tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34778641438546236922024-03-18T23:06:19.754-04:00November SoulJohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05924211847675823119noreply@blogger.comBlogger496125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3477864143854623692.post-40594203153645808222015-07-19T21:47:00.000-04:002015-07-19T21:47:12.064-04:00So SmallI held a tiny hummingbird in my hand today. Such a magnificent little jewel with a heartbeat. Addled by the impact of a glass door, no choice but to rest in my palm. This, only days after saving a baby bird from a culvert that it had managed to fall into; mama bird waiting overnight for her baby to be rescued by the strong hand of a man. She waited right by his side, trusting him. Knowing that he was there to help. <br />
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These fragile little creatures of wonder. With wings too weak to fly. <br />
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I just now got the message, Lord. <br />
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When my wings are too weak....... rest in the strong hands of the One who made us all, big and small. Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05924211847675823119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3477864143854623692.post-53820280198608486532015-03-14T23:04:00.000-04:002015-03-14T23:04:22.643-04:00Silent Snowall <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo5rT7eSPltO2daSx9FVlz7RsHFVHpzxpFGMUooC8ZPt8mhdsk8MGQ6MczMtlHZAn7VF6SH4Yb1rEK6L8O3pwap_fOXSP0cjULbo8qOwHC7GuAYU3-IPTaCv-0-h5Qki9167fheRJLjHY/s1600/snow+014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo5rT7eSPltO2daSx9FVlz7RsHFVHpzxpFGMUooC8ZPt8mhdsk8MGQ6MczMtlHZAn7VF6SH4Yb1rEK6L8O3pwap_fOXSP0cjULbo8qOwHC7GuAYU3-IPTaCv-0-h5Qki9167fheRJLjHY/s1600/snow+014.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK0WJTs6sRbEI0qnHPui9vRcon_na_nx5_jYzu0y5rm_fK2xWKaN3_umm_bGAJcssBbT_XUjYrfMipgozaK3TUlfb6-k2MI0lnu-0Ms1h6jph4LuFY2Ez-XpJl29Kj1CCNHb1_zMRS3oo/s1600/snow+012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK0WJTs6sRbEI0qnHPui9vRcon_na_nx5_jYzu0y5rm_fK2xWKaN3_umm_bGAJcssBbT_XUjYrfMipgozaK3TUlfb6-k2MI0lnu-0Ms1h6jph4LuFY2Ez-XpJl29Kj1CCNHb1_zMRS3oo/s1600/snow+012.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglJz8O6YqViYfdjff5tYAw0mDWYPbBFIPd5aolQNJnAyCjsyCFBnqK54Pw5v3Pv1saFalDQbXapN1wxcA9sPzz2HKI3jzpZlAebadSJY8HuMKhuJwCWoabQl6l6Igh4od4X9MqSpSUHt0/s1600/snow+009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglJz8O6YqViYfdjff5tYAw0mDWYPbBFIPd5aolQNJnAyCjsyCFBnqK54Pw5v3Pv1saFalDQbXapN1wxcA9sPzz2HKI3jzpZlAebadSJY8HuMKhuJwCWoabQl6l6Igh4od4X9MqSpSUHt0/s1600/snow+009.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
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The time has changed.</div>
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The promise of spring hangs in the air. </div>
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But before all of that...</div>
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there was winter. </div>
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And snow. </div>
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And the quiet that comes with it.</div>
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<br />Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05924211847675823119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3477864143854623692.post-4205058424270542852015-02-21T23:00:00.000-05:002015-02-21T23:00:12.297-05:00Feeding Your Pet<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj35e6W70vIRIu34a4va_6w1WedHfyBDutMxUY-CneOTBEtxvlz4SfRaXRU-Ct6biNEAj_jjuVz-G0sICKM3RgVw7HHbdAz8ToY6ukkH_810ZzYFNTRmCVqSjgCzEdyL9hSI71NdU43Atc/s1600/a7e0b8b6065277a36b0ec713f0c6205b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj35e6W70vIRIu34a4va_6w1WedHfyBDutMxUY-CneOTBEtxvlz4SfRaXRU-Ct6biNEAj_jjuVz-G0sICKM3RgVw7HHbdAz8ToY6ukkH_810ZzYFNTRmCVqSjgCzEdyL9hSI71NdU43Atc/s1600/a7e0b8b6065277a36b0ec713f0c6205b.jpg" height="640" width="464" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">from<a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/67131850670052020/"> here. </a></td></tr>
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Every one of us has a pet sin. Whether you believe it or not, it's true. <br />
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Some of our pets are like mice. We tell ourselves and everyone else that they aren't there. But they follow us around, eating the food we leave out for them and leaving droppings on the counter. Others have pet sins like horses. They house them, feed them, groom them, and give them plenty of room to run. But no matter how much they dress it up and comb it's mane, it's still sin. <br />
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The crazy thing about sin is that we can so clearly see the sins of others, as it they are parading them around town on a leash. However, we continue to ignore the sin that is running circles around our own feet. Matthew 7:3 says <i>"Why do you look at the speck in your brother's eye but don't notice the log in your own eye?" </i> Our sins are our pets. We feel very personally about them. But God calls us to be like Jesus Christ, and that means we are to strive for a sin free temple. <br />
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Oftentimes, as Christians, God will convict our hearts about our sin and we will try to turn against it. It reminds me of a stray cat that we let hang out around our house. At first we d<b>o</b>n't really want it around, but eventually we get used to it. Maybe we even get a little attached to it. One day the cat carries in some dead creature and the stench of it makes us sick, so we run the cat off. But as the days or weeks or months pass, we start missing that cat. So we leave the back door cracked open and we set out some food, waiting for an opportunity to pet the soft fur of that old sin again. Too many times we have a soft spot for our sin. We easily forget about the stench that comes with it. There is joy in sin for a season, but the stench of death will always come back eventually. <br />
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Don't make friends with your sins. Don't let them become your pets. <br />
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Dealing with our own sin is not a game of comparison. We are all guilty. <i> "For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God." Romans 3:23</i><br />
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I think a lot of times we like to hold our sins up to the sins of others and point out that ours are lesser. But that, of course, isn't true. Sin is sin. In the eyes of our Lord and Savior, all sin is condemnable. We justify our drinking habit by pointing out that at least we don't drink as much as so-and-so. Or we downplay our promiscuity by comparing our stats to those of another. It's always that log in our own eye. I don't think God looks at us and our sins like a pie graph, considering our general goodness in the light of the whole. God works on a personal level, closely examining each heart and the content thereof. <br />
