tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11582587117170568502024-03-13T04:53:01.765-07:00Turning Left Into Oncoming TrafficYou can be patient for opportunities, but sometimes you just have to "gun it"!Barbara Burkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04228874452748830083noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1158258711717056850.post-62769091637429799902015-01-30T11:31:00.003-08:002017-10-11T09:37:52.190-07:00This Blog Has Been Temporarily Hijacked by Toxic Chemicals<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Alternate title: I Might Have Written Something Here That Was Entertaining If I Hadn't Contracted Breast Cancer</i></span></h4>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The third week of October, 2014. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I am visiting my daughter, grandson, and son-in-law in College Station, TX.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We are sitting around watching TV while Case is napping. It’s a show I probably never would've watched had the TV not already been tuned to this channel. However, the three of us were mesmerized by the story. This was not a sensational news event, a titillating drama, or a satirical comedy that usually sucks us in. It was a cancer documentary. <a href="http://www.eonline.com/news/589195/giuliana-rancic-shares-emotional-story-about-woman-battling-breast-cancer-insists-we-will-find-a-cure" target="_blank"> An interview with cancer survivors.</a> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After we watched Giuliana Rancic interview several women in broadcasting as they told their stories of cancer diagnosis and their fight to beat the disease, the question was asked me,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“Mom, do you have regular mammograms?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“No. I've never had one.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Dramatic Silence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b>“WHAAAAAT?”</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Cue justified defensive noises.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I wasn’t AGAINST them...it might hurt....always too busy to schedule it....etc. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I promised them that I would get one a</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And I meant it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When I got home I decided to give myself a cursory self-exam.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">BAM!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There it was. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A marble size knot. Not like the little marble that you can buy in bulk. But one of the bigger ones that you use to hit the smaller ones. But to me, it felt like a walnut. Or a golf ball. Or a bowling ball.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">What happened next in a nutshell:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Primary Care doc called.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Appointment made.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Exam done.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Mammo and Ultrasound scheduled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">First trip to Women’s Center.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Easy as Pie.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Radiologist schedules biopsy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Not quite as “pie- easy” but not bad.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“It’s cancer.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Surgical team called in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Lumpectomy performed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Margins clear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Nodes clear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Genomic Oncotype test performed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Wait....Wait....Wait.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Risk of Recurrence: 21%.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Chemo plus 40 radiation treatments recommended.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Decision made.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Hello....here we are.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Let me make one thing perfectly clear before we go any further:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I am not an expert on cancer survival.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I am not the voice of all breast cancer victims.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I am <i>concurrently</i>, NOT strong, and NOT a victim.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When something like this happens, your little shoulder angels flutter down and land. I have three. I will introduce them to you (by name):<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a href="http://s3.amazonaws.com/rapgenius/filepicker%2F2USHD3eQCCyi1QSIev8c_glinda.gif" target="_blank">Glinda</a>. The Good Angel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Glinda would tell me things like: “You are gonna sail right through this!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“You’re not going to need chemo!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“Women all over the world are made stronger by this.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I’ll call the more realistic one <a href="http://a.abcnews.com/images/WN/abc_diane_saywer_bio_dm_110412_wmain.jpg" target="_blank">Diane Sawyer</a>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Diane tells me, “This is going to require a lot of time off.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“You’re going to have to start doing some research.”<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"How many opinions are you going to get?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“You should've taken better care of yourself.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And then there’s the noisy one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://nyoobserver.files.wordpress.com/2014/08/483369037.jpg" target="_blank">Al Sharpton</a>. (You know....all angels aren't good ones...#rememberthefall)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Al is warning me that I’m going to be sick. I’m going to have to depend on people. I’m going to be bald. I’m going to have to start wearing pink tutus to breast cancer walkathons, and go to support meetings, and my poor frail mother is going to freak out and need me more than ever (which actually fits into any scenario) and my kids and husband are going to get tired of me being tired and that I don’t have enough sick days to cover this “illness” and treatment. AND I’M NOT GOING TO BE ABLE TO FLY TO TENNESSEE AND TEXAS TO VISIT MY GRANDBABIES.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Dangit, Al.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The very truth of the matter is that <b>all </b>of the angel voices were right....except the part about the tutus. But I’m living with it and learning from it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And my family.....<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My. family. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The truth about my family is that I have nurtured them and loved them enough. They have learned how to give back. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I have been given the gift of never having felt more love in my life. Not everyone gets that gift. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I am learning how to accept it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And my family is a lot larger than I originally imagined.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">You can feel sorry for me if you would like. You can pity my dehydrated mouth and throat, my chronic upset stomach, my pitiful supply of red blood cells as they fight for survival, my sleep deprivation and nausea, and even perhaps the loss of hair. But the ones who actually deserve the pity are the ones who have no family or friends to step up and help them through this. I cannot even imagine what it would be like to go through EVEN ONE DAY without a text or call or card or gift of support. People I don’t even know have prayed for me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><span style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; line-height: 21px; text-align: justify;">Consider it all joy, my brethren, when you encounter various trials, </span><span style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; line-height: 21px; text-align: justify;">knowing that the testing of your faith produces endurance. </span><span style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; line-height: 21px; text-align: justify;">And let endurance have </span><i style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; line-height: 21px; text-align: justify;">its</i><span style="background-color: #fdfeff; color: #001320; line-height: 21px; text-align: justify;"> perfect result, so that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing. James 1:2-4</span></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I’m not through this yet and I know there are many lessons to be learned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So <b>IF</b> I were to try and make a point prematurely, it might be this:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Don’t wait until you’re the person that needs help, only to find that you've never given it. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Y'all this is <b>not </b>the hardest thing I've ever been through.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This is <b>not </b>the worst thing I will ever live through.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This <b>will </b>be one of the best learning experiences I will ever have.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This <b>will </b>give me the best gift one could ever have in this life...strength, perspective, compassion and the value of family.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Don't hate me because I'm a cheesy cancer survivor. Hate me because I'm obnoxious as hell about it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Barb<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/AVvXsEgfRvT2Xtj2j2vli44TzbR_0isltCjCt6aTUbbjzNsnccBUAxFTU9sPW6tWOLvRiEHoR_nox4UCyOJBQWQOWVF4Fds8Q4ojaG3A9wmPbgVe5I4V_Z5NxuExvMjO2as44j85i1PBPcXAVho/s1600/IMG_3469.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfRvT2Xtj2j2vli44TzbR_0isltCjCt6aTUbbjzNsnccBUAxFTU9sPW6tWOLvRiEHoR_nox4UCyOJBQWQOWVF4Fds8Q4ojaG3A9wmPbgVe5I4V_Z5NxuExvMjO2as44j85i1PBPcXAVho/s1600/IMG_3469.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My first "outing" after coming out of the chemo cloud was to walk on the Pensacola Beach Fishing Pier.<br />
<span style="font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">#gooddecision</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">What has helped you through your battle with cancer and it's demon treatments?</span></div>
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Barbara Burkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04228874452748830083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1158258711717056850.post-41535550900567984382014-09-30T09:26:00.003-07:002015-11-24T10:35:11.335-08:00Red is the New Black It suddenly dawned on me the other day that I finally like myself.<br />
I could end this post here and be alright with it. (You, dear reader, would probably prefer that I did just that.)<br />
How did I come to this conclusion?<br />
Let's go back in time.<br />
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I wonder if you've ever been like me.<br />
And by "like me" I mean hard on others. <br />
It's the classic "low self esteem" residual effect when you attempt to feel better about yourself by minimizing others. I can spot it a mile away in other people.<br />
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"She's just unhappy."<br />
"She doesn't like herself."<br />
"She is crying out for validation."<br />
Etc.<br />
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Having low self esteem, a.k.a. not liking oneself/low self-worth is not an unusual trait. Actually, I suspect it is pretty common. Especially among women.<br />
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I grew up with a patient, loving, browbeaten genius of a father and an anxious, demanding mother. B+ wasn't good enough. I wasn't allowed to be a cheerleader or a Girl Scout because that would not further my career or social standing. I was allowed to take piano lessons and singing lessons because that would put me on stage at church. (My piano teacher of 7 years sorely wished I had taken up cheerleading instead.) Both of my parents were raised during the depression. My father thought everyone was poor and enjoyed his barefooted years to the hilt. My poor mother somehow knew there was another class of people out there beyond her South Georgia homestead and for 70 years, to this day, strives to be someone she isn't. (and doesn't need to be) Nothing was ever good enough.<br />
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Marry that part of my maternal genealogy with my hefty paternal genes and you get poor self esteem.<br />
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It's not like I didn't ever accomplish anything. I dated regularly, was in an exclusive singing ensemble in high school, had friends, clothes, good grades, etc. I was not disfigured or slow witted or particularly weird. (a little weird, yes.) As an adult I snagged a handsome husband, had amazing kids, made some good friends, threw fun parties, loved Jesus, and never got fired from a job. My friends and family thought me wonderful and supported me 100%. However, the chubby kid who was taller than every other kid in kindergarten and had a face full of acne in 10th grade couldn't come to terms with what it means to love herself. She couldn't, in turn, show acceptance to others.<br />
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As an adult, I found myself becoming critical of others. Especially those of you who were smart, beautiful, successful, and friendly.<br />
And whaddya know? Those were the very same attributes I found lacking in myself!<br />
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In seasons of spiritual growth, I would even pray for God to love others through me...to give me the power to love as He loved because I recognized in myself what I termed a "black heart". I would even joke about it with my husband. Luckily he saw more of my heart than was showing all those years.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidLzj8blLF7wZRc1OV4H4XQkOSFj8WjUiJ8yj4KeXfdv29cRHM5H5WD4d7uL0KD0ydeqwd__08_X8krjAFaWVWzCK5Tkt7Bqle2545-dtD5U6GNeTC7JBzSKX-G2snStOOlKaALyKzCX8/s1600/heart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidLzj8blLF7wZRc1OV4H4XQkOSFj8WjUiJ8yj4KeXfdv29cRHM5H5WD4d7uL0KD0ydeqwd__08_X8krjAFaWVWzCK5Tkt7Bqle2545-dtD5U6GNeTC7JBzSKX-G2snStOOlKaALyKzCX8/s1600/heart.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I'm tired of having a black heart. It's exhausting holding you to a higher standard than myself. It's destructive to belittle you just because you are amazing. I'd like to say I'm done with that but we both know that there will be days that I am not fully covered with God's armor and a fiery dart of disparagement will make it's way into my heart for a time.<br />
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This is how I know I like myself now. I am consistently seeing you for the exceptional person you are. God has allowed me to empathize with your pain and your struggles without judging you. Because you are stunningly beautiful, I am no longer envious, but appreciative of God's handiwork. I am also mature enough to realize that your beauty does not exempt you from suffering.<br />
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I can't pinpoint the exact moment I started liking myself because it was most likely a process that started when I went back to college after 30 years of feeling under-educated. That decision entailed sacrifice, neglect , and the painful realization that I should have done this way earlier because you absolutely cannot retain the information you receive at 50 the same way you can at 20. If you go back to school at 50 and major in visual arts and have no tattoos, you will not fit in. If you are a Christian you will not fit in. If you are sensitive to cricism, you will not fit in.<br />
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Stretching yourself = liking yourself.<br />
