2010. Sending them into the fire, to turn to ash, then settle at the bottom or let the wind lift them into the night, away from us, into the sky.<br /><br />It was a good way to start 2011. Letting go of the worries and disappointments and fears of the past, freeing my hands for whatever life gives me in this new year.<br />I'm so thankful for new beginnings. Aren't you?<br />And I'm thankful for dear friends like you, both online and across the street, who share this crazy, wondrous life with me.<br /><br />I wish you only God's best for 2011!<br /><br />Much love, BeckyRebecca Ramseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14851717214205302476noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272729178612778511.post-76464697828404342622010-12-20T13:00:00.000-05:002011-01-05T20:55:53.300-05:00Santa at the Manger...Two Thumbs Up or Gag Me with a Candy Cane?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVDCRVL8wbhxCQ-h6EfkLhHvxVKaCVLhlziIIlc-_VrKHUkpCbN6u6yvpt2qwWO5_7jn93cKqCVvpiC6spCF-wzfbYwOQRfF6WFjPTKNPbuF6WRW2xUnclRxkx93Yl2gc4TyOSw11KwNU/s1600/santa.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVDCRVL8wbhxCQ-h6EfkLhHvxVKaCVLhlziIIlc-_VrKHUkpCbN6u6yvpt2qwWO5_7jn93cKqCVvpiC6spCF-wzfbYwOQRfF6WFjPTKNPbuF6WRW2xUnclRxkx93Yl2gc4TyOSw11KwNU/s400/santa.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5552807103128751778" border="0" /></a><br />Sorry if you've got a Santa hanging out on your mantel with the shepherds and the Wise Guys, but I've always been in the Gag Me camp.<br /><br />I know some people love incorporating Jolly Old Saint Nick into <a href="http://rebeccasramsey.blogspot.com/2008/12/nativity-scene.html"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">their beloved creche scenes</span></a>, melding legend with the holy, but as for me, no no no.<br /><br />Not to offend anyone, but just the sight of Kris Kringle kneeling in the straw gives me a bad case of chiggers. What's next? Might I suddenly forget the words to <span style="font-style: italic;">Silent Night</span> and burst into a chorus of <span style="font-style: italic;">Grandma Got Run Over By a Reindeer</span>?<br /><br />But now that I've seen the video below, I can sorta (kinda) understand the idea.<br />It's Grammy nominated, Dove award winning singer/songwriter Kyle Matthews singing "Everything Santa Knows," a song that has me changing my tune on the Santa front. A friend of Kyle's made the video with his kids and it's really fun to watch. And careful, if you're the tiniest bit of a Santa scrooge like me, it might even get you thinking!<br /><br />I'm sure I'll still keep Santa a safe distance from the holy babe, but I get the intention. The guy in the red suit is an admirer, just like the rest of us. And I have to say, a bit of a copycat.<br />(Just kidding, Santa. Love you!)<br />Enjoy, friends!<br /><br /><object width="480" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/wmcxYvudrGU?fs=1&hl=en_US&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/wmcxYvudrGU?fs=1&hl=en_US&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object><br />Merry Christmas!<br />Love, Becky<br /><br />Photo by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/38389073@N04/4209079170/sizes/z/in/photostream/"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">Jamiesrabbits</span></a>, <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">creative commons</span></a>Rebecca Ramseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14851717214205302476noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272729178612778511.post-86537394830210566542010-12-05T11:00:00.001-05:002011-01-14T07:12:58.035-05:00Trust Falling into Christmas<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/dalechumbley/3122619267/sizes/z/in/photostream/"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7XYehjOfy8iQNkkZh-H3Ev2YPSw2qxRAh_JdbV_GoyNsNh-UCtz5hjaxHvY0wJIrx6iP6m6VMJykrCq6n2MIXGKtHm3jzN6j5ni7PmMxclHU7IIwQTSPjoXlZrJaiEjfa_iEfLeIeQ88/s400/3122619267_10f034af89_z.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5546826248102661138" border="0" /></a><br />Have you ever done a trust fall?<br />You know, folded your hands across your chest, closed your eyes, and let yourself fall stiff as a board backwards into a group of people, trusting they will catch you?<br />Given all that touchy-feely stuff I had to do back in RA training in my college days, you'd think I would have experienced more than a few trust falls, but I've never done one.<br />I think I'll start today.<br /><br />I'm trust falling into Christmas. Care to join me?<br /><br />Let's take a deep breath and close our eyes and trust.<br /><br />Trust that our homes don't have to look like the ones in the magazines.<br /><br />Trust that we don't have to find the perfect gifts for everyone on our lists, presents that capture who they are and what they enjoy most in life. Trust that gifts are really just not that important.<br /><br />Trust that we can let go of all the busyness if we just need a little quiet.<br />A little heavenly peace.<br /><br />Trust that our blogging friends will understand if after almost three years of blog posts we suddenly disappear for a while. If we stop visiting and unplug for a bit. (Yes, that's me, y'all. And I miss you. Life just got a little hectic and I needed to step away from the computer for a while. I'm fine, thank you, and so enjoying the refreshment of a little break.)