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We are each responsible for our own sin and the only accurate way for us to gauge our own heart is to hold it up the the light of the Word of God. <b> </b><br />
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<b> Our standard should not be the world. </b></div>
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<b>It should be the Word. </b></div>
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<br />Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05924211847675823119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3477864143854623692.post-4395795957183766102015-01-05T15:56:00.000-05:002015-01-05T15:56:25.676-05:00The Invitation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-1qdici3QIMo2ygdB13jl9sorn-JqcVpadamGGlbt8uxtA6X_X7vMhkz91raMX5YpEB6mzMmCzTRYK65CGvFgm17CLUMSAN_tqjdueIKS1YaXKFMFfgeGPqTzrllDJz8-SNej7aBfxYU/s1600/dec14+002pm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-1qdici3QIMo2ygdB13jl9sorn-JqcVpadamGGlbt8uxtA6X_X7vMhkz91raMX5YpEB6mzMmCzTRYK65CGvFgm17CLUMSAN_tqjdueIKS1YaXKFMFfgeGPqTzrllDJz8-SNej7aBfxYU/s1600/dec14+002pm.jpg" height="400" width="217" /></a></div>
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Have you ever wondered why we decorate evergreen trees for Christmas? This was the question skipping through my mind as I sat staring at the glowing branches of my own tree two days after Christmas, trying to soak up the magic before dismantling the whole thing. </div>
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"How absurd," I thought to myself. "I have a<i> tree </i>in my living room. Why?" With a little research I found that there are as many stories about the origin of the Christmas tree as there are ways to decorate it. Several center around the thought that the evergreen branches represent the eternal nature of Christ and that the shape of the tree is like an arrow pointing to Heaven. As lovely as that is, it still doesn't explain why so many of us erect eight foot tall frasier firs inside our homes every year. It makes me chuckle. Just the thought of the things we do just because it's tradition. Cutting down a real, live tree and dragging it into my living room and then covering it with lights and ornaments? I laugh a little more every time I think about it. Dragging a fake tree out of storage and fluffing its branches seems even sillier, still. </div>
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As I sat entranced by Christmas lights, my thoughts flitted like a bird from one thing to the next. Why does the season seem so fleeting, even though the Christmas holiday starts to infiltrate everything as soon as Halloween is over? Why does it simultaneously feel like too much and yet, somehow, not enough? Why is everything on the menu filled with guilt and gluten? Why do people want to pretend that Christmas is not a religious holiday?...................................Why <i><b>do </b></i>people want to pretend that Christmas is not a religious holiday?</div>
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Pondering on this question, I am even more baffled than I was about the tree thing. Christmas is the celebration of the birth of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Hence the name <i>Christ</i>-mas. Yet some folks try like heck to eradicate Christ from Christmas. Why? You wouldn't have Christmas if it weren't for Christ. Denying that fact would be like another country adopting our celebration of July 4th and then insisting that it is politically incorrect to refer to it as Independence Day. <b>What?!?</b> Seriously? </div>
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Interestingly enough, I don't get angry about non-Christians celebrating Christmas. Instead, it makes me sad. They may revel in the glitz, the parties, the traditions, and the gifts, but they are missing out on the most important gift. The gift of salvation through the Son of God. And despite all the invitations they may receive through the holidays, they are refusing to open the greatest invitation. For that little baby Jesus was God's invitation to mankind to spend eternity with him, the God of the universe. Christ was sent to live a human life and die a sacrificial death in order for us to be redeemed. All we have to do is accept the invitation. God loves the people of this world so much that He didn't want to see a single one of us perish. So He invited us to come to him by sending his own son to pay for our sins. It seems a little absurd, doesn't it? That the God of everything wants a personal relationship with each of us. That the salvation of mankind would be born in a stable. Absurd, indeed. But glorious beyond our understanding. Beautiful, mysterious, miraculous. <i><span style="color: #cc0000;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Glorious. </span></b></span></i></div>
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Now I see that tree a little differently. Maybe it really is a reflection of Christ. My heart swells and my eyes blur with tears as I take in the beauty, the glory, and the mystery of the absurd. I feel fully content as I take down my tree, piece by piece, remembering that the gift of Christ doesn't get packed away with the ornaments. No. That gift stays in my heart eternally, for I have accepted the invitation. </div>
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<span style="color: #cc0000;"><i><b>Praise God for the invitation of Christmas.</b></i></span> Have you accepted it? The invitation still stands. </div>
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Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05924211847675823119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3477864143854623692.post-35396165379104366382014-12-16T21:07:00.000-05:002014-12-16T21:07:46.854-05:00Painted<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaSL1qMUfcwfrJtnjLiJqlEqWkn3IvmwC-6C_nDzjuxNK3VExkTDlcJNGreB9K-QBJO6Lj7Ptz9Goom80FXoL2ZDSbMYyz6yGG3DtwxEgHJtjNiDhZFcC0vzadcR9_mdFItCchQoulZ2U/s1600/121014+024pm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaSL1qMUfcwfrJtnjLiJqlEqWkn3IvmwC-6C_nDzjuxNK3VExkTDlcJNGreB9K-QBJO6Lj7Ptz9Goom80FXoL2ZDSbMYyz6yGG3DtwxEgHJtjNiDhZFcC0vzadcR9_mdFItCchQoulZ2U/s1600/121014+024pm.jpg" height="320" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdHzMQRG6bwRTJFvwqeMaKDHRk4Tu3SNUeMvrDLdDkOQrdCg8E6UruY8YIBfO9j1CnE9I8msDwrE64wnLkPJFNtyjEYPBCHUuvzm7YY9lqdH9VuLNDg6jc5WnIDffYfJU0piidoXUBKMs/s1600/121014+025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdHzMQRG6bwRTJFvwqeMaKDHRk4Tu3SNUeMvrDLdDkOQrdCg8E6UruY8YIBfO9j1CnE9I8msDwrE64wnLkPJFNtyjEYPBCHUuvzm7YY9lqdH9VuLNDg6jc5WnIDffYfJU0piidoXUBKMs/s1600/121014+025.JPG" height="400" width="313" /></a></div>