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If you see yourself in these words, I know how you feel. I know that you lay your head down on a troubled pillow at night . I know that you enter into a room full of people looking for an exit. I know that you have built a wall around your heart and to be transparent makes you feel nausated. I know that it's difficult for you to believe that you are loved.<br />
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As I wind up this post, I can honestly tell you that I love you.<br />
My prayer for you is that you allow yourself to love others. It's okay. It won't hurt.<br />
<i>People </i>may hurt you but the act of loving won't.<br />
And then <b>LIKE YOURSELF</b>. Because you're pretty d@#& awesome*.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBqxR7N3MMuJAmMfgbnRVRn5p_-HIFN5JIrLtzmvZ3v2axa5DxlZzESNhH0M_bdXqfpL_IGpIfhGFEZGfnBVP3XG4h2PebCjaVCeXEtHrV_C1lCz5RG1mf4f7uRCqeUuPjZU_0__KFo38/s1600/redheart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBqxR7N3MMuJAmMfgbnRVRn5p_-HIFN5JIrLtzmvZ3v2axa5DxlZzESNhH0M_bdXqfpL_IGpIfhGFEZGfnBVP3XG4h2PebCjaVCeXEtHrV_C1lCz5RG1mf4f7uRCqeUuPjZU_0__KFo38/s1600/redheart.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<br />
Here's my old black heart being filled with the blood of Christ who showed me the same grace he expects me to show others.<br />
<br />
( I'm so glad I went to art school and can draw beautiful metaphors like this.)<br />
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<br />
<br />
<br />
P.S.<br />
There may be a few readers who know me and are thinking, "She's still mean!" That may be true, but it's not because I don't like myself, it's probably because you've been a jerk to someone I love. I most certainly have not overcome that problem yet.<br />
<br />
*dang (what did you think I meant?) <br />
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<br />Barbara Burkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04228874452748830083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1158258711717056850.post-20964022369347443452014-07-29T07:53:00.000-07:002014-09-02T04:53:40.750-07:00The French Fries at the Bottom of the Bag<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Don't act like you don't stop at McDonald's for the occasional order of french fries. And that is because they are the:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
Best.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">French.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Fries.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ever.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
You know how you thoughtlessly munch on those hot sticks of salty manna and come to the bottom of the box and don't feel anymore in there? You immediately jerk to attention and start scooting your hand around the bag for more? And there at the bottom of the bag lies two more french fries. And you feel relief/exhilaration/victorious as if they are the golden ticket to Willy Wonka's factory. There's a scientific principle at work here. It is this:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
There will always be french fries at the bottom of the bag...even when you don't feel anymore left in the box.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
I experience this phenomenon on almost a daily basis.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4ZXh13thiu3dppj5rRUnHjv054NKnIqtWzV9xj-MLfiF5TKxjJ2cl6Wcak4FWMaLecsEFCNKpeIkG-kdcz1mqi8DcYdLP7iqFdtkdqV-Eg57-0_U0uIQLjguhqVsQTyWlKWLFGQr5Ac8/s1600/2014-07-26+15.17.56.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4ZXh13thiu3dppj5rRUnHjv054NKnIqtWzV9xj-MLfiF5TKxjJ2cl6Wcak4FWMaLecsEFCNKpeIkG-kdcz1mqi8DcYdLP7iqFdtkdqV-Eg57-0_U0uIQLjguhqVsQTyWlKWLFGQr5Ac8/s1600/2014-07-26+15.17.56.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This past weekend my most of my family gathered in Nashville for the celebration of Belle's first year with us. Belle, in case you don't know, is the most beautiful baby girl on this planet. My son's daughter. She's a sassy mix of rainbow and butterflies and jalapeno. It was a whirlwind weekend in which we were there not even 30 hours. Not even a day and a half.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
I'm not a good leaver.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
It's ALWAYS hard for me to say goodbye to one of my loved ones. (especially when there's a baby in the mix.) I am usually sad for an hour or two after we back out of the driveway. This time I was really down for some reason even though I knew we weren't going to be there long and I knew we wouldn't have much one on one time and I was totally prepared for it...just glad to be going to the party. The fact that I was also getting a migraine headache didn't help either. You know the kind that makes you throw up?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
So I'm laying on the foam mattress in the back of the van on the way home, waiting for my medicine to kick in, and this happens... I find the french fries at the bottom of the bag.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
A hand reaches over the back seat of the van and starts gently scratching my back and massaging my temples. Then a conversation ensues from the two persons in the back seat, one of whom is scratching my back.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
Bobby: "I'm picking my nose."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Grandaddy (from the front seat): "Bobby, don't pick your nose...you might stick your finger in your brain."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Bobby: "Mommy, can I die if I pick my nose?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Andrea: "No Bobby. You won't die. You can pick your nose if you need to. I don't care." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Bobby: "Mommy can I give oo a hug?"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ange: "Of course, baby!"</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Snippets of conversations between a mama and her three year old. Priceless.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTa6tq7UMDRyCVR8-HB9bIA4yYgU8r6UoPEKAVnRZPicbEzGDUIm9VEDyhUFRCf6GBr9u0RU8Zc9S46MotY45Sd6nI_VT2Wh-wlTq8MHYVOboz6VHU-TyeYm64C_MzFJw043D2ktHBTEE/s1600/2014-07-22+12.46.39-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTa6tq7UMDRyCVR8-HB9bIA4yYgU8r6UoPEKAVnRZPicbEzGDUIm9VEDyhUFRCf6GBr9u0RU8Zc9S46MotY45Sd6nI_VT2Wh-wlTq8MHYVOboz6VHU-TyeYm64C_MzFJw043D2ktHBTEE/s1600/2014-07-22+12.46.39-2.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I felt as if I was being given a special gift at that moment. A gift wrapped in blonde hair. Two kinds of blonde hair: spiky with dark roots and fuzzy like a duckling hair.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
Thank you God for the gifts you give. The ones that show up when the french fry box is empty.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO9ZdBb_Md7Ik5h2Hd5YijnVFoB3wQaLyN0hAVm5M9-CbxggCY7KF3JM8mlLqIb9rFvsexJnlMbywNg0cW4EwFRjQKopE6_HqgRkwF2zV5u8t6R3sWHtHcHTuZTGOs3_4tUeVUU9EWtDo/s1600/2014-07-25+12.41.46.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO9ZdBb_Md7Ik5h2Hd5YijnVFoB3wQaLyN0hAVm5M9-CbxggCY7KF3JM8mlLqIb9rFvsexJnlMbywNg0cW4EwFRjQKopE6_HqgRkwF2zV5u8t6R3sWHtHcHTuZTGOs3_4tUeVUU9EWtDo/s1600/2014-07-25+12.41.46.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #444444; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 21px;"><i>"I give you thanks, O LORD, with my whole heart…I bow down toward your holy temple and give thanks to your name for your steadfast love and your faithfulness, for you have exalted above all things your name and your word." Ps. 138:1-2</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Amen.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">P.S.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Happy Birthday, Karen. ♥</span>
<!-- Blogger automated replacement: "https://images-blogger-opensocial.googleusercontent.com/gadgets/proxy?url=http%3A%2F%2F2.bp.blogspot.com%2F-IqchnHdgBn4%2FU9ewD07dsPI%2FAAAAAAAAATU%2FKSmI7A6Kfq4%2Fs1600%2F2014-07-22%2B12.46.39-2.jpg&container=blogger&gadget=a&rewriteMime=image%2F*" with "https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTa6tq7UMDRyCVR8-HB9bIA4yYgU8r6UoPEKAVnRZPicbEzGDUIm9VEDyhUFRCf6GBr9u0RU8Zc9S46MotY45Sd6nI_VT2Wh-wlTq8MHYVOboz6VHU-TyeYm64C_MzFJw043D2ktHBTEE/s1600/2014-07-22+12.46.39-2.jpg" -->Barbara Burkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04228874452748830083noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1158258711717056850.post-22326487533572499752014-01-06T23:06:00.002-08:002014-01-14T16:30:12.252-08:00Six Reasons Not To Read Lists<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0mgp1RASCw8SIZtL6ALA_L2G25DhcnhJ5jz1NvurC2hyphenhyphenCCGOEEOl8LwCcKctyltMOtB9iveH7fLtfYIyLdvxwKdMAMCyl8-polqB8VejfSkhUqeW8rmj1vz3hke2rcslaLE43rtvV5DQ/s1600/Untitled-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0mgp1RASCw8SIZtL6ALA_L2G25DhcnhJ5jz1NvurC2hyphenhyphenCCGOEEOl8LwCcKctyltMOtB9iveH7fLtfYIyLdvxwKdMAMCyl8-polqB8VejfSkhUqeW8rmj1vz3hke2rcslaLE43rtvV5DQ/s1600/Untitled-2.jpg" width="378" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Tis the season for everyone to post and repost lists on
their social media pages. Not one to be left at the dock, I have decided to
make my own list of the reasons not to read lists.</span></span></div>
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<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Lists
aren’t special.</b> Who is the final expert on deciding <a href="http://listverse.com/2014/01/02/10-scientifically-proven-ways-to-become-a-happier-person/">10
Scientifically Proven Ways to Become a Better Person?</a> Why should I
read a list that suggests it is the final word on choosing the 10 best of
anything? Couldn’t Charles Manson publish a list like this? Howard Stern?
What about Justin Beiber? Would everyone read it and belieb it? (Don’t you
see why I had to do that?)</span></span></li>
</ol>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimO88R1ffGnh15UNOWn1o2rh7E2Aq4UOQsP3Nuab-INOnjRGZXz3ykT6oiIdRSNkXr_SFoY5PzPS7EIelpB9EJQKljFootJKFe-jr_vLb4Ef3HCATfRTi8QXAka1N4WzlFhz0FUpbuZD8/s1600/120613-fashion-and-beauty-jennifer-hudson-essence-magazine-cover-2013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimO88R1ffGnh15UNOWn1o2rh7E2Aq4UOQsP3Nuab-INOnjRGZXz3ykT6oiIdRSNkXr_SFoY5PzPS7EIelpB9EJQKljFootJKFe-jr_vLb4Ef3HCATfRTi8QXAka1N4WzlFhz0FUpbuZD8/s1600/120613-fashion-and-beauty-jennifer-hudson-essence-magazine-cover-2013.jpg" width="303" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">36 Ways to keep the faith! But reinvent your life after you keep that faith, because you could meet </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Iyanla Vanzant and have an amazing SEXY YOU YEAR. <span style="font-size: xx-small;">Keep that faith honey.</span></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEiymtpyqP3OimjWNuzNQEGVF_cDaEQYXMPCK3PBdUY8lQ2FtZpk4-yiq1tFN7CY-NcPZQ7zWMYsIVDFGeOOdSfUpSAF3iUPPRhXiYTY9Smh3BSrT81pVNc2RhEPA2v-biLhGU-DCZYZNuQ/s1600/october-cover-2012-ictcrop_300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiymtpyqP3OimjWNuzNQEGVF_cDaEQYXMPCK3PBdUY8lQ2FtZpk4-yiq1tFN7CY-NcPZQ7zWMYsIVDFGeOOdSfUpSAF3iUPPRhXiYTY9Smh3BSrT81pVNc2RhEPA2v-biLhGU-DCZYZNuQ/s1600/october-cover-2012-ictcrop_300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiymtpyqP3OimjWNuzNQEGVF_cDaEQYXMPCK3PBdUY8lQ2FtZpk4-yiq1tFN7CY-NcPZQ7zWMYsIVDFGeOOdSfUpSAF3iUPPRhXiYTY9Smh3BSrT81pVNc2RhEPA2v-biLhGU-DCZYZNuQ/s1600/october-cover-2012-ictcrop_300.jpg" width="335" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Don't even bother to read the 27 Instant Room Upgrades when you can skip down to the fine, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">naughty print at bottom right for five heinous habits you just must keep.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<ol start="2" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>How do you determine a true #1? </b>While I certainly do Google the
“best of” in categories like electronics, hotels, poison ivy remedies,
spaghetti squash recipes and baby products, I can find 38 different <i>first</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> choices for <i>“best domestic bed and breakfast
with a working chicken coop”</i>. This gives me cause to doubt exactly which
IS the best chicken coop at which to stay on my hard earned vacation.</span></span></span></li>
</ol>
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<br /></div>
<ol start="3" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">These
lists, whether online or in print, are basically <b>designed to sell
something</b> in the end. Have you read a list that did not have advertising
included? Just the other day, I accidentally clicked on <u>8 Ways to
Ensure Survival</u> and there in perky flash format were two Anime’
pixies, dancing and beckoning me to START GAME…which is just a
tantalizing way to get you to join a video game club. All the while a
Comcast ad is pulsating across the top of the screen. (BTW, the #2
way to ensure survival is to develop colonies on other
planets…in suspending floating cities or giant balloons…I’m
sharing this tidbit so you’ll be prepared in the end…and I won’t be in the
floating balloon by myself.)</span></span></li>
</ol>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;"> <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/AVvXsEi_n4xFaqY7s8KJGYXA_SYMwpb27xPDG2TszoOqBweExcxNM6y-SxwbzlR8cNJFouqYW7Hv6d-5JcUjA-z2Bc3ioGgyjSY5UkqfSksbO4ZAtS6Hk4bUUnRI_rtnXTYaIVDyyAInlciLARI/s1600/joan-smalls-covers-elle-january-2014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_n4xFaqY7s8KJGYXA_SYMwpb27xPDG2TszoOqBweExcxNM6y-SxwbzlR8cNJFouqYW7Hv6d-5JcUjA-z2Bc3ioGgyjSY5UkqfSksbO4ZAtS6Hk4bUUnRI_rtnXTYaIVDyyAInlciLARI/s1600/joan-smalls-covers-elle-january-2014.jpg" width="307" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">20 Bright Ideas to ReCharge your Body (and most would require you charging your credit card as well), </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">14 Favorite Beauty Products in the World! Do you know what this means? We are going to have to go down </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">to a gold mine in Guyana and dig us up some mineral rich soil that someone will somehow formulate into a </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">cappuccino colored silky cream with bits of rare cobra venom guaranteed to </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">paralyze your wrinkles </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">and scar</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">e t</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">hem from ever returning.</span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</span></span></div>
<ol start="4" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Nobody
has time to read all those lists.</b> The time it takes for us to read those lists, we could memorize something
useful. Like our children’s social security numbers, our license plate
number, or our password for iTunes so that we can download a grammar app.</span></span></li>
</ol>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<ol start="5" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Why do
people <b>assign an arbitrary number</b> to their lists? I’ll tell you why. (See above mag cover...14 Favorite Beauty Products in the World) If
they write, “The 30 Best….” or “The 25 Worst….” most people will not take
the time to read it. I say choose a number less than 10 so that it will be more tempting. And more than 5 so that you can act like you've done a little
research. The enumeration of lists is ridiculous. Yet I can’t seem to stop
doing it.</span></span></li>
</ol>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<ol start="6" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Reading
lists is not going to improve your life. </b></span></span><span style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Neither will reading a blog post for that matter. It may
entertain and even cause us to obnoxiously inject it upon our friends but
honestly, who has added depth or value to a conversation by quoting a list? How
can one possibly keep up with all the lists out there?</span></li>
</ol>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Because I am feeling benevolent, I am going to write my final list. The one that counts. The one that is unequivocally true. The one quoted from the ultimate source of knowledge and wisdom. The one that actually WILL add value and accomplishment and completion to your life.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Love God.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Love People.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">I did not make that up or arbitrarily decide to use two
statements. I did a little research. It’s right <a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew+22%3A36-40#en-NIV-23910&version=ESVUK">here</a>.