<br /><br />Trust that Christmas is meant for each of us, no matter the degree of peace or chaos in our lives.<br /><br />Trust that God meant to send us a message by birthing Christ into a dirty stable, not a pristine hospital room. That Christ's first breaths of air were taken in the company of parents who held him close, full of fear and wonder, lost as to what the future might bring.<br /><br />I'm so thankful for a God who loves us that much.<br />I'm trusting that this year's celebration of The Greatest Love of All will bless you and carry you happily into the new year.<br /><br />Much love,<br />Becky<br /><br />Photo by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/dalechumbley/3122619267/sizes/z/in/photostream/"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">Dale Chumbley</span></a>, <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">creative commons</span></a>Rebecca Ramseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14851717214205302476noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272729178612778511.post-53431331418868933792010-11-22T09:50:00.000-05:002011-01-05T20:58:20.994-05:00Hop in the Birdbath<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/clintjcl/2626144734/sizes/z/in/photostream/"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuIvre4NkkHLZ0PJQlyq3VhXvdvoFPH55WeUN9e2u47HVbzT3JkYkKSW3pSqL4Zg1DUhIjFCUhG49QXZMtKpeg8aJMsxpuapFGjT5WT60xyHDHC6v5wJpwG3SjJs7N2F80TRvXia_qoZw/s400/2626144734_802850ae66_z.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540926698529689234" border="0" /></a><br />I certainly didn't expect anything extraordinary from last week's trip to the dentist.<br />A thorough cleaning, of course. Maybe some gentle hints about flossing more. An explanation of that new little ridge my tongue had discovered on top of one of my molars.<br /><br />So I was a bit surprised to find my normally attentive hygienist, Jo Carol, staring out the window as I sat down in her chair.<br />"Would you look at that," she whispered.<br />I wasn't sure if she was talking to me, so I said, ""Hey Jo Carol. How are you doing today?"<br />"Come get a look at this," she whispered again.<br /><br />I put down my purse and joined her at the window. What was she staring at? The view wasn't great, just a tree and some grass and the parking lot of the orthodontist next door.<br /><br />"See the birds?" she said, pointing at four or five little wrens splashing around in the water on the pavement.<br />"It rained last night, and every time it rains, that little corner there makes a puddle that stays around for a little while. It's funny, no matter what time of year it is, as soon as that puddle appears there's a half dozen birds swooping down to play in it. Look at them splashing around. They must be babies. And look, there's their mama, the big one there."<br /><br />We stood there a minute and watched the birds flicking their feathers around in the water, wading in it, drinking and splashing, stepping on the fallen leaves with their little twig legs.<br /><br />"Birds know the secret," she said as I sat down in the chair and she clipped the bib around my neck. "When something good lands on your lap, you gotta put down your busyness. Enjoy it while you can."<br /><br />I nodded.<br /><br />"Of course, birds are better at that than we are. There's so much we think we <span style="font-style: italic;">have</span> to do."<br /><br />Amen, Jo Carol, my hygienist/sage.<br />I needed to hear that. Don't we all, as we get ready to celebrate a day of thanks-- a day with so many To Do lists attached?<br /><br />And just so you know, Jo Carol isn't just a dispenser of wisdom.<br />That new little ridge on my molar?<br />"It's just a broken filling, Hun. An easy fix. Happens to all of us as we get to a certain age."<br />Great.<br />If you need me, I'll be the old woman out shopping for a cane along with the turkey and cranberries.<br /><br />Have a wonder-full Monday, y'all!<br />Love, Becky<br /><br />Photo by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/clintjcl/2626144734/sizes/z/in/photostream/"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">Rev. Xanatos Satanicos Bombasticos (ClintJCL)</span></a> through <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/2.0/"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">creative commons</span></a>Rebecca Ramseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14851717214205302476noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272729178612778511.post-66888192175578241022010-11-15T10:45:00.000-05:002011-01-05T20:58:00.403-05:00A Visit to a Buddhist Temple<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtdi3-mvYeb-bVxWQKadrBOMqHByTAJFJWegqTHD0D75ASRde1Su09wU7hV6ZxBqYTe_N9qJyFxQAYjjaatYWBUCNsPnyx4vpYIkOdGlyIOMHZNzH_zT-X5RfnkkdbMhWfibbHeYzJwGc/s1600/DSC_1510.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtdi3-mvYeb-bVxWQKadrBOMqHByTAJFJWegqTHD0D75ASRde1Su09wU7hV6ZxBqYTe_N9qJyFxQAYjjaatYWBUCNsPnyx4vpYIkOdGlyIOMHZNzH_zT-X5RfnkkdbMhWfibbHeYzJwGc/s400/DSC_1510.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539775900420035362" border="0" /></a><br />Have you ever been to a Buddhist temple?<br />I hadn't, until Saturday, but I'm so glad I went.<br /><br />In sixth grade social studies class, the kids learn about world religions. Sam is planning a project in which he builds a miniature city complete with a Christian church, a Jewish temple, a mosque, and a Buddhist temple. Tall order, huh?