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A few weeks ago, I managed to have painted nails for a hot minute. Nevermind that it lasted only a few short days. Let this moment be documented. Let it also go on record that I have no idea how people tend to get such stunning photos of their own nails (and clothes, and hair, and everything else) on Pinterest. Do they have personal photographers? Do you know how weird it is to take a photo of your left hand with your right hand? <br />
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It's weird. <br />
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<br />Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05924211847675823119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3477864143854623692.post-85779222566150611682014-12-10T14:05:00.000-05:002014-12-10T14:05:07.767-05:00Hope<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr align="left"><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs7x8CKsH_tnJ0dv_r-LYY7BOpYHPAHoYbhqMc0nrikhbmRrLD_qg0M05HgUbDb4h7JyCVDbfITcikpEMpv67GZ1JrMgnlHaHICjFLCDK_JQtaA9386wYdtmTnQ6_ClC2vVm3e4HQ28fo/s1600/hope+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs7x8CKsH_tnJ0dv_r-LYY7BOpYHPAHoYbhqMc0nrikhbmRrLD_qg0M05HgUbDb4h7JyCVDbfITcikpEMpv67GZ1JrMgnlHaHICjFLCDK_JQtaA9386wYdtmTnQ6_ClC2vVm3e4HQ28fo/s1600/hope+2.jpg" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">photo by Miz. November</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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When I say that life has been challenging the past few years, I mean it. Income has been increasingly scarce. Depression has been increasingly heavy. My health has been increasingly perplexing. Life has been increasingly confusing. </div>
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But I also realize that my problems are pretty shallow in comparison to the problems that others face on a daily basis. Though I am never sure where my next paycheck will come from, or even if I will have one, I have yet to go hungry. Though I research continuously to find a cure for my depression and fatigue, I am not in the hospital fighting for my life. Nor are any of my loved ones. Though I seem to never know what my next step in life should be, I am fully aware that my hope is in the Lord and He will guide me even when I don't see or hear him. </div>
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It's time to get real with you. </div>
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I am a Christian, although I hate to even proclaim that because to be a Christian is to be "like Christ", and I fall miserably short of that description. A little over a year ago, the Lord started working in my heart. That's a very nice way of putting it. It was more like the Lord smacked me on the back of the head and asked me just what on His green earth I thought I was doing. That, my friends, is called chastisement. It's God's way of keeping His children in line. And I had been ignoring it for far too long. </div>
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But when the Holy Spirit becomes so heavy inside of you that you can no longer ignore it's presence, things change. Specifically, my heart. </div>
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As a child of God I know that every good gift and every perfect gift comes from Him. Anything good that I have in my life is only because my heavenly Father has allowed me to have it. Because God loves every single one of His children, he wants to see them blessed and fulfilled. We are the ones who get in the way of our own blessings. But God sees the big picture and we don't. He sees what we really need, not what looks like it would be nice. Many times God will ask us to step out in faith and put all of our trust in Him, no holds barred, so He can show us just how good he is. </div>
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Although I had been a born again Christian since middle school, it wasn't until last fall that I finally laid everything at my Savior's feet and relinquished control. I begged to know my Father on a deeper level. I asked over and over for discernment and direction. And now I can say that I truly desire God's will for my life over my own. Why, you ask? Because pursuing my own will has only led to heartache and hopelessness. It took me all these years to finally realize that my way was the wrong way. </div>
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Fast forward to this year and my life looks very much like a demolition site. </div>
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I have no job. I'm getting by on very little. My eyes are dark and body feels frail. My mental and emotion state is desperate. Everything else in my life is in a holding pattern. No movement. No progress. To the unbeliever, this wasteland looks like misplaced faith on my part. But to those who know the Lord, this empty lot looks like the perfect construction site. </div>
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I am the embodiment of Romans 5: 3-5.</div>
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All my false hopes have been stripped away. My tribulations are building patience in me. And this patience will be the foundation for experience. And that experience will be the very thing that makes my hope real. You see, hope doesn't come from putting your trust in the things that you can touch. It's easy to believe in the things that you can see with your own eyes. It's only when you put your trust in the things that cannot be seen or touched that true hope is born. I have no hope in this broken world. Every shred of hope that I have is in the hands of the Savior who died for me on a cross two thousand years ago. And no matter how long my tribulations last, I can glorify in them knowing that God promised that my hope would not make me a fool. Hope will not make me ashamed. He promised that he will not leave me nor forsake me. He will finish the work that he started in me. This construction site will not be abandoned. He promised. </div>
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And God never breaks his promises. </div>
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Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05924211847675823119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3477864143854623692.post-85348662467798756102014-11-29T20:58:00.000-05:002014-11-29T20:58:50.104-05:00Worn<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM1uxwHemY3_SiS6wyzX8EJbtYCQauK7CJcwrzl4Z88wvjjEi6bIAEiTwoGa2UqV0v0oWu820h3SCpw1aZ0bjf4asoh7in-f-JdxF_4rXS1TpHk1-Wv67rP3dqSZbwkDVDXkbGROevJ3k/s1600/ca998a7ea5bafccde7bf53b9503abb65.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM1uxwHemY3_SiS6wyzX8EJbtYCQauK7CJcwrzl4Z88wvjjEi6bIAEiTwoGa2UqV0v0oWu820h3SCpw1aZ0bjf4asoh7in-f-JdxF_4rXS1TpHk1-Wv67rP3dqSZbwkDVDXkbGROevJ3k/s1600/ca998a7ea5bafccde7bf53b9503abb65.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">from<a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/128915608059429991/"> here. </a></td></tr>