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">That’s pretty much the only list that matters to me. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">P.S.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-size: small;">Before you get indignant and return to me all of the lists I
have sent to you, publicly humiliating me, just know that I own up to having read and shared a good many lists. Including this one…and most every other blogpost I've written.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Barbara Burkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04228874452748830083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1158258711717056850.post-21136955122953845692013-10-01T13:36:00.002-07:002013-11-11T17:48:33.939-08:00Late to the Train....<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> You know how trends get started, right? A few of the cooler people start
saying/wearing/creating something that's a tad different than the normally
accepted style/technique and then an edgy magazine will utilize this new thing
in a few photographs, then a celebrity will start tweeting about it and then if
you're lucky, a rock star will pick it up.... voila! You've got a trend.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Let's talk about all the trends I missed...a few of these on
purpose:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<ol start="1" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">fingerless
gloves</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">parachute
pants</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">members
only jacket</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">stirrup
pants</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">swatch
watches</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">pogs
& pokemon</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">grunge
rock (Nirvana, Pearl jam)</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Converse
"Chucks"</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Twitter</span></li>
</ol>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ones i wish I'd missed:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<ol start="11" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">shoulder
pads</span></li>
</ol>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Very late to:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<ol start="12" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">cell
phone</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">call
waiting </span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Facebook</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">DVR</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">blue
nail polish</span></li>
</ol>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<ol start="17" style="margin-top: 0in;" type="1">
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Music:</span></li>
</ol>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My parents did not listen to music...ever. I can remember going to the record
section at Sears and not knowing what to get. I kept looking at Iron
Butterfly's In a Gadda Da Vida cover and trying to muster up the guts to buy it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .25in;">
<br /></div>
<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/AVvXsEh9HMnJqR6kig46ALgoqgPkJlZxjNUNp484w_y967zjAuLThyyCW_AWTEJgmVzumclIl_v9Qe3tapZx2ZPXLcI-2eaLj5Gh90wyLA4immhCww_vsECkLSofJJ1obLUlGoQG_pD7uVifjtA/s1600/ironbutterfly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9HMnJqR6kig46ALgoqgPkJlZxjNUNp484w_y967zjAuLThyyCW_AWTEJgmVzumclIl_v9Qe3tapZx2ZPXLcI-2eaLj5Gh90wyLA4immhCww_vsECkLSofJJ1obLUlGoQG_pD7uVifjtA/s200/ironbutterfly.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UIVe-rZBcm4" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: medium; text-align: start;">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UIVe-rZBcm4</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> So whenever I was fortunate enough to
be able to buy records, i would play them until the needle had to be replaced
on the turntable. Here is a short list of my first 45's:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sooner or Later - the Grass Roots</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Hey Jude - Beatles</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Eric Burdon and War - Spill the Wine (I have no idea how or
why I acquired this)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Lay Down - Melanie - Check out these lyrics:</span></li>
</ul>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"Lay down, lay down, lay it all down</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Let your white birds smile</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At the ones who stand and frown</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We were so close, there was no room</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We bled inside each other's wounds</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We all had caught the same disease</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And we all sang the songs of peace"</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> OMG! Totally typical 60's <st1:city>Woodstock</st1:city>
crap. My best friend and I couldn't understand what she was saying in the chorus. We thought it
was "Lay Down, Lay Down, Lay it all down, Let your white bird smile up, at
one plain and brown." </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">( I thought it was a racial slur.)</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm proud to say my musical tastes have improved.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But the saddest, most important thing I was late for:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b>GRACE</b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was in favor of receiving it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But giving it was different. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As I enter into the "middle ages", it has become easier for me to realize that
people do dumb, selfish things all of their lives because of human nature, lack of nurture, pride and stupidity. Knowing this releases me
from judgment. I used to unconsciously categorize people: "divorced",
"addict", "smoker", "unfaithful", "narrow-minded",
"backslider", "liberal", "lazy", "thief",
"psycho", etc. Now I intentionally try to see the whole person. I was
raised like many others, thinking a good Christian was always in the right. What the heck is a "good Christian" anyway? The only categories I want people to
put me in is "good mother", "supportive and loving wife",
"creative", "fun", and "full of God's grace". </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">People, Hop on Grace. Do not miss it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm sorry I was late giving grace, Lord. Thank you for
spillin</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">g your grace all over us with the intention that we pick it up and carry
it to someone else.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And thank you that grace is not a trend. Amen.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD_eFaNKwbBHbp_Tv12Kl7f3iqVCxM7u58pkIx2MTtlRhD9UZ-TZVjCteq1hmUGbqOfQyc-RbmWSQN_OW_k9V6C286ugSU3K2lGufn9_pDUOVmrYyS__d8Wp4eOtofD8z6Izeg2U8MkXw/s1600/bluetoenail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD_eFaNKwbBHbp_Tv12Kl7f3iqVCxM7u58pkIx2MTtlRhD9UZ-TZVjCteq1hmUGbqOfQyc-RbmWSQN_OW_k9V6C286ugSU3K2lGufn9_pDUOVmrYyS__d8Wp4eOtofD8z6Izeg2U8MkXw/s1600/bluetoenail.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"And God is able to make all grace abound to you, so
that having all sufficiency in all things at all times, you may abound in every
good work." 2 Cor. 9:8</span></i><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
<br />p.s.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In the interest of full disclosure, I think you should know that I still put people in the "psycho" category.<br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Barbara Burkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04228874452748830083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1158258711717056850.post-51390453885769337792013-07-29T13:02:00.001-07:002013-07-29T21:29:39.683-07:00The Worst Part of Growing Old<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">That title is strictly subjective. I'm sure if you asked 100 people over 50 what they hated most about growing old, you would get 100 different answers including these:</span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Losing hair</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Losing skin elasticity</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Age spots</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Poor eyesight</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Poor sleep quality</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Listening to your friends who are also getting old.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And all the other boring stuff .</span></li>
</ul>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Just peruse through "Prevention" magazine or "Readers Digest" and look at the ads. Ew.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirfLzFoOF9rWPyQpwpMt1RHNKPGM1mH_rSLfA-RX3gON7TmKEiah_DuVJ8yuELwaYc4sjgsJUd1l61iHe_A0pOIxs9_J5-gesRfdeNezuB7N5sV8OkC6UIjSBpVQj7JU4FI4ski5Ym4JI/s1600/prevention.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirfLzFoOF9rWPyQpwpMt1RHNKPGM1mH_rSLfA-RX3gON7TmKEiah_DuVJ8yuELwaYc4sjgsJUd1l61iHe_A0pOIxs9_J5-gesRfdeNezuB7N5sV8OkC6UIjSBpVQj7JU4FI4ski5Ym4JI/s320/prevention.jpg" width="226" /></a></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Today I am going to reveal to you, my faithful reader, what is the worst part of growing old for me.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<u><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Losing a parent.</span></u><br />
<u><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></u>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">We blame our parents for practically everything, at most every stage of life we travel through. Then they become old and unhealthy and have the same attitude as we did when we were 6 and that's how we have to treat them. No one is prepared for this. No matter how many well-meaning people try to tell you what it's like parenting your parents. We rarely step back and breath in the blessings and wisdom and naked, raw love that our parents show us. Until it's too late.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Last week my father died. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It was rather sudden. He lived in a nursing home and suffered with advanced Parkinson's disease. His mind was intact, however. More so than some people my age. But God decided it was time to bring Floyd into his elite circle. So we are learning to let him go. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Those of you who know me, know that I was a daddy's girl. Always was. I can remember one day having a horrible fight with my mother so I jumped on my bike and rode several miles across a 6 lane highway to my dad's office. I walked in and plopped down in his lap and just cried out my frustrations. I was 14...much too big for his lap. But he just listened and patted my back. I felt so much better then. We had an unspoken code between us. "You and Me Against The World" or something very melodramatic like that.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I have a baby granddaughter due this week. God seems to replace the old saints with new ones. Even though he won't get to hold her, he will get to see her every day now. Dad will like that. He loved my kids and their kids. I am so blessed beyond measure that Floyd Griffin was my father. I am not going to keep writing my feelings because this would get way too mushy and personal and you did not come here for that. What I will do is share with you what I learned from him. </span></div>
<div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">IMPORTANT THINGS I LEARNED FROM MY DAD.....</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">by Barbara Burks</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">How to hold hands.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I have been holding my dad's hand since my first memories of
him. He was a hand-holder and a patter. Even when I was a teenager I was never
embarrassed to be seen holding my father's soft hand. He had
"engineer" hands. Because all he did was draw schematics, hold a
solder gun, and read Popular Mechanics. My first-born is also a hand holder and
a patter. Bless her.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">How to shoot a gun.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I was about 6 years old when I received my first pistol
shooting lesson. He used to take my brother and I to the county dump and set up
targets for us with cans and bottles. If you want to make memories with your
kids...take them to the dump and empty a few rounds into someone's old
mattress. I believe that because of our exposure to both the fun AND dangers of
all guns, I was never tempted to play with his vast collection when he wasn't
around. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Patience.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Floyd Griffin was the most patient man on this earth. (He
HAD to be to raise me.) He never lost his cool, <b>was never rude to anyone</b>, and never raised his voice. Let me be
clear, I am not always like that...but he TAUGHT it to me, nonetheless.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">What to look for in a husband.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">First and foremost, my father never expected me to
"<i>look</i>" for a husband, thank goodness. My husband, Buddy, does not
quite share all of Floyd's qualities...his hands are not soft and he is not
quiet. But having Floyd for a father made me seek a man who could make me feel
protected, who can fix anything like my Dad (we rarely ever had to call a
repairman and Buddy refuses to!) and who loves being with family. My parents
were married for nearly 60 years and I pray I can show my children that same
level of commitment.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Math.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Floyd made math almost fun. He got me through 12 years of it
so that I would never have to take it again. This is probably where he
developed his patience.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The
value of education.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><span style="color: windowtext;">My dad was the first to
graduate college in his family. He went to Georgia Tech on a GI Bill as a
newlywed and held down several jobs, one being a janitor. He loved his
profession (engineering) with a passion. That is probably one reason I was
obnoxious about my kids going to college. I didn’t really care what their major
was, as long as they completed school. Dad was very proud of all of them for
getting their degrees. That could have been one reason I decided to go back to school
to complete my college education at the age of 50. I now proudly wear his class
ring as my own.</span> </span></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><o:p> </o:p> </span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Let your children be who they are.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My father never tried to change me. He would definitely
discipline me if (when) I got out of line, but he was either proud of
everything I did, or just tolerated it. He did not want me to be anybody else: </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyc4YxYDEC5IRHnmerMe0TzlAx5DLrJS25OQnXeJfLXyTdCquxGQhawfse5eEhJNGdYlwD_YjOrzkUQ9vFiivYAOM9mKnJJDDZMYAu4EA7CoaeU0-hBvhEx4rVJMfyp-M8WvrtSeUVjO8/s1600/polka1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyc4YxYDEC5IRHnmerMe0TzlAx5DLrJS25OQnXeJfLXyTdCquxGQhawfse5eEhJNGdYlwD_YjOrzkUQ9vFiivYAOM9mKnJJDDZMYAu4EA7CoaeU0-hBvhEx4rVJMfyp-M8WvrtSeUVjO8/s200/polka1.jpg" width="188" /></a></div>
<ul style="margin-top: 0in;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When I
was convinced I'd be a professional polka dancer and would polka in circles
around his chair for hours, him never looking up or telling me to stop... </span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When I
created special concoctions to quench his thirst, such as 1/2 tea and 1/2
coke called "tea-cola" that I was positive he would love, he
would drink it and say, "delicious." I tasted some just the
other day in a moment of nostalgia. </span><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Not delicious...</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When a
raccoon wandered into our yard and we made him catch it and put it in a
cage for a few days so we could have a pet raccoon, feeding it Honeycomb
cereal and chicken bones...</span></li>
<li class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When
cartwheels were my preferred mode of transportation...</span></li>
</ul>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I sincerely hope I have allowed my children to be who they
are because <b><i>we who've been celebrated as children, will in turn celebrate our own.<o:p></o:p></i></b></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">To be content with what I have.<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Floyd was a low maintenance kind of guy. Certainly he needed
a lot of care in his old age...but besides that, was extremely easy to please.
He taught me not to want what everyone else has just because they have it and I
don't. He taught me the value of a dollar by teaching me about the stock market
when I asked him what all those numbers on 4 pages of the newspaper were for.