<br /><br />Sam has practically grown up inside a Christian church, but the other buildings? We're not so familiar with those. How can you build something if you don't really know what it looks like?<br />It was a perfect excuse to do some visiting.<br /><br />The <a href="http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/1021464/place_of_peace_buddhist_temple_and.html?image=355754"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">Place of Peace</span></a> was first on our list.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVl8WV2JRAIJj9jbXRlLBlPVWOa_7NFvJkL0dXGC2_D_qDvNQWhR26r4BkdJ-SKvD0f1CqZL_A4JbuZ2Co9GaTsq4Pgg75x7Ddm1ATvW97yFvx-bv4Sr5Ax4xM4eYzc2h7-KsqgGwXMJI/s1600/DSC_1497.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVl8WV2JRAIJj9jbXRlLBlPVWOa_7NFvJkL0dXGC2_D_qDvNQWhR26r4BkdJ-SKvD0f1CqZL_A4JbuZ2Co9GaTsq4Pgg75x7Ddm1ATvW97yFvx-bv4Sr5Ax4xM4eYzc2h7-KsqgGwXMJI/s400/DSC_1497.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539775642336137890" border="0" /></a><br />It's a inter-generational temple once belonging to the Tsuzuki family in Nagoya, Japan. When the Tsuzukis donated it to Furman University, it was taken apart, piece by piece, and reassembled on the campus grounds.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVN21rN9Tejx6J8-2Z0wKSer0orpHniq5VqongArge1UVmNJWTgRTck42MopFI9Fk4quQsc7KsMr5sPjT0Ths7Sp3QMJL4CJraMz0UsGs6WYoq19hYOtfrPP5lLlY61fjd0JwuxuAK5Jw/s1600/DSC_1499.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVN21rN9Tejx6J8-2Z0wKSer0orpHniq5VqongArge1UVmNJWTgRTck42MopFI9Fk4quQsc7KsMr5sPjT0Ths7Sp3QMJL4CJraMz0UsGs6WYoq19hYOtfrPP5lLlY61fjd0JwuxuAK5Jw/s400/DSC_1499.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539775529304179090" border="0" /></a><br />I remember reading that during the temple's dedication, Seiji Tsuzuki spoke about his memories of sweeping the leaves around the temple when he was a boy.<br /><br />Its craftsmanship is amazing.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh167QnXhcodTrdBdoLsukDUGil-wV-Pa4PloYer_jmQer4vfLZ5LZXI7GphJLlk-cd1EbdgRKIjbTdFM9bXDxKt-dFVy7JN6-zqYQkBwnXK6m-h-GkCX68Pkk5XY0chIDCupRyF7bOAeI/s1600/DSC_1505.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh167QnXhcodTrdBdoLsukDUGil-wV-Pa4PloYer_jmQer4vfLZ5LZXI7GphJLlk-cd1EbdgRKIjbTdFM9bXDxKt-dFVy7JN6-zqYQkBwnXK6m-h-GkCX68Pkk5XY0chIDCupRyF7bOAeI/s400/DSC_1505.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539775283206196498" border="0" /></a><br />The temple reminds me what I appreciate and so respect about the religion of Buddhism: the importance given to mindfulness, to paying attention to ones everyday life. That's such an important part of my Christian faith--to look for God's presence around me, to find God in the normal walk of life.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOiZ46N99ZoEy5HnqzD0MZravI34SKw7LhUBXemae3JSgvfdME5JGD1ONfDD418jIl-oAKKEprfgfXN_UxrkEAgnlzlLN2AHYn0KQJXUYxskIY3ZoOk1zM-YwRguaXiE52duB8UCT18r8/s1600/DSC_1507.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOiZ46N99ZoEy5HnqzD0MZravI34SKw7LhUBXemae3JSgvfdME5JGD1ONfDD418jIl-oAKKEprfgfXN_UxrkEAgnlzlLN2AHYn0KQJXUYxskIY3ZoOk1zM-YwRguaXiE52duB8UCT18r8/s400/DSC_1507.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539775154944133810" border="0" /></a><br />To find God in the details and in the big picture.<br /><br />I love this simple fountain by the entrance.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijRa4YGwAiBo4EBAGmiyivUPipNpzoZBHgT8oIPCT1USkU1nLLbJmqUmchyphenhyphenZSnHLaw363I0GEyd5tHlghyDcBMsAq7s9HhfyR-SV_DJcTpFtwkgliHyoXrTZsuOn4wspVwKuDGiDq-E2Y/s1600/DSC_1513.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijRa4YGwAiBo4EBAGmiyivUPipNpzoZBHgT8oIPCT1USkU1nLLbJmqUmchyphenhyphenZSnHLaw363I0GEyd5tHlghyDcBMsAq7s9HhfyR-SV_DJcTpFtwkgliHyoXrTZsuOn4wspVwKuDGiDq-E2Y/s400/DSC_1513.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539774995146468930" border="0" /></a><br />It reminds me of the laver we've taught our Sunday school kids about, and how the Old Testament priests would wash themselves as a purifying ritual before going into the temple to worship.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNqXu0J2r9XR3tbWB6CVgoJdSWph-F34-ASh9hYeiiSH5cNcaBeR-b0M1De6mws9STE0FAOMNZVWCoL-5DP8kVrbKAJHPwzgKUn6DHXWBknIxI5QPqyCbJTxVDLoSRRTzYQbzFfOuIzHM/s1600/DSC_1509.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNqXu0J2r9XR3tbWB6CVgoJdSWph-F34-ASh9hYeiiSH5cNcaBeR-b0M1De6mws9STE0FAOMNZVWCoL-5DP8kVrbKAJHPwzgKUn6DHXWBknIxI5QPqyCbJTxVDLoSRRTzYQbzFfOuIzHM/s400/DSC_1509.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539774822569712706" border="0" /></a><br />See those shelve on the front porch of the temple? You take off your shoes before entering and place them there. The temple was locked so we couldn't go inside. Maybe another time.<br /><br />No matter. There was plenty of God to go around just by walking across the campus.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbntx4oisrYVWEt-FN6Y24sLyhdJBfB5ntxcyqWi7tE7Nk7ro8HtMahgTrKvGH_yOkW4GdBCpFTVV2smv9M6ycLrK5gwM5DMFyVxTlz_gAbK8I1le90ZiLAfPjPiQpOTA6Ptou3Yykdc8/s1600/DSC_1407.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbntx4oisrYVWEt-FN6Y24sLyhdJBfB5ntxcyqWi7tE7Nk7ro8HtMahgTrKvGH_yOkW4GdBCpFTVV2smv9M6ycLrK5gwM5DMFyVxTlz_gAbK8I1le90ZiLAfPjPiQpOTA6Ptou3Yykdc8/s400/DSC_1407.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539773444311020674" border="0" /></a><br /><br />See what I mean?