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And this pretty much sums it all up lately.<br />
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<br />Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05924211847675823119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3477864143854623692.post-753128779213989142014-11-10T08:30:00.000-05:002014-11-10T08:30:11.989-05:00November<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD3QkNIlCmCh6_TOMyZ7W4i5vS2GQnsRCpF0LiHqlpmHCIz8X_geirAKDODjKfdUCESO4rFr1t7__O7kKvZG-Xmu4iV_n6CzPfbZDc1-vpzQzanZrWQRSGgjd-IH4xspXhWQzFWatdSkk/s1600/nov14+033.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD3QkNIlCmCh6_TOMyZ7W4i5vS2GQnsRCpF0LiHqlpmHCIz8X_geirAKDODjKfdUCESO4rFr1t7__O7kKvZG-Xmu4iV_n6CzPfbZDc1-vpzQzanZrWQRSGgjd-IH4xspXhWQzFWatdSkk/s1600/nov14+033.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVrMYq86yWZsQE0muDwvU0d_mft1AsaeVUHvbPlEqL4NG5Gq_DmwmPcLuKVu5YoNEQzk-ceyfmWK-2wRu38PTJzS_mtL12DC3TonZR2msy0KP1NOOfl96kvbEezZFbP-Z6NG7A9S5I87o/s1600/nov14+052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVrMYq86yWZsQE0muDwvU0d_mft1AsaeVUHvbPlEqL4NG5Gq_DmwmPcLuKVu5YoNEQzk-ceyfmWK-2wRu38PTJzS_mtL12DC3TonZR2msy0KP1NOOfl96kvbEezZFbP-Z6NG7A9S5I87o/s1600/nov14+052.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgba7Ob3yfuCrA9BSwDO9iJXz6GE3vDhWImGkY-EU3yExMsalWSS4oN90HSP6Met8E3eFJ7NxI0RbKuB_J6CFI5LFY17N82P3cy2pLI8pEXMAZtj1YiJZhue8lgp1jN5fwfL1UVpwJpR7k/s1600/nov14+055.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgba7Ob3yfuCrA9BSwDO9iJXz6GE3vDhWImGkY-EU3yExMsalWSS4oN90HSP6Met8E3eFJ7NxI0RbKuB_J6CFI5LFY17N82P3cy2pLI8pEXMAZtj1YiJZhue8lgp1jN5fwfL1UVpwJpR7k/s1600/nov14+055.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">all pics my own</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
By now most of the leaves have given up the fight and let go of their branches. Although they are no longer a fiery orange, the muted blanket of tan, burgundy, and coral pink leaves looks quite beautiful under my maple tree. With multiple heat sources humming throughout the house, I cringe at the thought of the upcoming winter season. I can handle nights in the thirties and days in the fifties. It's when night and day have no distinguishable temperature difference that makes me desperate.<br />
<br />
My mood matches the season. It always does in the fall. So many things to say and no words to say them. Thoughts and emotions and memories swirl in my head like the leaves on the ground. Then they seem to settle in my heart and get wet and heavy. There they lie, like leaves in the gutter, waiting to be dug out and dealt with. But who knows when that will happen, or even how it will happen. Sometimes I will single out one of those thoughts, emotions, or memories like a particularly intriguing yellow leaf that begs closer inspection. I'll hold it up to the light and examine its veins and spots, smile at its beauty and melancholy and then drop it back into the pile in my heart.<br />
<br />
Things are always changing around here. Life is in constant flux. Sometimes I wish things would slow down. Sometimes I wish they would hurry up. I think too much about things that I have no control over. I busy myself with the things that I do seem to have a tiny semblance of control over. And I pray that my heart finds rest somewhere in between those two places. <br />
<br />
This is the pensive nature of this month. My month. November. <br />
<br />
Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05924211847675823119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3477864143854623692.post-20084232028604598822014-10-01T21:35:00.001-04:002014-10-01T21:35:43.630-04:00Hurricane<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi58Ew1Ne2gOrpyZoj9mjDgF4IKmAFzXuJmn49kx23YFDXTG5D7A7LmIo6flpJScR27theAmE-c-TgN_xHTo65n88HJW2kTApmVb3rEKesTCUKWtppQTYTIbgSwLi8oyIcvsDu4RvKlV20/s1600/tumblr_n6nnxbs0cx1qa11wdo1_1280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi58Ew1Ne2gOrpyZoj9mjDgF4IKmAFzXuJmn49kx23YFDXTG5D7A7LmIo6flpJScR27theAmE-c-TgN_xHTo65n88HJW2kTApmVb3rEKesTCUKWtppQTYTIbgSwLi8oyIcvsDu4RvKlV20/s1600/tumblr_n6nnxbs0cx1qa11wdo1_1280.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.crushculdesac.tumblr.com/post/98898023699/theantiquated-the-fresh-exchange">from......</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
She was all stardust and tears. A magic spell that was broken. A loner in the midst of a shoulder to shoulder crowd. She was a song that no one knew the words to although they could remember the melody in the back of their mind. <br />
<br />
But she didn't want to be the melody. She wanted to be the words. She didn't want to be just the dream. She wanted to be the reality. She didn't want to haunt the halls of someones heart. She wanted to live in their soul. <br />
<br />
So her smile fell hard on blind eyes. Unspoken words echoed in her ears. Her heart rattled loudly in an empty ribcage. Prayers floated around her head like promising rain clouds carrying droplets of hope; faith waiting to be made manifest.<br />
<br />
She was not to be made a fool. The sea inside of her would not be contained forever. From a distance she could see it. She could see the hurricane that she would unleash, changing everything in its path. <br />
<br />
<br />Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05924211847675823119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3477864143854623692.post-31883486150468083922014-09-12T23:00:00.000-04:002014-09-12T23:00:46.444-04:00Come Back<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiip3GHfihc9FCPZADnCd8i579obuPGQpHACv3i0vmguXOk_hqXMlXtIMdZnT495BUW82g8Nso5iuI_Ydw5Ppqk9AkScv_SOLSWj2UBp9rAh2V0YTNVBASkdhAvELl4L3aknr3CGuct6U/s1600/beach+033.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiip3GHfihc9FCPZADnCd8i579obuPGQpHACv3i0vmguXOk_hqXMlXtIMdZnT495BUW82g8Nso5iuI_Ydw5Ppqk9AkScv_SOLSWj2UBp9rAh2V0YTNVBASkdhAvELl4L3aknr3CGuct6U/s1600/beach+033.JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
<br />
I miss blogging. <br />
I miss bloggers. <br />
Why did we all stop blogging? <br />
<br />
Of the long list in my Spots of Sunshine lineup, there are now only about four blogs that post on a semi-regular basis. <br />
<br />
I know that we haven't run out of things to talk about or thoughts to share. Yet, there is no one here.<br />
<br />
Blogging has been replaced with the short, spastic world of tweets. Pinterest has given us Attention Deficit Disorder. Facebook has put up the false front of being "social", while the people using it forget what being social is all about. <br />
<br />
I miss the connection that blogging brought. The sense of community and conversation. I admit that I often felt like the conversation was quite one sided. But my blog friends always showed up when it counted. They were always there to offer a word of encouragement. To make me laugh. To brighten my day. Or to offer insight. <br />
<br />
I loved the circle of bloggers that I once counted as my friends. I wonder about what has happened in their lives. What are they doing? Where are they? And why aren't they here? <br />