He had me choose a stock (Winn Dixie) and we watched it everyday. The
exhausting and unsatisfying journey of climbing a social ladder never appealed
to me because of the lessons I learned from the man who decided that $40 for a
pair of slacks was ridiculous so he found a magazine ad for 3 pairs of pants
for $19.99. He was so proud when he ordered them. They were designed for a man
who was 5'9" instead of a man who was 6'3", and made of the cheapest
polyester plaid fabric I've ever seen. But he proudly wore them with dignity
until they mysteriously disappeared about 10 years later.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So, today...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I am a relatively patient woman that likes to hold hands,
shoot pistols, clepped out of college math, chose a wonderful husband who gave
me unique children I can celebrate, and am content with my surroundings and my
family because of my dad, Floyd Silas Griffin, Jr. I would love to know what I
taught him. I suspect he would say something sweet like, "that daughters
are wonderful" but more likely he would say, "patience".</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7jxqPW-uhxWU8Pzk5Sf99SLHNk90KE2V8Hu4QfxJeaKzPCniCLg_Wplgk5Z3m53EZKYL7eOupgWAhiBPFjT9r76F4CW-CMaK0fS5oJmudaC5Ttv18O5KpbGemTP2EipiynJaR3Ss5y0k/s1600/weddingwithpapa.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7jxqPW-uhxWU8Pzk5Sf99SLHNk90KE2V8Hu4QfxJeaKzPCniCLg_Wplgk5Z3m53EZKYL7eOupgWAhiBPFjT9r76F4CW-CMaK0fS5oJmudaC5Ttv18O5KpbGemTP2EipiynJaR3Ss5y0k/s320/weddingwithpapa.JPG" width="249" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSvC3G-nc6D17v5_jj7bQZ5p5a8sybQwequ7TfEjtyscUK1eMldKxWYygOibVs4B1_3TLVQe4Zt3929dbX3skk_K-T9OQC5FKAcDIUsyXiWAKm9Dcn1-qocYo-_DjsXU7k7FZ1DtXRg4o/s1600/papaandbobby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSvC3G-nc6D17v5_jj7bQZ5p5a8sybQwequ7TfEjtyscUK1eMldKxWYygOibVs4B1_3TLVQe4Zt3929dbX3skk_K-T9OQC5FKAcDIUsyXiWAKm9Dcn1-qocYo-_DjsXU7k7FZ1DtXRg4o/s320/papaandbobby.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Floyd and Bobby. Just a couple of boys fishing.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So long dad. Now it's you doing the cartwheels!</span><br />
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Barbara Burkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04228874452748830083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1158258711717056850.post-10544743406013008952013-05-21T21:09:00.002-07:002013-05-24T21:49:01.899-07:00Valued or Vilified: The Church's Response<br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Today a series of unusual events led me to write
about this topic.</span></div>
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<ol>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I turned on the car radio. I almost never listen to the car
radio anymore. I usually drive in silence or listen to my iTunes library.
Lately I've only been listening to my son and daughter's new CD. <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/album/covers-collection-vol.-1/id641592462" target="_blank">(CoversCollection, Vol. 1)</a> I actually reached my hand toward
the knob, pulled it back, then decided to go ahead and turn on the radio.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The radio was tuned to a station I never listen to. It
was one of those local Christian stations
that feature pre-recorded talk shows and play a whole lot of<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Sandi
Patty, <a href="http://userserve-ak.last.fm/serve/_/66094242/Petra+_1992c.jpg" target="_blank">Petra</a>, and Point of Grace. Not only that, but there was a talk show<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>interviewing
a lady with a decided southern drawl AND it was sponsored by Focus
on the Family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(no comment)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I accidentally left the radio on. I have little tolerance
for talk shows or talking of any <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span>kind.
Especially from radio personalities. (Check out <a href="http://leftturns-bburks.blogspot.com/2012_04_01_archive.html" target="_blank">earlier blog)</a></span></li>
</ol>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Then I proceeded to listen for 15 minutes to a lady give a
brief version of her life story. It was heartbreaking. Not in a tragic,
terrorist bombing, kidnapped for 10 years, horrendous car accident, limb losing, suicidal kind of way.
But I could just sense the despondency and hopelessness in her story. The story
of her childhood. The story of her young adulthood.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Hers was a story of multiple unplanned pregnancies as a
teen, no self-worth, shame, ignorance, and despair. Because she didn’t know her
value as a woman and a human being, she listened to the Great Liar who told her
that she could find value in men and substances. How many times have we seen
this with our own eyes? With our own lives? It’s a tired old story, isn’t it? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Famous and not-so-famous magazines have been called out on their tendencies to over-Photoshop models. Sculpting a body with brushes and tools in post production is extremely common and finally
exposed. More and more women are photographed and published looking more “normal”
and less “<a href="http://bleubirdvintage.typepad.com/.a/6a00e554f1ae9388330120a6964020970c-800wi">Twiggy</a>-fied”
so why aren’t we happier with ourselves?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Because self-love doesn’t have anything to do with what’s
going on with the external you, and everything to do with what’s feeding the
internal part of you. Take it from this author…one who was saved by the grace
of God from going where this woman on the radio had been. I know what it’s like
to feel not good enough. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">As a child I couldn’t throw the softball
far enough to pass the President’s fitness test without my PE teacher fudging
for me. </span>As a young teen on the track team, I always came home
from meets with red or white ribbons, never blue. I wasn’t pretty enough or thin enough for my mother. I didn’t finish
college when all my friends had a degree. I worked low paying jobs and then a no
paying job. (stay at home mom). Nothing as drastic as our radio guest but all
together with the verbal abuse I received as a child, acquainted me with low self worth. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><a href="http://thelifeofasinglemom.com/?page_id=15">Jennifer
Maggio</a>, the lady giving her testimony on-air, spoke of how she craved
community so she took her children to church as a single mom. On one Mother’s
Day, all the mothers of the church were asked to go up to the front and then
the pastor asked their husbands to pin corsages on them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jennifer stood up there in a panic
feeling like there was a neon arrow hanging over her head with “Single Mom:
Failure” in lights. This is what broke my heart. I began to wonder how many
women who are unmarried, divorced, widowed, with children who feel like a
second class citizen at church. While every one of us would jump to our own
defense if accused of treating someone that way, we are all guilty of assuming
that the single parent does not need us, that they don’t want to socialize with
a married couple, that their kids have some “issues” so we will keep ours away
from them. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Church can be the loneliest place on earth to a single
mother from what I hear. Since I was only single about 15 minutes into
adulthood, I don’t feel like an expert on this subject. But I am somewhat of an
expert on feeling I had little value during several seasons of my life and I do
not wish anyone to feel that way. Let’s try to circle the wagons around those
who need to feel a part of something, who need to feel the love of Christ, not
feel ostracized for whatever led them to the place they’re in. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s time to start loving, People! And
loving people.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> Some of the best moms I've ever known (who happen to be single):</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir1APN3OciZx7ej74Lyq4-XQiMfMX0H6Nedy6cmjbPwZbJGgtp6KUrKuBMN4PFkAZdPBRuwnw9UAz2t4x1TRAedHRT9jZQ1GuCKjI_Her_Y7yB5kdAAeYd5xm0qI2w3qmkw3cVwYxUGzQ/s1600/deb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir1APN3OciZx7ej74Lyq4-XQiMfMX0H6Nedy6cmjbPwZbJGgtp6KUrKuBMN4PFkAZdPBRuwnw9UAz2t4x1TRAedHRT9jZQ1GuCKjI_Her_Y7yB5kdAAeYd5xm0qI2w3qmkw3cVwYxUGzQ/s320/deb.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Deb</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipVXLxTC1EX4y6IAzIggVWuGqvqMdCvpKFP9wSQRbR-2jsAgRHSCpQGiKAP9nuVCdpMK4wdX90eJfEGp9E1Botk_A0pqezVJFJILpvbpROk6U5uGWidJcxTHZlGhtjkRph02Qfv1Jiv1g/s1600/lindsey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipVXLxTC1EX4y6IAzIggVWuGqvqMdCvpKFP9wSQRbR-2jsAgRHSCpQGiKAP9nuVCdpMK4wdX90eJfEGp9E1Botk_A0pqezVJFJILpvbpROk6U5uGWidJcxTHZlGhtjkRph02Qfv1Jiv1g/s320/lindsey.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Lindsey</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi04DHOHXoz4DJ0rjsuxpXrRb-CMDiKwlYoYnWGz8QCL8Nde0YLfvTT9n-btvE1fS744P2Nne-eVsomPWSjxPtR3DQVxx4jlYcFpRDBB8el06qiBnLjikl4diZFIIqgZhuv3ySibaumZOE/s1600/carmen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi04DHOHXoz4DJ0rjsuxpXrRb-CMDiKwlYoYnWGz8QCL8Nde0YLfvTT9n-btvE1fS744P2Nne-eVsomPWSjxPtR3DQVxx4jlYcFpRDBB8el06qiBnLjikl4diZFIIqgZhuv3ySibaumZOE/s320/carmen.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Carmen (#nolongersingle</span>)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5nktC_wKrVP_AGofp3PkAevoO2AH8FxoHp6dYmR3osqUpiZOXBjY0IQPt4hO1OMvbkQauwZUf5XHU_x82VeBeiUPXVc7SrECMAB51qo51gVPgv9zrxPvHAAK2gQIo4r9-PsmGtgGeUlM/s1600/ange.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5nktC_wKrVP_AGofp3PkAevoO2AH8FxoHp6dYmR3osqUpiZOXBjY0IQPt4hO1OMvbkQauwZUf5XHU_x82VeBeiUPXVc7SrECMAB51qo51gVPgv9zrxPvHAAK2gQIo4r9-PsmGtgGeUlM/s400/ange.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">My favorite single mom</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">This is not a post about being single and a mom, or about screwing up a chunk of your life at some point, or about whining about what's wrong with you....it's simply a call to open your eyes to who is around you. They are not better or worse than you. They are your family. Have you ever been desperate for value, or know what it's like to come to church and be lonely? If not, stop yer judgin' and throw another bratwurst on the grill for your sister over there.*</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">*and her kids!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">If any of you reading this feels led to start a ministry for single moms at your church, please check out the resources <a href="http://thelifeofasinglemom.com/?page_id=40" target="_blank">here</a> to help get you started.</span></div>
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Barbara Burkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04228874452748830083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1158258711717056850.post-32503471368396962742013-03-23T22:13:00.000-07:002013-08-14T08:17:08.589-07:00Ethel the RedEvery summer I spent a week with my grandparents, the Griffins, in their small shotgun house in South Georgia. I so looked forward to this week and always hoped it would turn into two! My grandparents' house had a front porch with a swing and one small TV that got about 3 channels and it always seemed to be tuned in to Lawrence Welk or an evangelist at the highest volume setting. The kitchen was in the back of the house. These are the places I frequented when in Georgia. Dozens upon dozens of treasures were hidden away in this house. If I was lucky, I would find a contraption my dad built, or an old school paper or letter that he had written when he was my age. I vividly remember taking baths in their old white claw footed tub and drying off with their paper thin towels that were always frayed at the edges. There was no corner of that home that was off limits to me. Now there were a few places I chose not to visit...like the laundry room on the back porch. No laundry for me while I was on vacation. That does not mean that I didn't have chores to do while I was there. I "cleaned" the kitchen after my grandmother made her famous messes after each meal. I'm pretty sure she used flour in every dish she ever cooked. I did not like to clean up after dinner. Mostly, I think, because the kitchen (and house) was so old that nothing ever really LOOKED clean. But here's what I did like to do:<br />
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I liked to explore all over the neighborhood. Sometimes with my cousins or my brother, and sometimes by myself. My grandparents lived in a low socio-economic part of town...near an alley. Across the alley were older homes than even that of my grandparents.You know that young Barbara Griffin hitched up her jeans and ventured to that part of the street already, don't you? The main and only reason was because a woman who had a pomegranate tree in her yard lived across that alley and she would let us go back there and pick a few from time to time. I had never seen or heard of a pomegranate until my first trip across that alley. They are a little trouble getting into, but lo and behold, when you put that tiny sweet kernal into your mouth and bite down, it's akin to a liquid starburst! <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifNcjgOCYUvx-2cC2z6jzGwMRAxjV3G10DNrmWlyEsEU2KNtGnSwnndR5ZpOkTiuYhNHIFrassWYMVkxs3Mo5vaswUxd354dFOQCxHT2tY78g1s9VIDbPG0CLlD9aCPydZpUnrg8F2-F8/s1600/pomegranate_03_300dpi.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifNcjgOCYUvx-2cC2z6jzGwMRAxjV3G10DNrmWlyEsEU2KNtGnSwnndR5ZpOkTiuYhNHIFrassWYMVkxs3Mo5vaswUxd354dFOQCxHT2tY78g1s9VIDbPG0CLlD9aCPydZpUnrg8F2-F8/s320/pomegranate_03_300dpi.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
Needless to say, my cute little tee shirts were always stained red when my parents came to pick me up and my mother was not happy about this. She wouldn't have been happy about me roaming all over the town with my cousins either...often barefooted. And if she ever found out that I had a crush on a silly boy that worked at the gas station up the road who was 17 years old when I was 13, she would have had a fit. He was such a dork, but he had longish hair and I liked that. We also loved to spy on people.We thought we were secret agents and
lived as much like one as we could. ALWAYS spying on anyone who didn't
know we were there. Hiding in a tree, under a house, behind the big
brick fire pit - nothing stopped us while we were on a mission.<br />
<br />
But some things I did to pass the time would not have caused my mom to age more quickly than usual.<br />
My grandmother, Ethel Lucille, would take me to the farmer's market to pick out vegetables. I grew up with an appreciation for the farmer who made it possible for me to go to a market and eat free boiled peanuts while my grandmother poked and prodded tomatoes and peaches. Next door to the farmer's market was a hunting shop called <a href="http://www.staffordscatalog.com/Aboutus.asp" target="_blank">Staffords</a>. It was fancy for a hunting store and is still there today. I would take my savings money into this store and buy gifts for my parents and my grandparents each time I visited. Whatever I brought my grandmother, she acted like it was a prized possession. And it was usually something that she never would have had on any sort of wish list, trust me.<br />
She would also take me to church with her. A lot. An awful lot. I did not want to go into a Sunday School class with kids I didn't know, so I went in my Grandmother's class. Those old ladies acted like I was supposed to be there so I didn't feel uncomfortable at all. I sat on the front row with my grandmother's Bible in my lap and pretended to follow along. Ethel worked in the kitchen on Wednesday nights. So after I helped set the tables for dinner and wandered around the church during Prayer meeting, Grandaddy would pick us up (Lucille did not drive) and we would go home with extra rolls. "Church biscuits" we called them. To this day, I love a good yeast roll.<br />