<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEUHeJOxz28i-Q6zeaIbQ965SlxpZmnL-rtKsio42urteajbPt58Ve78YIXTD0JdmiGlQFQ-TAYISOM99UX45rlWxfGeE7RvEJUG-8miggTotxBpyuBvVpHuLg0j-86N4E6nnN4pgeSzY/s1600/DSC_1388.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEUHeJOxz28i-Q6zeaIbQ965SlxpZmnL-rtKsio42urteajbPt58Ve78YIXTD0JdmiGlQFQ-TAYISOM99UX45rlWxfGeE7RvEJUG-8miggTotxBpyuBvVpHuLg0j-86N4E6nnN4pgeSzY/s400/DSC_1388.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539773243064057554" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_bKpr-bxy7xH9LqL0gyk06yCNZgatjRtgUJDXrzGsM1Tmy697VDyrAG1Uniazj3FmN7wHAoHqom5S5qmDOm4W8pQGpOzlHXSImLgbiWmYekDMIOaLc_U9MX8dnOap5xfnD89bdj_iCgM/s1600/DSC_1391.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_bKpr-bxy7xH9LqL0gyk06yCNZgatjRtgUJDXrzGsM1Tmy697VDyrAG1Uniazj3FmN7wHAoHqom5S5qmDOm4W8pQGpOzlHXSImLgbiWmYekDMIOaLc_U9MX8dnOap5xfnD89bdj_iCgM/s400/DSC_1391.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539773154996742642" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQs91eTl3aTA9Eo4Txo6ENGtHgjXJMG5P7Lx5kgTQmvDC4k6lXTsxzkiF-QX7YZ6V3Ebx8H6kftGFInmli6_upAcS1A98LgZOloAj6pfH24v9AGt2_HLhqlZSvg_U9FpMirmR5YXMJ_eQ/s1600/DSC_1436.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQs91eTl3aTA9Eo4Txo6ENGtHgjXJMG5P7Lx5kgTQmvDC4k6lXTsxzkiF-QX7YZ6V3Ebx8H6kftGFInmli6_upAcS1A98LgZOloAj6pfH24v9AGt2_HLhqlZSvg_U9FpMirmR5YXMJ_eQ/s400/DSC_1436.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539772576739107218" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-xOp_4nLmX-mnRONViuzINiEpQTRxEQoR9kmN_1ISl_z9wthJ-ZMkPk7Hih8NqCBKtlx5-A2Y8hRZGl6VY6I0naODC9w4-BuCndpRe6V_H8WomlnI3DsMoCCzvPE_zBaHMtKx6o7m-a4/s1600/DSC_1402.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-xOp_4nLmX-mnRONViuzINiEpQTRxEQoR9kmN_1ISl_z9wthJ-ZMkPk7Hih8NqCBKtlx5-A2Y8hRZGl6VY6I0naODC9w4-BuCndpRe6V_H8WomlnI3DsMoCCzvPE_zBaHMtKx6o7m-a4/s400/DSC_1402.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539772349123266114" border="0" /></a><br />A perfect acorn, in the shade of a mighty oak. What a symbol of God's transforming power. His easy grace, dropping from the sky.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXEv9mZ7-NXCZlE7drhX7VTH_8o8ubmXIBV8jE0v1Zz9FK78O7TECAKaUzUADlDeiNYWif2AKP4PTFshDhNWe9WqcvcGNPZK1NmLlbjRWZJ22G7mA3Ly5NVPciKf2hBdKEmg2G7wFlkiQ/s1600/DSC_1408.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXEv9mZ7-NXCZlE7drhX7VTH_8o8ubmXIBV8jE0v1Zz9FK78O7TECAKaUzUADlDeiNYWif2AKP4PTFshDhNWe9WqcvcGNPZK1NmLlbjRWZJ22G7mA3Ly5NVPciKf2hBdKEmg2G7wFlkiQ/s400/DSC_1408.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539772221572311874" border="0" /></a><br />All living things seemed to pulse with God's presence that afternoon. I wanted to be like the roots of the tree, rising up, bursting out of the ground, to celebrate God's goodness.<br /><br />Tanner got so excited that he baptized himself in the pond!<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj45gKG5Jf5UbjoxZWP5pt-_P9AFOCAlncQWp7g_iDWEhdSt2AmqwYbhFmS4Sna_8XJ_mT06D1L3S1a_b3mRWQsU6tm0Ju0lSsW1nEWApLYGOB6Bgds1o2J8CVzTkK3U9LABroKYYG-BNI/s1600/DSC_1518.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj45gKG5Jf5UbjoxZWP5pt-_P9AFOCAlncQWp7g_iDWEhdSt2AmqwYbhFmS4Sna_8XJ_mT06D1L3S1a_b3mRWQsU6tm0Ju0lSsW1nEWApLYGOB6Bgds1o2J8CVzTkK3U9LABroKYYG-BNI/s400/DSC_1518.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539771360387472514" border="0" /></a><br />Careful! He'll spray you with stinky pond water!<br /><br />As for me, I'll just focus on this burning bush.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj18ydL6IbxqNb9HXvfjAp7fSvXJoIpjyG4EdofACAuWR33Avxh1wnD-pJXRIgIDY3Rwfo7867QwmGLN5SNss05uwdAo_w4MVtBm_lus_JeoxpuOGUxt6D4DIoMeRu2B7QbxFN3CLILBYc/s1600/DSC_1494.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj18ydL6IbxqNb9HXvfjAp7fSvXJoIpjyG4EdofACAuWR33Avxh1wnD-pJXRIgIDY3Rwfo7867QwmGLN5SNss05uwdAo_w4MVtBm_lus_JeoxpuOGUxt6D4DIoMeRu2B7QbxFN3CLILBYc/s400/DSC_1494.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539771885306134354" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Excuse me while I take off my shoes and worship.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtn3KFxnSCudVDMUxB7yIKMpeqWBhaqu38p0PWw3VOCjiEYLvnEWQZ0P-LV13iR01u8uTrXKL9APxOnbhnruzwnD3LhmBhBeYyF21kdollgJuL3JLoFrOEQPd2gd7nMz_Eh-RIFR_k4rc/s1600/DSC_1493.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtn3KFxnSCudVDMUxB7yIKMpeqWBhaqu38p0PWw3VOCjiEYLvnEWQZ0P-LV13iR01u8uTrXKL9APxOnbhnruzwnD3LhmBhBeYyF21kdollgJuL3JLoFrOEQPd2gd7nMz_Eh-RIFR_k4rc/s400/DSC_1493.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5539772844779845506" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Have a wonder-full Monday, y'all!<br />Love to you!<br />BeckyRebecca Ramseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14851717214205302476noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272729178612778511.post-43483204284718091592010-11-10T10:55:00.000-05:002011-01-05T20:59:26.828-05:00Autumn at Hopeful Dog Vineyard<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9oB6nOkiNV-a7TwgZIvR5gwI-hCTwO6XNpHYXfAeQmC8kQ2ynWhDWznUSS5SFvbO3PcUsYbK31SFm8YFniLfEKsbKY9-WNY3tV0JtNd5F6yt14BFkDxwCCWAbeKGn90AuvpLDa9Hwz7M/s1600/DSC_1346.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9oB6nOkiNV-a7TwgZIvR5gwI-hCTwO6XNpHYXfAeQmC8kQ2ynWhDWznUSS5SFvbO3PcUsYbK31SFm8YFniLfEKsbKY9-WNY3tV0JtNd5F6yt14BFkDxwCCWAbeKGn90AuvpLDa9Hwz7M/s400/DSC_1346.