<br />
Many times over the past year I have signed in to my blog account and looked around at an empty room, like a party that no one showed up for. The thoughts in my head that were bound for a post got dropped like a joke that you forgot the punchline to. <br />
<br />
I quit blogging, too. <br />
<br />
But I miss it. It felt real. Maybe it can again. Maybe there is hope in the old-school. Maybe someone else out there is getting tired of the impersonal blurbs and constant flux of new things to keep up with on the internet. Maybe we could blog again. <br />
<br />
Come back?<br />
<br />
<br />Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05924211847675823119noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3477864143854623692.post-66122678825217632182014-08-23T10:56:00.000-04:002014-08-23T10:56:34.545-04:00Real Time<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKXfPOZWhd0vmWmEhpWgAHnIIzr04gLeIMkm8dq1BlhdYcRfhFljTUQvW4tcm6jBNOe7AbplQyEc483coktYo8i_-B-4VmIgTTYRi84oyoQ80Hu-V93K4LcKhrXd7WyusekR_z0ZviDlk/s1600/beach+047.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKXfPOZWhd0vmWmEhpWgAHnIIzr04gLeIMkm8dq1BlhdYcRfhFljTUQvW4tcm6jBNOe7AbplQyEc483coktYo8i_-B-4VmIgTTYRi84oyoQ80Hu-V93K4LcKhrXd7WyusekR_z0ZviDlk/s1600/beach+047.JPG" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Five years came and went without the blessing of seeing the ocean. Five years without hardly leaving the mountains. My heart ached for it like a long lost love. I even had dreams about it often and woke up homesick for a place that isn't even my home. But this year we went. The plans did not fall beautifully into place. The extra money did not magically present itself. It was a messy execution with too many plot twists to even discuss. Besides, that would subtract from the glory of it. The important thing is that I got to spend a week in my favorite home away from home.....Holden Beach, NC. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbNL4Nv00JfwQG0b46kUDoH0j8Fuv38HSMBEx2xDae37rHkbAvTUiZouns-IW96VJ-628pqqr7fKd9qIqLKkXKtYb-LTZL_uxNRJ9dRLO0M-YkJhOkjWY4dUzWKmUcw9RwbIIkfY_VXmI/s1600/jo+005pm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbNL4Nv00JfwQG0b46kUDoH0j8Fuv38HSMBEx2xDae37rHkbAvTUiZouns-IW96VJ-628pqqr7fKd9qIqLKkXKtYb-LTZL_uxNRJ9dRLO0M-YkJhOkjWY4dUzWKmUcw9RwbIIkfY_VXmI/s1600/jo+005pm.jpg" height="400" width="330" /></a></div>
<br />
Apart from an unexpected beach trip, life clicks along uneventfully. These days are hard and they are humbling. They are a fair mix of joy and pain. Love and depression. Learning and changing. I would like to think that I have been changing for the better. Meeting myself daily and listening to what God has to say about who I really am. The ego has decreased bit by bit. I'm tired of doing things unnaturally. So I no longer fix my hair. I let it do its wild unpredictable thing. I let it grow. Who knows how long that will last, but I'm enjoying it now. I got rid of all but a select few pairs of heels in my closet. What's the point in having my feet hurt? I gotta stand on these babies for the rest of my life, hopefully, so I don't want to destroy them in the attempt to look "hot". Age inappropriate clothing is out the door, along with the too tight and the too low and the too constricting. It's time to breathe easy. It's time to not have to constantly check what I am wearing. It's time to be real. <br />
<br />
<br />
And maybe it's time to blog again. Just maybe. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05924211847675823119noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3477864143854623692.post-66987843633664548532014-04-08T08:40:00.001-04:002014-04-08T08:40:57.268-04:00A Love Letter<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #e06666;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Dear Lord, </span></i></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #e06666;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #e06666;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> I got the love letter you sent me. How blessed I am to have a love like you!</span></i></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #e06666;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> The warm air in my lungs was the sweetest kiss. Your intoxicating scent of new life pushing through damp soil still lingers in my nose like rain in the distance. I adore your smell, so refreshing and calm. </span></i></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #e06666;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> The blanket of green was such a heavenly embrace. I feel your hug each time I glance outside. And the whispers of the frilly blossoms tickled my ears like words of adoration from the one I love. The pink ones are my favorite! So delicate is their beauty, as if one touch would disturb their fragile balance and send them into a flurry. </span></i></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #e06666;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> I heard that you have been professing your undying love for me! I heard it in the songs of the birds and in the babbling of the creek. It's true, isn't it? I know you love me endlessly. Why else would you stay up late to serenade me with the sound of peep frogs at night?</span></i></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #e06666;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Oh, thank you! thank you! thank you! my love, for sending me the sweetest love letter called Spring! I will read it every day and wonder in your love for me. </span></i></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #e06666;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> With all My Heart,</span></i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #e06666;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Your Beloved</span></i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #e06666;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></i></span></span>
<span style="color: #e06666;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br /></span></i></span>
<span style="color: #e06666;"><i><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></i></span><br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></i>Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05924211847675823119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3477864143854623692.post-3475597835872049962014-02-28T21:48:00.001-05:002014-02-28T21:48:25.191-05:00Making Things<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc_1FJrz8-Srdb5APsdZBQie48ksdFCJOpy_Z_K46muW0lqBJVFyQbli-I4E8Db3RI4siyTZnfXYU5__kg5E1ZgjMmv___M4gCd5vovKSPRZmLyl9UPAU8utbUzp2NOtSevIal6Qi9_fM/s1600/me+005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc_1FJrz8-Srdb5APsdZBQie48ksdFCJOpy_Z_K46muW0lqBJVFyQbli-I4E8Db3RI4siyTZnfXYU5__kg5E1ZgjMmv___M4gCd5vovKSPRZmLyl9UPAU8utbUzp2NOtSevIal6Qi9_fM/s1600/me+005.JPG" height="400" width="337" /></a></div>
<br />