<br />
Even when I got a little older and wore too much makeup and not enough fabric I would revert to her little adventurous granddaughter who went barefooted everywhere as soon as I arrived. When I was around 16, my grandmother asked me to go to the store and pick out a hair color for her. She had graying strawberry blond hair and liked to add a little red to wash the gray away. So...being the artist and fashionista that I was, I chose her hair color according to what I thought it should be. And I bought her a black house dress with large exotic flowers all over it. Ethel never wore black or anything with large flowers so my plan was to give her a make-over. You have to understand that my grandmother was not a young, hip, trendy older woman who cared about what people thought. She was always old, kind of crippled, lived simply, and was funny in a quiet way. I was about to change all that. She let me dye her hair which made her my very first customer. It turned out red alright. It was nearly glowing. Imagine a light orange, almost peach color next to a <a href="http://scm-l3.technorati.com/11/08/06/48961/12---I-Love-Lucy-Show.jpg?t=20110806032529" target="_blank">brassy copper</a>. that's what her roots looked like when they grew out. And do you know what she told me? She said, "This color brings out the orange and red flowers in my new black house-dress. I'll have to wear it a lot!"<br />
Is that the kind of things that grandmothers have to say?<br />
<br />
She taught me what it feels like to be worthy of love. She taught me other things too. How to warm your buns in front of a kerosene heater, how to make cornbread, how to raise an amazing son to love his mother, how successful one can be and not have central air and heat or cable tv, and hopefully how to love your grandchildren so that they can always feel home in your house.<br />
I always wanted to please my grandmother. I liked to make her laugh. and would try very hard to be responsible for a giggle. She died a long time ago and sometimes I would forget that she was gone.<br />
<br />
In August, I get the opportunity to be a grandmother to a little girl myself. I already have the immeasurable pleasure of having a grandson and that has worked out pretty darn well for me. (and for him, I believe) But a granddaughter! That's a new thing altogether. I hope that what I learned from Ethel I can impart to my own little grand-girl. I want to take her to church with me, feed her and teach her to make cornbread, teach her that even though she's at my house she will have chores, that no matter what she feels about something, she can say it and not be judged, show her that she can dye my hair whatever color she feels it needs to be, and model what lasting love looks like between an old man and old woman. I want to teach her to draw and to read classic books and love the Bible. I want to take her to a market or a museum or a monster truck rally. I want her little shirt to be stained with fun when she leaves me. I want her to find things her dad made and kept in the little drawers and cubbies around our house. And most of all I want to tell her stories about her dad and mom. About her aunts and uncles. And she will tell her kids about me one day. I hope it's not the one about how she dyed my hair purple and bought me a <a href="http://img2.etsystatic.com/000/0/5116750/il_fullxfull.266557158.jpg" target="_blank">jumpsuit</a> to match.<br />
<br />Barbara Burkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04228874452748830083noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1158258711717056850.post-83917754547084039982012-11-14T22:46:00.004-08:002013-08-05T18:31:12.676-07:00<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Dear Andrea,</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Do you remember when you graduated from college how I printed off all of our emails from your four years at Florida State and put them into a little book? (back before I had texting) Do you remember the last email in the book? How it was a story about this little girl who actually made my heart sing? Do you remember always asking me who my favorite child is? And do you remember telling me that it should be you because you were the reason I talked to God so much?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">I remember all those things. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Of course, I forget a lot of things too. But I will never forget how you and Mandy Stanley dressed up as ghosts for a Halloween party at Brownsville Assembly of God and drove through that sketchy part of town with pillowcases on your head...looking like something straight out of a Ku Klux Klan promotional video. Or how you and Lisa Burr dressed up in flannel pajamas and fur coats and ran through Wal Mart calling out for me and dad but we had already left...never hearing you yell, "MEE MAW! PAPAW!" all through the store.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">I remember getting my hair frosted when I was pregnant with you. And wondering if that would make you blonde as well. (that explains a lot right there) I remember how you always wanted to be picked up and how you still want to be picked up only I'm a little too weak to do that now. You got on my back for a horsey ride just last night though. You couldn't resist me on my hands and knees without "saddling up". </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">There are times when I tried to resist getting on my knees but you have driven me there. And God has met me down there. For that I'm grateful. You will see. You will be driven to your knees time and time again by that angelic little dreamboat of yours. And you will find that God will meet you there also. </span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">I am grateful that you and God have a long-standing relationship and that you remember his faithfulness. I still pray for you, Ange. I am honored to be in God's presence, lifting up his beloved gift of you, for him to take a hold of and nurture, mold, and guide. I am glad that you have caused me to seek him out...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">even when I didn't want to</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">when I was tired</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">when I was in doubt</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">when I was in pain</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">and when I was hopeful.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Do you remember your turtle named Hoop? You were never one to be obsessed with an animal so I was surprised you took such a liking to that odd little thing. I should have known that Hoop was just a precursor to the many "odd little things" you would obsess about as you got older. Like baptizing your stuffed animals and dolls. Like the Peter Pan movie. And your '86 Volvo. (Who wants a car like that? It wasn't even the cool looking old Volvo but an old lady Volvo.) All of your strange quirks and funky hairstyles will live on in this old brain of mine. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">But the one thing I remember most about you is how much you wanted to be loved. There were times when you wanted me to pick you up or listen to you that I was too busy with baby Buddy or Dad or Jourdan or some other household chore. I wish so badly that I could go back to those days when you held your arms up to me and pick you up every single time. I wish I could go back and hold you in my lap every time you tried to crawl up in it. I wish I could go back and take you to lunch, just me and you, leaving the others at home. Obviously I can't now. What I can do is make sure that I'm there for you every step of the way, as long as I am alive and even after. (within reason...you still need limits!) I can still meet God on my knees for you.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">And I will. I think you know that.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">I thank God for the last 30 years with my beautiful blonde-headed Angey Pangey. Hope your next 30 are amazing!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Mawmy</span><br />
<br />Barbara Burkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04228874452748830083noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1158258711717056850.post-77574969100166948602012-10-17T22:35:00.001-07:002012-10-18T05:48:09.350-07:00#lifeasahashtag<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We are alive
during a social phenomenon...much akin to the 70's Sitcom. This movement
began shortly after the installation of Twitter as a major social
networking system. Then came Instagram to heighten its use. And your
iPhone is not innocent of influence either. Welcome to the hashtag
generation.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">If
you know enough to click on the link to this blog, you've heard of
Twitter. Whatever your opinion of this, it's been around since 2006 and is not going away for a while.
Sure, thousands of young nerds all over the world are designing new
ways to network, but we will not see a reinvention of this wheel that works better for a while. People use the hashtag symbol <b>#</b> before a relevant
keyword or phrase (no spaces) in their Tweet to categorize those Tweets or Instagram photos
and help them show more easily in Search. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Let's look at the positive results of Twitter: (Interesting that I am commenting on it since I don't tweet)</span><br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">You can keep up with whatever Katy Perry and Justin Beiber are doing at all times.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">You
can read solid, condensed sermonettes from Matt Chandler, Louie Giglio,
Perry Noble, or whichever popular, hip pastor you revere.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">You can be "heard" on any politician's Twitter site...whatever good that does.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">You can hashtag until the cows come home.</span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Now
that last one is my personal favorite. I'm a hashtagger without a
Twitter account because I do it on Instagram. Not only do I do it on
Instagram, I include tags in text messages. Not only do I include tags
in text messages, I have been known to actually utter the word "hashtag"
followed by a spoken hashtag. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Don't act like you've never done that before.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">What is the draw? What reels you into this <i>hashtanguage</i>
and makes you start thinking in short phrases? I'll give some examples.
Some of the more popular hashtags on Twitter and Instagram are:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">#winning</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">#firstworldprobs</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">#wtf</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">#instagood</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">#love</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">#sunset</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">#tbt (throwback thursday)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">#picoftheday</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">#nofilter </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">and my personal favorite: #bobbygram </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">However, some people, myself included, have been known to hashtag a whole sentence. That's always fun to try and read. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Here's some #hashtetiquette:</span><br />
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">If you use a hashtag on a public account, anyone who does a search for that hashtag may find your Tweet</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Don't over-tag a single Tweet or Instagram photo. (<a href="http://twitter.pbworks.com/w/page/1779812/Hashtags">Best practices</a> recommend using no more than 2 hashtags per Tweet/Instagram.)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Do
a spell check. There's nothing that looks more ignorant than a
misspelled hashtag. Well...I guess there are things that appear more
ignorant now that I think about it. I have seen an episode of "Honey Boo
Boo".</span></li>
</ul>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I
actually spend time thinking up good hashtags because they can add a
punch to your caption or your post. That's really what we are going for,
isn't it? The punch. The oomph. The memorable line that makes your post
stand out above all others. </span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">In the Millenial Generation (aka "Generation Y) we have taught ourselves to pay attention quickly. Which is just another way of saying we are moving at a rapid pace toward mass attention deficit disorder. "Let's just get to the point!" our brains are screaming. We need a "point" now more than ever, don't we? If only we could hashtag our way through school, or win an argument with our parents using hashtags, or talk ourselves out of tickets using hashtags:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">#putitonmytab</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">#itsnotmineofficer</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">#headedtochurch</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">#brakefail</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">#mybrotherscar</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I could go on and on.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Think of all the unncessesary words we use in a day. This would save us time, energy, and actually save words! YES! SAVE THE WORDS! We could start a non-profit for saving the words and get some tee-shirts made up with the logo on the front:</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"> <span style="font-size: large;">#savethewords </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Men all over the world will jump on this bandwagon because they don't like to talk anyway. (my husband excluded) Think how much money our court system will save from lack of blustering attorneys. All they need to do is use hashtags like:</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">#stateyourname</span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">#didit</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">#didntdoit</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">#objectongroundsofmalarky (thanks, joe)</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">#objectongroundsoftoomanycharactersinyourhashtags</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">#</span><span style="font-size: small;">sidebar</span></span> </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Imagine your college economics class. 20 minutes tops and you're out. My poor computer graphics instructor would have had to resign from his position of lecturing on philosophy, economics, the advertising racket, and his string of "s" words he loves so dearly because he never would have been able to constrain his characters to so few letters. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">All this is in jest of course. Like I said, I like to hashtag because it makes a point. This shortened phrase, often funny or sarcastic, points to your message with precision. Captions are sometimes misunderstood, until you read the hashtags beside them.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I'm often misunderstood until you read the hashtags I leave. It's taken Buddy 30 years of living with me and loving me to be able to finally understand my hashtags. And now, of course, I'm not talking about a phrase uttered after the number sign. I'm talking about the little things I say that are important, that define me, that show what I care about. Loving me has motivated him to figure it out. That was probably an understatement. Loving me, forgiving me, showing grace to me, supporting me, laughing at me, being proud of me, and listening to me have all shown him how to understand my hashtags. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Lately I've been wondering what Jesus's hashtags would be if he were tweeting or posting a pic on Instagram.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">#takingoutthetrash - cleansing the Temple</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">#takeoffyourshoes - when we enter the church, followed by a:</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">#holyground</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">#lookatyourself - when we start to attack our brothers and sisters in Christ</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">#lookatme - when we start to attack those outside of our community of believers</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">#whatwouldido - when faced with a difficult decision, like whether or not to dance at a wedding. you know, something life altering. a choice that might turn non believers away from the Lord. (Well...the way some of you dance, you may just do that very thing.) #usediscretion</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">And finally, as you're on your knees pouring out your doubts, fears, and hopes to God, praying your guts out, heaving from pain and frustration, and are tempted to say, "just take me, Lord! Take me out of here!" Don't be surprised if his answer is two hashtags.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">#takenandsecured, #youarefree</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Those tags pack a punch every time I read <i>"He that dwells in the secret place of the Most High shall abide in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say unto the Lord, he is my refuge and fortress, My God in Him will I trust. There shall no evil befall you, neither there shall be any plague come near your dwelling. For he shall give his angels charge over you to keep you in all your ways."</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I know that one day soon, I will be through with this <i>hashsession</i> of mine. And another one will take it's place. But I pray that I will never be through with trying to make a point. and pack a punch with something I have to say. Because I want something to always matter to me. I want to leave an impression...the right one...when I speak, or from the way I live and love.</span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">What hashtags define you? What point are you making with your life? your decisions? </span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></span>
Barbara Burkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04228874452748830083noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1158258711717056850.post-17024626543465368252012-09-10T22:14:00.000-07:002017-09-11T07:31:57.999-07:00Tiny Daughter<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> <span style="font-size: 10.0pt;">When I heard the loud mufflers of the old blue Chevy truck backing our boat into the driveway, I stepped outside to welcome the skiers home. What I found on my front porch was a very small, very cute girl in a bikini top and shorts, awkwardly waiting for Buddy to introduce her to his mother. I was not used to seeing small, cute, bikini-clad strangers on my front porch. And thankfully I’m still not. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt;">That was the day that my tiny daughter-in-law bounced, flipped, and sprung into my life. She was 18 years old. Today she is 27. It’s hard to believe that I’ve known her for 9 years. It’s also hard to believe that I fell in love with her. You don’t just start dating my son and expect me to take their word that this girl is perfect. In what alternative universe is that going to happen?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Why Buddy chose a cheerleader/gymnast to fall in love with I’ll never know. It made perfect sense, as he was always an athlete and the athletes go for the cheerleaders, right? But boys are supposed to choose someone like their own mothers, right? Buddy’s mother was nowhere close to 5 feet tall, or a size 4 ½ shoe, or a size 3 ½ ring for that matter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am neither perky nor vivacious. My shoes</span> don’t match my purse and the heels are never over 2”. The only similarity between a cheerleader and myself is that I cheer for my sons when they are competing. And also when they’re not competing. Maybe that’s the kinship we share. Bree has always been in love with Buddy and always will be. She recognizes his strengths and celebrates them. She calls me when he does something magnificent and also when he says something momentous. (It has happened.) She knows what I need to hear </span><i><span style="font-size: 10.0pt;">from</span></i><span style="font-size: 10.0pt;"> Buddy and </span><i><span style="font-size: 10.0pt;">about</span></i><span style="font-size: 10.0pt;"> Buddy. She supported him while he was in grad school after they married 3 years ago until he got his first real engineering job. She does not support his antics when they turn stupid and for that I’m also grateful. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt;">You don’t add to the Burks family without paying your dues. Bree seemed to know this. She patiently waited for her hazing from all of the family members and accomplished this with grace. She did this by going hunting with Buddy even though the thought of a dead animal made her physically sick, learning to shoot a pistol and rifle, riding a bicycle off a rickety ramp into our pond, and wading through the drama of everyday life with us…like a champ. As our resident nurse, she is the go-to guy for all of our health issues and advice. If she doesn’t know the answer, she will flip through her mental Rolodex and find out who does.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt;">This fateful day in history, 9/11, not only marks a tragic event in American life but a wonderful event in our own. Bree Leslie Burks was born for a purpose. One of those purposes was to make our family complete. But most importantly, to make Bud’s life complete. Andrea and I were always amazed that at the height of Bud’s silliness or amazing comedic timing, Bree can sit and read a magazine and not even look up at him. Well, Bud needs that. Because if his wife treated him as we do, then he would never have grown up. He has definitely been sharpened by his fairy-sized wife, who calls herself my tiny daughter. She has tamed a giant by encouraging him, cheering him on, and sometimes even laughing. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10.0pt;">Bree, these last few years have taught me how incredibly lucky I am. Sometimes when I am driving down the road, frustrated, exhausted, overwhelmed, I think about how you care for me, how you pray for me and how you love me like a real mom. That means more to me than you’ll ever know. We are very different in some ways, but alike where it counts. I am SO PROUD of you! And I know that if you and Bud have a tiny son and a giant daughter that they will indeed be blessed by the best mom they could ever have. Happy Birthday, I love you!</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMjlqLP8modedN0poyUtnYOGwGpxQjGj-d6RUEeYTgAjLvTZVdg9uKcY7fEtOpNc2MxuwgVXkIyVMGHOobnIabpHdRMqMJ2IwyRsA64v3oVZcLIjIpMLbzkfcLkc7lNQaTXc0wXg1xAXQ/s1600/IMG_1677.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMjlqLP8modedN0poyUtnYOGwGpxQjGj-d6RUEeYTgAjLvTZVdg9uKcY7fEtOpNc2MxuwgVXkIyVMGHOobnIabpHdRMqMJ2IwyRsA64v3oVZcLIjIpMLbzkfcLkc7lNQaTXc0wXg1xAXQ/s200/IMG_1677.JPG" width="200" /></span></a> Barbara Burkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04228874452748830083noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1158258711717056850.post-72254636705134679662012-08-17T12:35:00.000-07:002012-08-21T04:26:20.578-07:00A Swooper and A Whisker<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Marriage separates families. Not a popular thought. Some
would wholly disagree...that's your freedom to do so but here's an example. We
rarely experience a time when 100% of our family can be together. It's so rare
an event that I just want to cry the whole time it happens. (don't go all
psycho-analytical on me.) We are a family of 9, soon to be 10: Two parents, two daughters,
two sons, one son-in-law, one daughter-in-law, one more daughter-in-law-to-be,
and baby Bobby. That's a lot of different personalities, but more importantly,
it's a lot of schedules. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The craziest of schedules belongs to my daughter, Jourdan,
and her husband, Jeff. They are musicians. That means they live their lives out
of a suitcase. This didn't used to be her life. Someone swooped down and
whisked her away, into his van, into his band, into his crazy life and away
from ours. How was I supposed to take this? I am by nature very territorial.
Everyone knows this about me. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When someone wants to swoop down and whisk your daughter
away, you, as a parent normally treat that act as an infringement, a threat, or
a disaster. Sometimes you sigh with relief because somebody finally loves her.
Rarely do you consider it a joy. I know many parents who love their son-in-laws
yet still aren't overjoyed that their daughter is married with a life separate
from them. This is where I found myself three years ago. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Sure, Jourdan chose a fine Christian man to love and marry.
Sure, he treated her well. Sure, he could provide for her. Sure, their kids would be beautiful. Why
should I be bothered in the least? Because I'm Barbara. Selfish and protective
to the end. I wanted my daughter to be there for me whenever I needed her. I
wanted to be there for <i>her</i> whenever
she needed me...and I <i>wanted</i> her to
need me. There I said it. I was afraid Jeff wouldn't "get" our
family. That he wouldn't see the need we have to be together. That <i>he</i> wouldn't need me. (again, said.) Jeff
and I were friendly all during his and Jourdan's courtship and dating life. He
is a lot of fun. You can't help but like him. But not until he married Jourdan
did I really get to appreciate who he is and what he is to my daughter. At some
point if you decide you're going to be a good parent, you forego your selfish
desires and opinions and look at your child's life in the way God does. God
probably says something like this to himself, "Who will take care of my
daughter, Jourdan, the best? Who will
let Jourdan be all that she was created to be? Who can benefit from a
partnership with Jourdan the most? Who will let Jourdan honor me and who will
allow Jourdan to serve me, alongside himself? Who can Jourdan love the deepest?
Who will teach Jourdan what my Bride is to be when the Bridegroom comes for her
by living this out in earthly form?"</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I was wrong to limit my desires for my daughter to my own
narrow views.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jeff Johnson is the only man my daughter has ever wanted to
marry and the man whom God found as the answer to the above questions. I now
know why. He pursued her, loves her, protects her in ways most men don't think
about, learns from her, teaches her, prays for her, and plays with her. These
are all aspects of their relationship that I celebrate. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But I have to mention
here that not only does he play with her, he can get her to do anything
unreasonable. They got married the day after Thanksgiving in Dallas. On Thanksgiving day,
both the Burks family and the Johnson family gathered together at Jeff's home
to celebrate the annual feast together. It was all very civilized and friendly,
in spite of the fact that we did not know each other well. Jourdan was seated
at one end of the table as the hostess and this was the first time both
families had sat down together. Her first time to host her in-laws and her own
crazy family. She was a little nervous, but happy. The conversation turned to
impressions. Someone brought up that Jourdan used to do an impression of Will
Ferrell's impression of Harry Caray as seen many times on Saturday Night Live.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.ebaumsworld.com/video/watch/985394/">http://www.ebaumsworld.com/video/watch/985394/</a></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So Jeff then makes her do her impression in front of all , including her new mother and father-in-law. But he doesn't stop there. He
goes and gets her guitar, puts it in her lap and tells her to sing a
Thanksgiving song in her Harry Caray voice. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">She proceeded to sing us an impromptu song about
Thanksgiving in that ridiculous voice. That's when I knew it would be alright.
From then on Jeff has been stretching Jourdan's parameters. I have seen a change
in her over the past three years. She is more relaxed, funnier, more joyful,
and continues in her pursuit of godliness. I attribute much of that to her
husband's influence.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jeff and I are big buddies now. I love him as I love my own
sons. We have deep conversations and we talk nonsense. (He's equally good at
both.) I'm so grateful to Debbie and Larry Johnson for bringing him into the
world, that <a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?hl=en&biw=1600&bih=732&tbm=isch&tbnid=OvzagV5cWjDlEM:&imgrefurl=http://hymiesrecords.com/hot-august-night-2/&docid=cmTc0lWwuqZAoM&imgurl=http://hymiesrecords.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/08/ndishot.jpg&w=450&h=450&ei=c5ouUOOrL6HdyAH6tIG4Cw&zoom=1&iact=hc&vpx=377&vpy=183&dur=1102&hovh=225&hovw=225&tx=69&ty=113&sig=115849364202144067119&page=1&tbnh=160&tbnw=160&start=0&ndsp=21&ved=1t:429,r:1,s:0,i:92" target="_blank">hot August night</a>. (I don't really know exactly what time he was born, I just wanted to make a Neil Diamond reference here.)</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSaN5cwRw-a9WIZVnSnK11xEsVM6TzsUpUoS4kyEBhhrca8Ls1hX4y28Y-Qi8JX5EpO7Cac0EMss2De1J5zZI4nQF93fXWOQfnpTmxKOi8tyR66b0nBHafuMOJcoLOwTXRvZRW9Q5rKAA/s1600/170395_487276637404_3337557_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSaN5cwRw-a9WIZVnSnK11xEsVM6TzsUpUoS4kyEBhhrca8Ls1hX4y28Y-Qi8JX5EpO7Cac0EMss2De1J5zZI4nQF93fXWOQfnpTmxKOi8tyR66b0nBHafuMOJcoLOwTXRvZRW9Q5rKAA/s320/170395_487276637404_3337557_o.jpg" width="195" /></a></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jeff, I honor you today and every day. I pray that I will
always make you proud to have me as your other mother. And I pray that your
incredible God-ordained mission is brought to completion every day of your
life. Thank you again for loving my daughter, for pursuing her, for never
giving up. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And thank you for taking my advice to not be a
turtle. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Love, Barbs</span></div>
Barbara Burkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04228874452748830083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1158258711717056850.post-7300109618359824502012-06-26T12:28:00.001-07:002013-06-25T09:05:51.804-07:00We Were Better Off When We Were Little Children<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New',Courier,monospace;"><i>All my hopes and dreams scatter like ashes...</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New',Courier,monospace;"><i>Up in flames, a quiet disaster...</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New',Courier,monospace;"><i>One day something went wrong, everything changed,</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New',Courier,monospace;"><i>Now we're patching these holes in our souls </i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New',Courier,monospace;"><i>where a ball and chain...</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New',Courier,monospace;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New',Courier,monospace;"><i>We were better off when we were little children,</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New',Courier,monospace;"><i>When our faith came as easy as freedom,</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New',Courier,monospace;"><i>When we dreamed we could fly,</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New',Courier,monospace;"><i>Hope was shining in our eyes,</i></span><br />