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537737497296646962" border="0" /></a><br />Welcome to Autumn at Hopeful Dog Vineyard.<br />In case you're new around here, we don't really have a vineyard. Just this row of muscadines lining our backyard.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH6mvKln5V5371pzTA_6hLP0UDS4Kms3H6yLa6ufzwEJuyEx7X99i2fMaQSs34EJFoPMKeS61rVA4zoVpKXh0lLu8NeMpdaZP9YCwVSabWivTlLgn0i1ydeXQ0Btp9XkuO7srVh01-QLs/s1600/DSC_1333.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH6mvKln5V5371pzTA_6hLP0UDS4Kms3H6yLa6ufzwEJuyEx7X99i2fMaQSs34EJFoPMKeS61rVA4zoVpKXh0lLu8NeMpdaZP9YCwVSabWivTlLgn0i1ydeXQ0Btp9XkuO7srVh01-QLs/s400/DSC_1333.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537738313734538946" border="0" /></a><br />And here's the hopeful dog.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyWolc73FQY6QpwfUW16ukHQnBjgruDo7B3zz7Q4xQOJmSiMT04i9zvfR7jHCL0_pIAIUdZ1qevuepS-PrazHrfuKT2hIDL82EKITsjVc7m6ZGMal__cXoMtTuKj1i3A6llHWmkDRGCKk/s1600/DSC_0914.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 212px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyWolc73FQY6QpwfUW16ukHQnBjgruDo7B3zz7Q4xQOJmSiMT04i9zvfR7jHCL0_pIAIUdZ1qevuepS-PrazHrfuKT2hIDL82EKITsjVc7m6ZGMal__cXoMtTuKj1i3A6llHWmkDRGCKk/s320/DSC_0914.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537924266722339682" border="0" /></a><br />He's hoping you have a treat for him in your pocket.<br />A cracker, maybe? Anything?<br /><br />Back to the vineyard.<br />I wouldn't have thought much was going on back there now.<br />After all, we've picked the grapes. We ate a few bowlfuls and washed and stomped the rest. Then we put the juice up to ferment until bottling time next summer.<br />The leaves are turning and dropping, and the only grapes left are becoming raisins in the sun.<br /><br />But The Hopeful Dog has taken to stashing his trash under the grapevines up the hill, so yesterday I took a garbage bag with me and went trash collecting. There was a lot to gather: a bag of beef jerky he stole from Ben, a plastic peanut butter jar he nabbed off the kitchen counter, an old container of Parmesan cheese he swiped from our spaghetti dinner last week.<br />But after I collected it all, I turned my attention to the grapes.<br />What a shock!<br />The vine was busy doing things.<br /><br />Who would have thought that at the same time that some leaves were bleeding out their colors, shriveling into papery bat wings...<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAeK7-JEBdzND09z7bneXG0FJa3SIkjzqJsjpXaSJ7Et8HV54H4xFRk3sUBufLDLjfpbdWcd-ZAwZq6itHJxdsw1-6O62tXt4wIDmonW5TOqB-psjGsv9R10K7Pid1cjaQM79ZufHG3Y4/s1600/DSC_1337.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAeK7-JEBdzND09z7bneXG0FJa3SIkjzqJsjpXaSJ7Et8HV54H4xFRk3sUBufLDLjfpbdWcd-ZAwZq6itHJxdsw1-6O62tXt4wIDmonW5TOqB-psjGsv9R10K7Pid1cjaQM79ZufHG3Y4/s400/DSC_1337.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537738114250648290" border="0" /></a><br /><br />some branches would refuse to quit, sending out a tender shoot to look for the sun,<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiU0y5D5SzyhfGRewaVB1MPW__YHcFzFrJkxWqn3pxgkBowFNYn78plODJX_B988gn2JPza8_entt3XpRrNvCmE3cRRgu9VJqtGOBbK7u7hdVUoPcyhTXtEhIgIhPkLu_MmHKl1nq9sAA/s1600/DSC_1340.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiU0y5D5SzyhfGRewaVB1MPW__YHcFzFrJkxWqn3pxgkBowFNYn78plODJX_B988gn2JPza8_entt3XpRrNvCmE3cRRgu9VJqtGOBbK7u7hdVUoPcyhTXtEhIgIhPkLu_MmHKl1nq9sAA/s400/DSC_1340.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537737994643430306" border="0" /></a><br />unfurling baby leaves with its last breath.<br /><br />While inches away, higher on the vine, a cluster of grapes refuses to fall.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_cENpTdYjXTPYgf2k-z0Wo4E4oIfytlTRoX3OS6qqufy2WXhiTH2CcjIzy51aXPEK1gPNPs_PphJD7Uc4gWJZxgzR13zC3v7AEJM22jvIZLRxiwZNCV40rFAe9rHJd6MYhv4picpM3tY/s1600/DSC_1345.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_cENpTdYjXTPYgf2k-z0Wo4E4oIfytlTRoX3OS6qqufy2WXhiTH2CcjIzy51aXPEK1gPNPs_PphJD7Uc4gWJZxgzR13zC3v7AEJM22jvIZLRxiwZNCV40rFAe9rHJd6MYhv4picpM3tY/s400/DSC_1345.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537737658550476258" border="0" /></a><br />I understand the grapes.<br /><br />My leaves might turn speckled, then brittle and brown, but I wouldn't want to let go. I'd hold on.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoeNKF49_iuvwxomNerAvQp97QnlpmeIA1xle6LVcmbeObIA_wyPPeT6W11tPVXlOixRA4rqS5cqOMZhShs5pMuVFWa4blSdpHpHpHCeMU8kkrAmtBaBudsGW5_bJLeG6vVdaJzRvKeco/s1600/DSC_1356.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoeNKF49_iuvwxomNerAvQp97QnlpmeIA1xle6LVcmbeObIA_wyPPeT6W11tPVXlOixRA4rqS5cqOMZhShs5pMuVFWa4blSdpHpHpHCeMU8kkrAmtBaBudsGW5_bJLeG6vVdaJzRvKeco/s400/DSC_1356.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537737337617239970" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Like the tiny tendrils gripping the guide wire, winding themselves in tight coils around it.<br />If I were a branch on the master vine, that's what I'd probably do.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9OIOv15vYjwK-3LOzDysZZm8IyMCRoxCEB1lcz7QMzI_BUpzfMFTivz92fJDkfOY_BkxoOkvIO3G1aBe8CU4yAlMDzfIEcgiKsMNONymcH6I-0QsEikwyYVq0UiR3xXPrm8pXzRNA7vw/s1600/DSC_1343.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9OIOv15vYjwK-3LOzDysZZm8IyMCRoxCEB1lcz7QMzI_BUpzfMFTivz92fJDkfOY_BkxoOkvIO3G1aBe8CU4yAlMDzfIEcgiKsMNONymcH6I-0QsEikwyYVq0UiR3xXPrm8pXzRNA7vw/s400/DSC_1343.