I have a real problem with starting projects and then letting them sit and ferment while I forget all about them. The one thing that will spur me on to finishing is if I want to wear my project (or hang it on the wall, or give it as a gift). Such was the case with this necklace/body harness. <br />
<br />
The materials were gathered and the plan drawn, but nothing was being done about it. Until last weekend, when I wanted to wear it, finally. So I finished it. <br />
<br />
The waitress told me that she really liked my shirt. So.....either she's into classic white button downs.....or she didn't know what the heck I was wearing. Either way, she really liked <i>something</i> I was wearing. Win. ;)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05924211847675823119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3477864143854623692.post-83429713100053161792014-02-24T08:25:00.000-05:002014-02-24T08:25:08.761-05:00Learning Curve<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGGpKsyugpMe6DOoW6x7vJuBnx56bgAbuT73u_gZ8rYIXMKIwrstnTC9zpz69-BtCrTcR_Cl7e_YuB5oQGtCVebyZWLKBJrlTWIGWJsK1wLLLjFGcrR0IxfU1k9EtU281_O0AkSBnZimI/s1600/me+007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGGpKsyugpMe6DOoW6x7vJuBnx56bgAbuT73u_gZ8rYIXMKIwrstnTC9zpz69-BtCrTcR_Cl7e_YuB5oQGtCVebyZWLKBJrlTWIGWJsK1wLLLjFGcrR0IxfU1k9EtU281_O0AkSBnZimI/s1600/me+007.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
2012 was the year of upheaval. 2013 was mostly spent just trying to hold on while the earth kept spinning. But 2014 is shaping up to be the year of self realization. Quite possibly a year of tearing down and rebuilding.<br />
<br />
Why should it take so long to actually learn who we really are? Or am I the only one who, at 33, feels like I am finally figuring out that I am not at all the person that I have been pretending to be for all these years? It's like there is a huge disconnect between the person I was designed to be and the person that I have been trying to be for so long. The Lord seems to be washing my eyes of all the disillusionment that is this life.<br />
<br />
Of course, I understand that we are always learning. Always changing. That is how life works. I remember my ex boss from my last job telling me one time that what you think is an integral part of your life and who you are at this point will not even be important to you in the future. I knew, of course, that he was right. But part of me didn't want to believe him. It just seems like we should know ourselves better than that. <br />
<br />
When was the last time you really thought about what makes you "tick"? What makes you "you"? What are you really passionate about? I believe these are the things that shape who we are supposed to be in this life. There is a deeper reason for everything that makes us "us". <br />
<br />
I want to find out what those reasons are. I want to know what I am supposed to be doing with this life of mine. I want to know what God's plan for me is. I want<i> more</i>. I want more joy, more purpose, more fulfillment, more creativity. <br />
<br />
~I want to become the person I was meant to be.~ <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05924211847675823119noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3477864143854623692.post-59538282806647475722013-11-28T11:05:00.001-05:002013-11-28T11:05:46.407-05:00Shop Sale<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipcBUwUUPqq0U0uOgNJmVb-NUFszjqy2VE-yiuyz3T31U8YW4T5WrEJ2URyQNqUWwMcOzfPCfesj58MjaBHKN3NEUJI08_ut6r0GgVIVRIOL1psyRKi74ocKLtcdg6W3DKh6dX3e09yHw/s1600/banner.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="52" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipcBUwUUPqq0U0uOgNJmVb-NUFszjqy2VE-yiuyz3T31U8YW4T5WrEJ2URyQNqUWwMcOzfPCfesj58MjaBHKN3NEUJI08_ut6r0GgVIVRIOL1psyRKi74ocKLtcdg6W3DKh6dX3e09yHw/s400/banner.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
I thought it was about time for a little sale in the <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/miznovember/" target="_blank">Miz.November </a>shop. If you only knew how many things I have stockpiled in my workroom, just waiting to be photographed and listed. It's ridiculous. But there are plenty of older items that need to find good homes first. Lots of stocking-stuffer-size art. Several bags. <br />
<br />
It's the perfect time of year to stay home and shop online. Coupon code STAYHOME20 will get you 20% off your order through December 2, 2013. <br />
<br />
Happy Thanksgiving! Spread the love. <br />
<br />
<br />Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05924211847675823119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3477864143854623692.post-69765477261788226762013-11-10T10:06:00.001-05:002013-11-10T10:06:38.083-05:00Advice to MenNever marry a woman that will not allow you to see her without makeup. <br />
<br />
I was just perusing the hair and makeup board on Pinterest and was overwhelmed at all the instructions on facial contouring. One can do amazing things with makeup. And, hey...who doesn't enjoy a new look every now and then? <br />
<br />
But beware of those ladies who never go out by the light of day without full war paint on. Chances are, she is probably lacking in some very important self esteem and confidence levels. <br />
<br />
Or there is the very real possibility that she does not, in fact, look like a Kardashian. <br />
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<br />Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05924211847675823119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3477864143854623692.post-73114245443388908692013-09-19T23:14:00.000-04:002013-09-19T23:15:26.804-04:00Newness<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje0Q20-pTGPiqFA2qpvEe6sxTQpDSPqVasuBaPGYHKYXxOMs6t5v1XWjBbD8BpGs7qpHJ1WO-zwPUraY4hrZDUe6zd2xwnqBRXSTqnaJWcSIc-nw8D38tHJ4IFfmd4sJ7KbEjVROq4SaU/s1600/sept13+022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje0Q20-pTGPiqFA2qpvEe6sxTQpDSPqVasuBaPGYHKYXxOMs6t5v1XWjBbD8BpGs7qpHJ1WO-zwPUraY4hrZDUe6zd2xwnqBRXSTqnaJWcSIc-nw8D38tHJ4IFfmd4sJ7KbEjVROq4SaU/s640/sept13+022.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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New jewelry is being added to<a href="http://www.etsy.com/shops/miznovember" target="_blank"> the shop. </a><br />
This one went in tonight and there are more in the works. <br />
And some collaboration pieces with exotic wood elements are on the way, too!<br />
Woo hoo. <br />
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<br />Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05924211847675823119noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3477864143854623692.post-28690958541356621172013-08-19T09:45:00.000-04:002013-08-19T09:45:57.395-04:00Seasons<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDftrLD6iCMHIrx-kADMYRWVoH-GLjmLG_2u7PUu0CLBu5xsAv5BD-tvvZ4mybf_c6gd_PTLoAtMxORjLcBy3YcpuWO64WJyv8j1KeAK8yt_zLcJw67THP1Ohdk-gRk5xmmtt4A0NE01s/s1600/62343bb8abe1e70bb6148914eb79b66c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDftrLD6iCMHIrx-kADMYRWVoH-GLjmLG_2u7PUu0CLBu5xsAv5BD-tvvZ4mybf_c6gd_PTLoAtMxORjLcBy3YcpuWO64WJyv8j1KeAK8yt_zLcJw67THP1Ohdk-gRk5xmmtt4A0NE01s/s640/62343bb8abe1e70bb6148914eb79b66c.jpg" width="413" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">from<a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/79516749643634259/" target="_blank"> here. </a></td></tr>