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New',Courier,monospace;">We were better off when we were children</span>.</i><br />
<i><a href="http://www.noisetrade.com/elenowen" target="_blank">~Elenowen, 2012 (click to listen)</a></i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">These are the words to a song I heard today for the first time. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Today is the day after I heard of the death of Drew MacLean, one of Buddy's closest friends at UF. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Today is the day after the day that marks the end of life on earth for a young husband, father-to-be, brother, son, friend to all who knew him. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">This is not an obituary for the dead but simply written to formulate grief and sadness. I am sad for this family who was as close to each other as we are. I am sad for Marc, the brother who shared every friend with Drew, shared the same degree, a home, moments meant only for best friends. I am sad for my son, Buddy who has never grieved like this before. I am sad for my son, Jake, who has compared this event to what it must be like to lose his own brother. I am sad for Mr. and Mrs. MacLean and for Drew's young wife, Allison. I am sad for their unborn daughter who will never be held by this bear of a man who never had an enemy.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS1FcotHk_T9YlOEBUcr48cMcICt2RBA1RqzWo4ccipkSrm562FExxskTdQPawkUi-_QSU2OAkSjtZarVXt437LI6CSGFZTG5DXMQyBsdkMenVWDW9IxEQY6GEZnEU8uI_-f0CIZn-c1M/s1600/Single-Line-Kites-a-basic-glossary.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS1FcotHk_T9YlOEBUcr48cMcICt2RBA1RqzWo4ccipkSrm562FExxskTdQPawkUi-_QSU2OAkSjtZarVXt437LI6CSGFZTG5DXMQyBsdkMenVWDW9IxEQY6GEZnEU8uI_-f0CIZn-c1M/s320/Single-Line-Kites-a-basic-glossary.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">When we were children, most of us had bad dreams, bad thoughts, moments of fear and sadness...but they were only moments. We bounced back with zeal and a mere memory of loss or trouble. God made children with an amazing talent for pushing forward and tendency toward resilience. Children are optimistic. They dream of flying kites and being superheroes. Adults lose their dreams. They learn the truth about superheroes. Yes, we were better off when we were children.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">But we can't stay children. We would never learn enough, or love enough. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New',Courier,monospace;"><i><span class="text 1Cor-13-11"><sup class="versenum" style="font-size: 0.75em; font-weight: bold; line-height: normal; vertical-align: top;"><br /></sup></span></i></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New',Courier,monospace;"><i><span class="text 1Cor-13-11" id="en-NKJV-28677"><sup class="versenum" style="font-size: 0.75em; font-weight: bold; line-height: normal; vertical-align: top;">"</sup>When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things.</span><span class="text 1Cor-13-12" id="en-NKJV-28678"><sup class="versenum" style="font-size: 0.75em; font-weight: bold; line-height: normal; vertical-align: top;"> </sup>For now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then I shall know just as I also am known. ~ I Corinthians 13:11-12</span></i></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New',Courier,monospace;"><i><span class="text 1Cor-13-12"><br /></span></i></span></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;"><span class="text 1Cor-13-12"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I am so looking forward to seeing you face to face, Lord. Until then, please continue to help us learn and love...and continue to be God.</span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;"><span class="text 1Cor-13-12"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span>
<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/AVvXsEgfOqZhMykHimwlix9x9Jn0qVjNcAgKd4k-Ksr-aDuJbqHpRRUfYJNPeSRytKPvpd1i9k9Ibb1R3i2wzxp9tFwGGODdLmEUJ9U3Cot9wlxcDaxyshfaecAvV5obyAuexadvvwKxhJCO8_E/s1600/budgolfing-drew.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfOqZhMykHimwlix9x9Jn0qVjNcAgKd4k-Ksr-aDuJbqHpRRUfYJNPeSRytKPvpd1i9k9Ibb1R3i2wzxp9tFwGGODdLmEUJ9U3Cot9wlxcDaxyshfaecAvV5obyAuexadvvwKxhJCO8_E/s400/budgolfing-drew.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Serious golfers</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<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/AVvXsEg2ruqb3pFV9EANqvkGdMkd9ek7Gi3rXm6U40P2ZUY-8fxEEcZDYJMNTaGZaES1c752RMWMYiSoHQxgB2W2QyC4RESCVExX4Zvc4uafjsDJ7_1hqjcvTmxmAi8CgOkG0rgh8IAN1CIMZvc/s1600/wedding-drew.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2ruqb3pFV9EANqvkGdMkd9ek7Gi3rXm6U40P2ZUY-8fxEEcZDYJMNTaGZaES1c752RMWMYiSoHQxgB2W2QyC4RESCVExX4Zvc4uafjsDJ7_1hqjcvTmxmAi8CgOkG0rgh8IAN1CIMZvc/s400/wedding-drew.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Drew, celebrating the best day of Bud's life with us.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;"><span class="text 1Cor-13-12"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></span>Barbara Burkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04228874452748830083noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1158258711717056850.post-61102879565724209652012-06-07T22:05:00.000-07:002012-06-18T14:34:55.909-07:00Pregnant and Pissed<br />
Finding myself pregnant for the fourth time was a traumatic <a href="http://300reviews.files.wordpress.com/2009/12/mushroom-cloud.jpg" target="_blank">disaster</a>. How did this happen? (Thanks for not commenting, peanut gallery.) Just keep in mind that I was 30 years old...long past child bearing years...and all three of my earlier children were potty trained, Little Bud was going to be in kindergarten - giving me a morning all to myself, my father had had a serious stroke and was having to relearn how to walk and complete simple tasks, my best friend moved to another state (best friends don't grow on trees, y'all!), no maternity insurance, no one wants to have a family of 6 over for dinner, no one wants to babysit for four kids, we couldn't afford to pay a babysitter for four kids, I was already limited to a $75 per week food and gas budget, and I was spoiled rotten with the three kids I already had. What are the chances that a fourth one will be pleasant? Not good.<br />
<br />
You know what else wasn't good? My attitude. Shame on me. Women all over the world trying to get pregnant and not able. Here I am, a veritable baby machine, crying real tears over nature's blessings. Ugh. Chalk up another item on the list of Behaviors I'm Not Proud Of.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUzA3h1mR6l5-N8Y6Wmd2PTef6mG2T_cN_NYZd_TAudK7NtYG1pyo-prjnqIk7MkL3wFk6nTfniJNkGUkKISAlkhziMl1Z0CJsBF-WPjaZC652L6TVkyu-HesyN59if_5Z_0P_HEk1Gc8/s1600/jakes.tif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUzA3h1mR6l5-N8Y6Wmd2PTef6mG2T_cN_NYZd_TAudK7NtYG1pyo-prjnqIk7MkL3wFk6nTfniJNkGUkKISAlkhziMl1Z0CJsBF-WPjaZC652L6TVkyu-HesyN59if_5Z_0P_HEk1Gc8/s640/jakes.tif" width="640" /></a></div>
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Twenty-two years of Jake. I have often considered myself the luckiest woman in the history of the world and he is part of the reason why. Since I'm not a good enough writer to weave his blessed life into a story, I'll list the reasons I love him so much.<br />
<ul>
<li>He loves me. Oh, how he loves me. Come to think of it...he loves everyone.</li>
<li>His smile. His eyes have always crinkled up into little slits whenever he smiles for real.</li>
<li>Every day is an extreme for Jake. "This is the best day of my life" or "This is the worst day of my life". There is always light at the end of the tunnel for this guy. Unless the Miami Heat loses to the Celtics.</li>
<li>His hugs. We could package them and make million$</li>
<li>He still occasionally gets in bed with us. (This will not be good news for some of you.)</li>
<li>He is easy to please...just give him beef. And soooo fun to feed.</li>
<li>He gave new meaning to the word Joy. No, I did not want to have another baby. But once again, God knew that this baby would bring Joy to my life when I needed it most. </li>
<li>He made me talk to God on a regular basis. When I began to get lazy about regular conversations with my Saviour, Jake would get a concussion. Sometimes two. When I finally became comfortable with my meager prayer life, Jake would call with a broken heart, or his grades hanging by a thread (he had to maintain a 3.0 to keep his scholarship at <a href="http://www.uwa.edu/" target="_blank">UWA</a>...not easy for a mediochre student in addition to playing football, missing Calculus III every other week because of away games, etc.) And Jake would play football and play it with a vengeance. You football moms understand the need to talk to God regularly within this concept. Having a college football player causes many of us to try and make deals with God. However useless that is, it sent me to the Bible for words of comfort and wisdom. </li>
</ul>
<div class="poetry" style="font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 1em; padding-left: 2.6em; position: relative;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="text Ps-27-1" style="position: relative;"><sup class="versenum" style="display: block; font-size: 0.75em; font-weight: bold; left: -4.8em; line-height: normal; position: absolute; vertical-align: top;">1 </sup>The <span class="small-caps" style="font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span> is my light <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 0.65em;"><sup class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; line-height: normal; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-14287A" title="See cross-reference A">A</a>)"></sup></span>and my salvation <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 0.65em;"><sup class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; line-height: normal; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-14287B" title="See cross-reference B">B</a>)"></sup></span>—</span><br /><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="font-size: 0.42em; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Ps-27-1" style="position: relative;">whom shall I fear?</span></span><br /><span class="text Ps-27-1" style="position: relative;">The <span class="small-caps" style="font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span> is the stronghold <sup class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; line-height: normal; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-14287C" title="See cross-reference C">C</a>)"></sup>of my life—</span><br /><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="font-size: 0.42em; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Ps-27-1" style="position: relative;">of whom shall I be afraid?<sup class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; line-height: normal; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-14287D" title="See cross-reference D">D</a>)"></sup></span></span></span></div>
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<div class="poetry top-05" style="font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; margin-top: 1em; padding-left: 2.6em; position: relative;">
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="text Ps-27-2" id="en-NIV-14288" style="position: relative;"><sup class="versenum" style="display: block; font-size: 0.75em; font-weight: bold; left: -4.8em; line-height: normal; position: absolute; vertical-align: top;">2 </sup>When the wicked advance against me</span><br /><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="font-size: 0.42em; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Ps-27-2" style="position: relative;">to devour<sup class="footnote" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; line-height: normal; vertical-align: top;" value="[<a href="#fen-NIV-14288a" title="See footnote a">a</a>]">[<a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=ps.%2027&version=NIV#fen-NIV-14288a" style="color: #651300; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: top;" title="See footnote a">a</a>]</sup> me,</span></span><br /><span class="text Ps-27-2" style="position: relative;">it is my enemies and my foes</span><br /><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="font-size: 0.42em; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Ps-27-2" style="position: relative;">who will stumble and fall. <sup class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; line-height: normal; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-14288E" title="See cross-reference E">E</a>)"></sup></span></span><br /><span class="text Ps-27-3" id="en-NIV-14289" style="position: relative;"><sup class="versenum" style="display: block; font-size: 0.75em; font-weight: bold; left: -4.8em; line-height: normal; position: absolute; vertical-align: top;">3 </sup>Though an army besiege me,</span><br /><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="font-size: 0.42em; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Ps-27-3" style="position: relative;">my heart will not fear; <sup class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; line-height: normal; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-14289F" title="See cross-reference F">F</a>)"></sup></span></span><br /><span class="text Ps-27-3" style="position: relative;">though war break out against me,</span><br /><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="font-size: 0.42em; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Ps-27-3" style="position: relative;">even then I will be confident.<sup class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; line-height: normal; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-14289G" title="See cross-reference G">G</a>)"></sup></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="text Ps-27-4" id="en-NIV-14290" style="position: relative;"><sup class="versenum" style="display: block; font-size: 0.75em; font-weight: bold; left: -4.8em; line-height: normal; position: absolute; vertical-align: top;">4 </sup>One thing <sup class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; line-height: normal; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-14290H" title="See cross-reference H">H</a>)"></sup>I ask from the <span class="small-caps" style="font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span>,</span><br /><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="font-size: 0.42em; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Ps-27-4" style="position: relative;">this only do I seek:</span></span><br /><span class="text Ps-27-4" style="position: relative;">that I may dwell in the house of the <span class="small-caps" style="font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span></span><br /><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="font-size: 0.42em; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Ps-27-4" style="position: relative;">all the days of my life, <sup class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; line-height: normal; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-14290I" title="See cross-reference I">I</a>)"></sup></span></span><br /><span class="text Ps-27-4" style="position: relative;">to gaze on the beauty of the <span class="small-caps" style="font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span></span><br /><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="font-size: 0.42em; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Ps-27-4" style="position: relative;">and to seek him in his temple.</span></span><br /><span class="text Ps-27-5" id="en-NIV-14291" style="position: relative;"><sup class="versenum" style="display: block; font-size: 0.75em; font-weight: bold; left: -4.8em; line-height: normal; position: absolute; vertical-align: top;"><br /></sup><sup class="versenum" style="display: block; font-size: 0.75em; font-weight: bold; left: -4.8em; line-height: normal; position: absolute; vertical-align: top;">5 </sup></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">For in the day of trouble </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="font-size: 0.42em; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Ps-27-5" style="position: relative;">he will keep me safe <sup class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; line-height: normal; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-14291K" title="See cross-reference K">K</a>)"></sup>in his dwelling;</span></span><br /><span class="text Ps-27-5" style="position: relative;">he will hide me <sup class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; line-height: normal; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-14291L" title="See cross-reference L">L</a>)"></sup>in the shelter of his sacred tent</span><br /><span class="indent-1"><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="font-size: 0.42em; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Ps-27-5" style="position: relative;">and set me high upon a rock.</span></span></span></div>