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537737830672622162" border="0" /></a><br />"Go for the sun!" the vine would say, but I'd wave my hands around, reaching for something to hold to steady me. A safe spot. Security.<br /><br />I'd wind myself tight around the Master Vine.<br />Can't I just live this way?<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi14TRMYiqfJkLZrxFWsedQI2Bt5sJ1FsY6CB4j8Q5eEnDcix9N8X3zoHgezwRo8zRaNySEQY9SbdXDOoZMiT6EVIsG_H7SuowgOLkBQtmHN-VWja7AbUaLtSSQNXf_oucHElHcxYNasxE/s1600/DSC_1359.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi14TRMYiqfJkLZrxFWsedQI2Bt5sJ1FsY6CB4j8Q5eEnDcix9N8X3zoHgezwRo8zRaNySEQY9SbdXDOoZMiT6EVIsG_H7SuowgOLkBQtmHN-VWja7AbUaLtSSQNXf_oucHElHcxYNasxE/s400/DSC_1359.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537736455762693058" border="0" /></a><br />Do I have to let go?<br /><br />The vine says nothing.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2pq0WHyiSUExhJ8Mm5K9XIJ9vrns7RsHTZV3seQsh1Aa4dqTLc9czfXOrMzaoP2ALHKxSV_u2okKv2FJ1b_vKXONJnQbRs0rtImijEWGqLZzIq_2U-dqCJavlF2ALogHxQjNTVI8yAyM/s1600/DSC_1374.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2pq0WHyiSUExhJ8Mm5K9XIJ9vrns7RsHTZV3seQsh1Aa4dqTLc9czfXOrMzaoP2ALHKxSV_u2okKv2FJ1b_vKXONJnQbRs0rtImijEWGqLZzIq_2U-dqCJavlF2ALogHxQjNTVI8yAyM/s400/DSC_1374.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537736271981516898" border="0" /></a><br />It just stands there in its beautiful twistedness, and holds up the branches.<br />It feeds them, and in its woundedness, it gives them life.<br /><br />I touch the knots, run my fingers over the woody scabs.<br />Is there life under dry bark?<br />I know there is because I've seen what the Vine does each Spring.<br />I remember. Beneath the gnarled wrapping, green life surges.<br />It's waiting for the right time, the right season.<br />Somehow it knows.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRUWCRyhyphenhyphencC_255YP51NqIAPW9sNN9N11HYxt1zFr35vUXz2FDb6xGq3JliRsnY2Itd1Evfttjc-UcMTn8866Q6PqRGhCPGgCI24AhKBLmAiTpfU_Odo6Mmrh8qkZNrkXXXv6GAVVgoD0/s1600/DSC_1380.JPG"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRUWCRyhyphenhyphencC_255YP51NqIAPW9sNN9N11HYxt1zFr35vUXz2FDb6xGq3JliRsnY2Itd1Evfttjc-UcMTn8866Q6PqRGhCPGgCI24AhKBLmAiTpfU_Odo6Mmrh8qkZNrkXXXv6GAVVgoD0/s400/DSC_1380.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537735899537565538" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">I am the Real Vine and my Father is the Farmer. He cuts off every branch of me that doesn't bear grapes. And every branch that is grape-bearing he prunes back so it will bear even more. You are already pruned back by the message I have spoken. </span><p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">Live in me. Make your home in me just as I do in you. In the same way that a branch can't bear grapes by itself but only by being joined to the vine, you can't bear fruit unless you are joined with me. </p><p style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">I am the Vine, you are the branches. When you're joined with me and I with you, the relation intimate and organic, the harvest is sure to be abundant. Separated, you can't produce a thing. Anyone who separates from me is deadwood, gathered up and thrown on the bonfire. But if you make yourselves at home with me and my words are at home in you, you can be sure that whatever you ask will be listened to and acted upon. This is how my Father shows who he is—when you produce grapes, when you mature as my disciples.<br /></p><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">I've loved you the way my Father has loved me. Make yourselves at home in my love.</span><br />John 15: 1-9 The Message<br /><br />I wish you a wonder-full Wednesday, y'all!<br />Love, BeckyRebecca Ramseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14851717214205302476noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272729178612778511.post-10396294475029158732010-11-08T09:15:00.000-05:002010-11-08T09:22:05.457-05:00Hands and Beard Commands of the Future<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/yoursecretadmiral/3105305898/sizes/z/in/photostream/"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 352px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnTPbvk01AbMO5CEDm6dr_xOzqstgQYhfI0czah67C9ksMXm_wENZlosdE34Lzeu2BxaI746KDCPL174F5Mj1-5YiNxUkYBRarnF7qWBie_nzPrWjsfon3N9WDXrZCPbiBVNFs-9_rmgs/s400/3105305898_ff9a4ab883_z.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537182078469524770" border="0" /></a><br />"Dang, look how big my hand is," said the twelve year old boy on the drive to school.<br />"You've always had big hands," said the mom.<br />"I mean seriously, look. It's bigger than my face."<br />"Do you know that before you were born, I could feel those hands inside me, pushing around?"<br />"Mom, hate to tell you, but that's just weird."<br />"Yeah, it was a little weird. But it's true. It's the first thing we noticed after you were born. Well, maybe not the first thing. It took a took a few minutes to get over what a big baby we had."<br />The boy laughed.<br />"I bet that when you're a man you'll have grown into those hands. I wonder what you'll look like when you're a man."<br />"I'm going to grow a beard," said the boy, nodding to himself. "And when I get kids, I'm going to make them kiss it. I'm going to say 'Kiss it. KISS THE BEARD!'"<br /><br />That kids cracks me up.