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I read the other day that the Chinese have five seasons. Aside from the regular four, they also count the end of summer as it's very own season. That suits me just fine, being that the transition from late summer to early fall is my favorite time of the year. <br />
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I wax poetic about it annually, citing the way the light changes and the dip in the temperature that makes wearing a hoodie the norm again. Late summer seems to have caught us by surprise here in the mountains this year. The local weather channel reported that there has only been one weekend without rain in our area since April! I haven't been swimming, nor have I even donned a bathing suit this year. And I can hardly even remember what the beach looks or feels like. I haven't seen the ocean in almost five years. <br />
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The last few years of my life have been a mess. The world seems to be just like this summers weather; dreary with little chance of sunshine. But I know that's just the pessimist in me talking. I know the transition is coming. I know there will be sunshine and beach trips and hopes and dreams fulfilled. I know there is good in this life. And so, I will keep trying. I will soak up any late summer sun that is left. I will smile at the cool breezes and the turning leaves. And just like China, I will count this time of year as a season in itself. Just like nature, I will consider it an invitation to turn inward for the coming winter and cultivate my soul for the time when it will bloom again. <br />
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~Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05924211847675823119noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3477864143854623692.post-33308441222812946972013-08-08T16:18:00.000-04:002013-08-08T16:18:03.037-04:00Smart Snacking ~ Chocolate Dipped ApricotsUnlike many people, I do not enjoy cooking. It is not relaxing to me. As a matter of fact, I only cook because I like to eat. Well, that and the fact that I would otherwise probably be kicked out of my family. That being said, I like simple food. If a recipe is long and elaborate I won't even give it any consideration. <br />
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I also like to eat healthy. It just makes me feel better. Simple as that. So I thought I would share with you what has become my easy staple snack this summer. Chocolate dipped dried apricots. <br />
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Dipping apricots in chocolate would have never crossed my mind, but my dad used to be a mail carrier and one of his customers sent some of these home with him one time. The process is so simple that a kid could do it, but the results are fantastically yummy. <br />
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First, you melt your chocolate in a microwavable bowl in the microwave (of course). The thought of melting chocolate was always sort of scary to me. I thought you had to do the whole double-boiler thing and be all careful. But I'm not that fancy. The microwave works just fine. <br />
I prefer Lindt chocolate (70% dark). It only takes three squares to dip an entire 6 ounce bag of dried apricots. (I use Sunsweet) I throw those three squares of Lindt chocolate in my bowl and stick it in the microwave for one minute. Don't let your chocolate get fully melted in the microwave. It works best to still have some solid chunks and then just stir it until its all smooth. That way you don't risk burning it. <br />
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You will need a non-stick surface to put your dipped apricots on. (I use tin foil.) Now all you do is swipe those golden nuggets of natural goodness into the chocolate and stick them in the fridge to set. <br />
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Voila! Now you have a naturally sweet snack waiting in your fridge. And healthy, too! Apricots are a good source of Vitamin A and Potassium. They also aid in digestion and have been reported to help maintain eyesight. (at least, that's what I've read about them. I'm not a nutritionist.) And I don't have to tell you the good news about dark chocolate, right? <br />
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Let me know if you try this snack yourself. I hope you like them as much as I do. <br />
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<br />Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05924211847675823119noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3477864143854623692.post-15253229723659186132013-07-23T09:45:00.000-04:002013-07-23T09:45:45.449-04:00Mostly Rainy <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0DoNpbTE-bGtGJwS7zjlioptkVgqiciqwQ_Zt5ojvtOL7bo7EcMgEmbhGjaE8FVAnlK5OjzkmZGwEkjqmJfFVzvWI3qyhfQU3kO_fujbmtb0SqQfYS1x02o7sdrVtOo1GOdCMvT-RUo4/s1600/july+012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0DoNpbTE-bGtGJwS7zjlioptkVgqiciqwQ_Zt5ojvtOL7bo7EcMgEmbhGjaE8FVAnlK5OjzkmZGwEkjqmJfFVzvWI3qyhfQU3kO_fujbmtb0SqQfYS1x02o7sdrVtOo1GOdCMvT-RUo4/s400/july+012.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Sunshine seems to be a very rare thing to see around here this summer. As a matter of fact, it started raining again five minutes after I took these pics. We broke a weather record. It's officially the rainiest summer for our area since 1905. It's raining as I type. And it flooded again last night. (third time, so far) Everything smells musty and wet. There are sinkholes all over the place. Trees uprooting everywhere. It's a mess. <br />
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On the upside, my clematis vine is blooming like crazy and I got to chill in my hammock for a full five minutes the other day. Awesome. <br />
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<br />Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05924211847675823119noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3477864143854623692.post-37568823522952918132013-06-26T16:44:00.001-04:002013-06-26T16:44:43.825-04:00Seeing Red<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Let me introduce you to my lilies. <br />
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They are quite a showy bunch. They love to be the center of attention. They happen to be very cheerful and smiley and seem to love to be in their own company. <br />
Oh, also, they multiply like rabbits. <br />
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When I moved into this house there was one lonely stalk standing in the middle of the place. That fall I dug that sucker up and divided the bulb. Fast forward a few years. <br />