<br />And he reminds me how quickly life changes.<br />Maybe it's easiest to see change in the life of a child. One day you're feeling him moving inside you, pressing his hands against you, your own little fetal mime swaddled tight by your body, and the next thing you know, he's out running around the yard in a dalmatian with a gas mask costume, making up his own words, batting his eyes at you, throwing leaves into the wind. Turn around twice and he'll be headed out the door, off to make up a life of his own.<br /><br />Last night, as I watched our youth group perform "This Changes Everything," a new musical by singer-songwriter <a href="http://www.kylematthews.com/"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">Kyle Matthews</span></a>, I was struck by the sight of a choir full of former babies. How did they grow up so quickly? Didn't I just see them toddling down the nursery hallway? Didn't they just sit in the circle with me in fourth grade Sunday school?<br />And now they're standing before us, growing their hands, their faces, their voices, their baby bodies into young men and women! We used to lead them, and now they're leading us. Or maybe they've been leading and teaching all along.<br /><br />I look at these kids, at my kids, my boy with the big hands and the future beard of his dreams, and I'm happy to remember the words God spoke to his people through the voice of Jeremiah,<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">I know what I'm doing. I have it all planned out—plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for. </span><sup style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 51, 255);" class="versenum" id="en-MSG-8341"></sup><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">When you call on me, when you come and pray to me, I'll listen. </span><sup style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 51, 255);" class="versenum" id="en-MSG-8342"></sup><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">When you come looking for me, you'll find me. Yes, when you get serious about finding me and want it more than anything else, I'll make sure you won't be disappointed.</span><br />Jeremiah 29: 11-14 The Message<br /><br />I'm excited to see what the future brings to the kids in our lives. Aren't you? I'm happy for the lucky ones who already recognize they've got their hands in God's work. That God has his hands in <span style="font-style: italic;">their</span> work. There are so many good things to come!<br />(And I have to say that I'll be watching to see if Sam indeed has a beard in his future.)<br /><br />Have a wonder-full Monday, y'all!<br />Love, Becky<br /><br />Photo of the kind of beard I'd like for Sam for the next few years by<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/yoursecretadmiral/3105305898/sizes/z/in/photostream/"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"> Your Secret Admiral</span></a>, through <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/2.0/"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">creative commons</span></a>. Want some felt facial hair of your own? Hop over <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/imadeyouabeard?ref=pr_profile"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">here</span></a>!Rebecca Ramseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14851717214205302476noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272729178612778511.post-7371095455995865282010-11-05T09:15:00.001-04:002010-11-05T09:19:27.362-04:00Mercy, Not Religion<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/cdm/35919132/sizes/o/in/photostream/"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 279px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIG4rDGEYJkcAPe0x08kEN73rxt3NfNVnzcVXTcPG16Q-oXh6q9nPtkX-Zu795Qulx9XXwbqGnsc3-bCtNzE-0hp1JQVyBI9WAiJULnxKGcnFo-aO53wyziSsBYXtAMbutYaK0r8joiAs/s400/35919132_e5c0a661ad_o.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536052347991318130" border="0" /></a><br /><img src="file:///C:/Users/Family/AppData/Local/Temp/moz-screenshot.png" alt="" />I love my church.<br />I love that we come close to God there, led by women and men and children.<br />I love that we are family, that there are many folks there who remember the days when Todd and I stood at the front of the sanctuary amongst the other new parents, dedicating our squirmy babies to God.<br />That the congregation has helped us raise those squirmy babies, loving them through their fidgety stages, getting to know what's fun for them and what kind of people they want to be. Teaching my children by example about what it means to serve God.<br />I love that we welcome EVERYONE.<br />And I love that when my daughter was 15, she once said she wished everybody could be like the people at church.<br />I thank God for my church. Some days I wish I could dip my wand in the soap water and make a bubble around my church and live in it.<br /><br />But yesterday, the bubble burst. Again.<br />It's Matthew 9's fault. I've been studying the gospels, as told by The Message, a version that never ceases to make the Bible new to me, that presents the stories in a way that perks up my ears and has me scrambling for other translations, wondering if Jesus really said that.