Last fall, when the lilies died down, I dug up and divided the bulbs again (like I have every year). I filled two paper lunch bags with extra bulbs and gave them away. So this display that you are seeing is actually only <b><i>one third </i></b>of the bulbs that had produced in my flower bed! <br />
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They are currently only occupying this one section that you see in the first pic. But it is looking like the lilies are going to have to be thinned and spread over the entire flower bed. I have to say, I am quite proud of these showstoppers. They really are quite amazing and I just had to share them with you. <br />
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<br />Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05924211847675823119noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3477864143854623692.post-49751940138655681132013-06-05T22:52:00.000-04:002013-06-05T22:52:52.457-04:00Life is FunnyIt hasn't even been a week since my surgery and there is already a rumor going around this tiny town that I had a boob job. I think it's hilarious. Seriously. <i>That </i>rumor won't stand for very long. Haha. Nope. Still tiny as ever! <br />
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It honestly cracks me up that people out there heard that I had surgery and the only logical reason that they could possibly come up with is a boob job. What the bloody hell? <br />
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Life. It's funny. Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05924211847675823119noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3477864143854623692.post-63591622944770469122013-06-03T22:20:00.000-04:002013-06-03T22:20:44.614-04:00Just a Note<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWw2CfceJAr1_6agd9TQbrGTcyztPc3KRcy8spPJOiMrhYSDkV1HKxx6A0y-5aSjoP18WMr_nO7aTHeZI0XAmJC5kkLKXQQ7O3dtndI1cFEWcT0bpYLmoUKZVS_47-sjQTdeI1_KRq0kQ/s1600/june13+009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWw2CfceJAr1_6agd9TQbrGTcyztPc3KRcy8spPJOiMrhYSDkV1HKxx6A0y-5aSjoP18WMr_nO7aTHeZI0XAmJC5kkLKXQQ7O3dtndI1cFEWcT0bpYLmoUKZVS_47-sjQTdeI1_KRq0kQ/s400/june13+009.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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So, I made it through surgery without a hitch. I have a very bruised belly button and two more incisions to prove it. Unfortunately, I didn't get along so well with anesthesia and was in the hospital well past the expected time of departure.<br />
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For anyone wanting to know, I had laparoscopic surgury performed to find out why my girl parts are such bitches. Turns out, I had endometriosis and quite a bit of scar tissue stitching things together that should not have been stitched together. But my fabulous doctor lasered that shit out of there like a Jedi knight. Hopefully, life will be a lot more pleasant from now on. <br />
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I was greeted on my arrival home by cascades of pink blossoms on my rose bushes and two beautiful pink peonies blooming for the very first time. (those are my roses right up there.) Yay for spring!<br />
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<br />Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05924211847675823119noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3477864143854623692.post-61662511242402346782013-05-31T09:00:00.000-04:002013-05-31T09:00:07.490-04:00Friday Fantasy<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR7O8RI6KQIOV_1FryzpZ6ajfu5xNyR8kOO_i2xXMewsy4qov3No7VbowAlLwbV9uHcr19m3k_TFYiBbLEomuLgjy5ZEuG5PxBNpeiduXsl8zz__2E6lN1OugW0I4SZ9jrG4DZwfjJgaA/s1600/04346c4944376d8976a08f0a491451ab.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR7O8RI6KQIOV_1FryzpZ6ajfu5xNyR8kOO_i2xXMewsy4qov3No7VbowAlLwbV9uHcr19m3k_TFYiBbLEomuLgjy5ZEuG5PxBNpeiduXsl8zz__2E6lN1OugW0I4SZ9jrG4DZwfjJgaA/s640/04346c4944376d8976a08f0a491451ab.jpg" width="507" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">from <a href="http://www.elmueble.com/" target="_blank">here. </a></td></tr>
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If Blogger cooperates and decides to do what I ask, by the time you read this I will be getting ready to have surgery. Don't freak out. It's just minor surgery. But, still. I've never been put to sleep before and the thought of it makes me a little anxious. So, I've been trying not to think about it. <br />
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Hopefully, I will be back to (almost) normal in a few days, although maybe a little loopy from pain pills. When all is well I will be sure to give you an update. And if curiosity is just killing you, let's just say that we are doing a little bit of exploring to see what's up with my girl parts. <br />
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Say a little prayer for me if you will. And I'll see you all on the flip side. <br />
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XOXO ~ Jo<br />
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<br />Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05924211847675823119noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3477864143854623692.post-3720605835767948842013-05-28T21:26:00.000-04:002013-05-28T21:26:21.327-04:00Deep<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicbXCbeBRwYBQVhJvQMxiYr5b11hucH2ecaKEB89G9mSJ1dSzOP8GkBQKvsQSWyHrif6TvFg8BHdPn9cVySfHOtd2tAHlK5sZ98XrcEnHxrl_bk7_tnAuWWSqh2ArcTdANEqsYYCDVkaw/s1600/d43021e73a1105494f70dc171084f5b1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicbXCbeBRwYBQVhJvQMxiYr5b11hucH2ecaKEB89G9mSJ1dSzOP8GkBQKvsQSWyHrif6TvFg8BHdPn9cVySfHOtd2tAHlK5sZ98XrcEnHxrl_bk7_tnAuWWSqh2ArcTdANEqsYYCDVkaw/s640/d43021e73a1105494f70dc171084f5b1.jpg" width="484" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">from<a href="http://www.pinterest.com/pin/128915608054608276/" target="_blank"> here. </a></td></tr>
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Sitting here eating <a href="http://www.zumacookiecompany.com/" target="_blank">Zuma Gold </a>cookies fresh from the oven. My body has that weird floating and falling feeling that you get from riding roller coasters or playing in the ocean, except that mine is from being in a <a href="http://www.biljax.com/products/4527-a/" target="_blank">boom lift </a>all day painting. Listening to Angels by The xx and Bleeding Out by Imagine Dragons. I have an unusual urge to finger paint something yellow. Unfortunately, instead, I am paying bills and finishing laundry. My head is full and my heart is weak this evening. <br />
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I need something. Not sure what it is. <br />
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<br />Johttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05924211847675823119noreply@blogger.com1