<br /><br />In the passage I was reading, Jesus was having supper at Matthew's (the tax collector's) house and was hanging out with all sorts of disreputable characters. The religious leaders had a fit,<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">and lit into Jesus' followers. "What kind of example is this from your Teacher, acting cozy with crooks and riffraff?"</span> <span style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">Jesus, overhearing, shot back, "Who needs a doctor: the healthy or the sick? Go figure out what this Scripture means: 'I'm after mercy, not religion.' I'm here to invite outsiders, not coddle insiders."</span><br />Matthew 9:11-13, The Message<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Mercy, not religion. </span><span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">I'm here to invite outsiders, not coddle insiders</span><span style="font-weight: bold;">.</span><br /><br />Wow.<br />That's direct.<br /><br />Do I ever ask to be coddled?<br />Do I waste time debating who are the real Christians and who is just a bunch of hot air or meanness, when I should be on the street, inviting outsiders to the table?<br />Do I get too wrapped up in the mechanics of church and organization when there's work to be done?<br />Mercy to be given.<br /><br />What is really important to God?<br />Jesus makes it clear.<br />MERCY.<br />INVITATION.<br /><br />It's just the reminder I needed.<br /><br />Have a wonder-full weekend, y'all! I'd love to hear your thoughts!<br />Love, Becky<br /><br />Photo by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/cdm/35919132/sizes/o/in/photostream/"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">darkmatter</span></a>, licensed through <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">creative commons</span></a>.Rebecca Ramseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14851717214205302476noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6272729178612778511.post-56093102362858998252010-11-03T09:30:00.000-04:002010-11-03T09:52:22.939-04:00Blooming Blendship<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijaxZMR6NUwK3ninjImqQnAeY9Cg6SBiW9ax1vm3WNhA1GtQZZgSCd8QKP73lhIj_8rtKKS8yCr8CiG8sUq0JAcnJUhIAWyFkS93zJGWhwvDfDVIRZZD-pgQ3N1fuh4i266uKN1G7M5SI/s1600/487117524_a0f37ad856_z.jpg"><img style="cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijaxZMR6NUwK3ninjImqQnAeY9Cg6SBiW9ax1vm3WNhA1GtQZZgSCd8QKP73lhIj_8rtKKS8yCr8CiG8sUq0JAcnJUhIAWyFkS93zJGWhwvDfDVIRZZD-pgQ3N1fuh4i266uKN1G7M5SI/s400/487117524_a0f37ad856_z.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5535291179361705282" border="0" /></a><br />We sat together at a little table in the coffee shop of a bookstore, practically strangers.<br />I liked her art and her heart for the homeless, and she liked a story I'd written, so we took a chance and met.<br />A year ago I might have worried if it might be awkward. If there might be long silent pauses, minds racing for something to say. But not now. Maybe it's the wild ride I seem to find myself on, but now when somebody new suddenly pops her head into my life, I press the brakes to my busyness to see what might happen next.<br />This time what happened was friendship!<br />We sat at the table, surrounded by books, and told our own stories, one after another.<br />I could feel friendship's tiny rosebuds sprouting between us, my roots shifting, making room for someone new.<br /><br />What a joy!<br />It amazes me that in the craziest of times, old friends appear, new friends materialize, and close day-by-day friends loop their arms through mine, letting me lean or hold tight or just feel their presence. You all are counted in that web of locked arms. Thank you!<br /><br />You know what your friendship reminds me of? Something I encountered on Monday.<br />Let me share the story.<br />Friday I got some scary news. Someone very near and dear to me discovered a lump in her breast. I went with her to the ultrasound Monday, and watched the nurse lead her to an examining table, take a blanket out of the warming drawer, and spread it over my dear one, wrapping her in its comforting heat. Within minutes we received the report that the lump was benign, nothing to worry about, and we nearly cried with relief.<br />I think of my friends and that blanket reappears. That's part of what friendship is. A comforting, protecting blanket of warmth when the world is scary, wrapping us close in the middle of it all.<br /><br />We told the story of Ruth with our fourth graders on Sunday. What a pleasure, that at the same time that I've felt carried along by my friends, I could share Ruth's story and celebrate friendship! I've always loved the story, the daughter and her mother in law caring for each other, clinging to each other, supporting each other. Sharing each other's stories, weaving their stories together. I love that friendship is another way of experiencing God and accomplishing God's work.<br /><br />I'm so thankful for you, my friends, and for God's gift of friendship!<br />Have a wonder-full Wednesday, y'all!<br /><br />Love, Becky<br /><br />Photo courtesy of <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/pensiero/487117524/sizes/z/in/set-434794/"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">Pensiero</span></a>, licensed through <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/2.0/"><span style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);">creative commons</span></a>Rebecca Ramseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14851717214205302476noreply@blogger.com12