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We, in the Burks family, are not ashamed to be caught praying for our children - no matter the issue. When your baby is threatened by some force other than yourself...whether it's a germ, physical need, behavior that is the opposite of what you've taught, (but similar to the way you are), addiction, accident, or the dreaded broken heart, mothers <a href="http://500px.com/photo/3385710" target="_blank">become someone</a> they don't even know. It's like, "Who is living in my meek, compliant, polite, and reasonable body?" Because this person has none of those traits AT ALL.</div>
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Jake is a product of Barbara, Buddy, his siblings, and a lot of prayer. God has a plan for this boy.<br />
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To those of you who know him...you know exactly what I'm talking about. To have a son that other people want as their own is a phenomenon. To have a son that loves like Jesus loved, that is a miracle. Yes, he's flawed. No, I'm not immune to those flaws. Yes, I've actually told him "no" and punished him. No, I don't want him to live with me the rest of his life. Lucky for us he wants to spend the rest of his life with a beautiful young woman named Allison. Allison is as crazy as Jake...only prettier. This should be an interesting combination.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Q6wDZFtzv2AxmosgqTgb9m8HWvGDsW5UMeiqnwkjzko62pBtFJnUK5QdEWfUg23ISDcnlvJQjliTWZ0IlYxCAJJzFKXTYTzZg9in1ztEHREyfgLb-H-WikMPDEzVq4a_Wtkye_U0NiQ/s1600/IMG_3212.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Q6wDZFtzv2AxmosgqTgb9m8HWvGDsW5UMeiqnwkjzko62pBtFJnUK5QdEWfUg23ISDcnlvJQjliTWZ0IlYxCAJJzFKXTYTzZg9in1ztEHREyfgLb-H-WikMPDEzVq4a_Wtkye_U0NiQ/s320/IMG_3212.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jake's last football game for UWA</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilVng-xjwZkrfhREgbLf24bgS_3rim5a5vDSqb8HmcoR4iw5jAa4_HoKlf_IByUPeNhekWpoRVce3B8B9uIVSfwzJiRbrk4QL5xVqT5AOVV3LkF5LrkowjGrAJ9MCCXLGarhRnqYFDW3U/s1600/IMG_3461.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilVng-xjwZkrfhREgbLf24bgS_3rim5a5vDSqb8HmcoR4iw5jAa4_HoKlf_IByUPeNhekWpoRVce3B8B9uIVSfwzJiRbrk4QL5xVqT5AOVV3LkF5LrkowjGrAJ9MCCXLGarhRnqYFDW3U/s320/IMG_3461.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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I want to sincerely thank those who have poured into his life with us: Jourdan, Bud IV, and Andrea (his sister who raised him), and dozens of our friends who love him almost as much as we do. I am grateful for his choice in brides, as well. Allison, you are perfect for Jake. You are every bit the juvenile pal he loves having around and also the woman who has pledged to love him forever. You're breathtakingly beautiful and amazingly humble. I am so excited that you will be my daughter!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin8-y77kh6wvUUClYjeFX6nvlJk_kkVgoNkag8iB2Rsyv1iXhA1F3dMHp6YqrpkSr0NfYvIe4QhyeIgJKaKgkFbtCKRX5fDXrPsZR3WQnXKNWSKLVAemFT51CeDSurBj9OLpR_LCd4SOE/s1600/JandAbirds.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin8-y77kh6wvUUClYjeFX6nvlJk_kkVgoNkag8iB2Rsyv1iXhA1F3dMHp6YqrpkSr0NfYvIe4QhyeIgJKaKgkFbtCKRX5fDXrPsZR3WQnXKNWSKLVAemFT51CeDSurBj9OLpR_LCd4SOE/s320/JandAbirds.jpg" width="320" /></a>bow lesson.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZtydjQNQ0eDvutghB5eUaxEByX07FP1kI_MW318lsrrgZvl_AwH-fn6dgZMa2B3RD6cSlo-5G7HY2Mu9RE59bYlygmu42Y6Qh37NxJBWDNWzO9lxNcR9mibSekg4ghxJjZNJahwhtiLY/s1600/IMG_3922.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZtydjQNQ0eDvutghB5eUaxEByX07FP1kI_MW318lsrrgZvl_AwH-fn6dgZMa2B3RD6cSlo-5G7HY2Mu9RE59bYlygmu42Y6Qh37NxJBWDNWzO9lxNcR9mibSekg4ghxJjZNJahwhtiLY/s320/IMG_3922.JPG" width="320" /></a>baby lesson.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8jJQxRraJO_V4mMLHSlJkYI0Ribh3SdU67V4NFAFGnUrDBir5wW4P-aSQ6xNtQfUSx5ILgwd28o9680dzxIVZhISK958vyktY8keW8neZ6qz-FnzVO4QuzIfIr3VX1U3hRhooMIRuzOA/s1600/IMG_3840.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8jJQxRraJO_V4mMLHSlJkYI0Ribh3SdU67V4NFAFGnUrDBir5wW4P-aSQ6xNtQfUSx5ILgwd28o9680dzxIVZhISK958vyktY8keW8neZ6qz-FnzVO4QuzIfIr3VX1U3hRhooMIRuzOA/s320/IMG_3840.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A day Jake's arms never unclenched.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE8eLUzu_thVj4W3J2NuWXz0BtVgLoPYwB7BwYOHa7lzwCpzuE6zVZGc3UKEBIJ0c7WdDMyeoeyxiV6wllo_CKD85CY4ncu4435jB9yP3M0wPk8k8pLSAgfTXV4hADiVtTUg6YJMrKh3k/s1600/DSC07450.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"></span></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu0bUK8GKSiaiiDZj2hEfKV2fbvOJXBdXb87UWAw-T0gMe3fzovFHw1i-qDS9oQdUcIxsAeG8UgerMpUMUBcLcHMe7HSwCZ-HooxuZZXRZbt5FFVqfwILHG1d5INBPZIz0V7WLZz5g0sE/s1600/IMG_0340.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu0bUK8GKSiaiiDZj2hEfKV2fbvOJXBdXb87UWAw-T0gMe3fzovFHw1i-qDS9oQdUcIxsAeG8UgerMpUMUBcLcHMe7HSwCZ-HooxuZZXRZbt5FFVqfwILHG1d5INBPZIz0V7WLZz5g0sE/s320/IMG_0340.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">With Diana...preparing to go off to college.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE8eLUzu_thVj4W3J2NuWXz0BtVgLoPYwB7BwYOHa7lzwCpzuE6zVZGc3UKEBIJ0c7WdDMyeoeyxiV6wllo_CKD85CY4ncu4435jB9yP3M0wPk8k8pLSAgfTXV4hADiVtTUg6YJMrKh3k/s1600/DSC07450.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE8eLUzu_thVj4W3J2NuWXz0BtVgLoPYwB7BwYOHa7lzwCpzuE6zVZGc3UKEBIJ0c7WdDMyeoeyxiV6wllo_CKD85CY4ncu4435jB9yP3M0wPk8k8pLSAgfTXV4hADiVtTUg6YJMrKh3k/s320/DSC07450.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We love to pose.</td></tr>
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Jake, your birthday was last week and I hate to think of you leaving us for more of life, but thats exactly what you need to do. There's so much more of life for you to touch. for you to breathe in. For you to influence with your clenched fists and flexed biceps, and squinty smile. We are not worried about you. You will be better. Better than all of us. Better because of all of us. Better because He who is in you is He who overcomes the world.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipAFaiAc0rNKP6hQig5tr09T_kgTLpvxH9tTjM4FTLuG-kRNn-28wGJ3bcojrjM21Gad4-WypIuWRODnVoM1OaVuDNUJCSdtAtfGZc7fTWifToLXj5dsH6oIxddgpWOGDksPJV7VPZhUA/s1600/IMG_3407_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipAFaiAc0rNKP6hQig5tr09T_kgTLpvxH9tTjM4FTLuG-kRNn-28wGJ3bcojrjM21Gad4-WypIuWRODnVoM1OaVuDNUJCSdtAtfGZc7fTWifToLXj5dsH6oIxddgpWOGDksPJV7VPZhUA/s320/IMG_3407_2.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Brothers. Stirring up trouble and stuff.<br />
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<i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Happy</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">birthday month, Jbird. </span></span></b></i><br />
<i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> love you.</span></span></b></i><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 16px;"><span class="text Ps-135-4" id="en-NIV-16180" style="position: relative;">"For the <span class="small-caps" style="font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span> has chosen Jacob <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 0.65em;"><sup class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; line-height: normal; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-16180A" title="See cross-reference A">A</a>)"></sup></span>to be his own, </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;"><span class="indent-1"><span class="text Ps-135-4" style="position: relative;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">Israel to be his treasured possession."</span></span></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 16px;">“Your name</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 16px;"><sup class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; line-height: normal; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-957AV" title="See cross-reference AV">AV</a>)"></sup></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 16px;">will no longer be Jacob, but Israel</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">(Bud's nickname for his brother)</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 16px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: 16px;"><sup class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; line-height: normal; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-957AW" title="See cross-reference AW">AW</a>)"></sup></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;">because you have struggled with God and with humans and have overcome.”</span></span></div>
</div>Barbara Burkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04228874452748830083noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1158258711717056850.post-14126431676744265812012-05-09T09:33:00.002-07:002014-10-11T08:31:21.593-07:00Bewildered<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Not much inspires me or bewilders me anymore.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I guess I'm turning into one of <a href="http://images.bidorbuy.co.za/user_images/422/451422_100213143548_maxine2.jpg">those crotchety old women</a> who feels like they've done it all. Which is quite comical in that I have hardly done anything.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Newborn Bobby grasping Mommy's hand</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><br /><br />Then a year ago this week, our first grandson was born. He was about a month premature and caused quite a ruckus. His mother was hospitalized a few weeks prior to his birth for pre-eclampsia which I thought was no big deal until her high risk obstetrician answered my question of "what's the worst thing that can happen with this condition?" with the reply, "she could die." </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">OK then.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">She persevered. He was born. He was put in neonatal jail for two weeks. He then came home to our house.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Did you read that? Home to <b>OUR HOUSE</b>. I'll come back to that in a minute.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">FACTS</span>:<br />
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<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">My daughter, Andrea, did not plan to become a mother yet. </span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">She had just begun an intense internship for her Master's program in Mental Health Counseling. </span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Our relationship had been a bit strained the previous year. </span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">She was living in our house with us to save money during her internship. </span></li>
<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">And her sister was getting married in 2 months.</span></li>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">No, this pregnancy was not planned but it proceeded as pregnancies do and we were all sucked into the process. Thanks to babycenter.com or some such graphically informative website, Andrea kept us all up-to-date on baby's progress. <i>The baby is the size of a lima bean. It's the size of a lemon. It's the size of a peach</i>. Funny how fetuses are described according to food. No one ever says, "It's the size of a prairie dog" or "He's almost the size of a Swingline stapler!". Even the food used to explain fetal sizes is bland. Why not, "He's as long as a <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMRjwgnpWBipqDjAPulQ08s8ROjpsWDWShpVMF9rxpPvQo-NwNBkS_bkAeK8YR1DbL7XBKIXhorTt4gPKak9sXlH_T2-OzwWdSCbHLFXCVjmipIUk7K61VrHWPGxEZr3HcO5l9qFjlcxjw/s1600/IMG_7004.JPG">California roll</a>." or "Yep, I see her...she's now the size of a jalapeno"? So we got our weekly report and Andrea had her weekly meltdown. Do you know why a pregnant woman is overly emotional? It's because of all of the estrogen and progesterone produced in addition to anxiety she feels about becoming a mother. Andrea was a hormone factory and we all suffered for it. My husband will tell you I was the same way when pregnant with Jake, our fourth and sweetest child...so luckily all of those ferocious feelings do not rub off on the baby.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I was invited into the delivery room along with Jourdan, Andrea's sister. We camped out for 30 hours of intense labor. Medically speaking, the labor itself was not always intense...but Andrea was. She was <u>miserable</u>. She hates needles and she hates being "inspected". It was all very painful and agonizing for her. Especially the anxiety over Bobby's health. I felt so sorry for her. But I would not trade a second of my life for that experience. You can well imagine the joy that accompanies the birth of your first grandchild and getting to cut the cord...but also witnessing a bonding between sisters, sharing a joke during actual childbirth that caused us to laugh until we cried, listening to the crazy delivery nurse sing in her opera voice...that baby was laughed into life. What a day. A long, long, day.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_CFh60C5cXhuqtgYTaKxoR7p2zTetbJgbZ0xVXImwkxsaSWwwzmcoXxNaOYyaz5oONOUSsb9VhlQxfkbXys3uW7eWXcwmekItWdsAZa8PMgHAeQpk63yMVv3ikDbrDuPj8-5Wc7qFv7o/s1600/angebobby.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_CFh60C5cXhuqtgYTaKxoR7p2zTetbJgbZ0xVXImwkxsaSWwwzmcoXxNaOYyaz5oONOUSsb9VhlQxfkbXys3uW7eWXcwmekItWdsAZa8PMgHAeQpk63yMVv3ikDbrDuPj8-5Wc7qFv7o/s320/angebobby.JPG" height="320" width="239" /></span></a><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Now, a year later, the results are so inexpressible I am surprised I'm even trying to write about it.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Bewilderment #1:</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">God. Showed. Up.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I can tell you that there is no love like that of a grandparent for a grandchild, but you've heard that a thousand times by now. I can tell you that there's no love like that of a mother for her child...but that, too, is old news. What I can't tell you is how this happened. I went from total apprehension, worry, anxiety for Andrea, Bobby, their future and the future in our household, to a form of ridiculous obsession I like to call "momnoxiousness". </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGGU3bz3AOgSEVRXRXJ-uuu1axSNgugSiS5dPyNF8KoCxS2s8PhqiagLYM-DSnGoXMoUem38Gx4yg3V5iPtwynopwC_vfx6OyQU6UT1jvG8UJoLXvCHNLB1e5uxqsb9PLlRqiipSONUiw/s1600/6weeks.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGGU3bz3AOgSEVRXRXJ-uuu1axSNgugSiS5dPyNF8KoCxS2s8PhqiagLYM-DSnGoXMoUem38Gx4yg3V5iPtwynopwC_vfx6OyQU6UT1jvG8UJoLXvCHNLB1e5uxqsb9PLlRqiipSONUiw/s320/6weeks.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">He taught us a Holy grace, forgiveness, repaired relationships, and </span><i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">showed us Himself</i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> repeatedly through different events and through our amazing circle of friends (which makes me cry to recall...my face is unattractively contorting at this very moment). He held Bobby and Ange in his big strong hand and continues to do so this very day. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Bewilderment #2:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I see the Lord in my daughter, as a mother and as a woman. It's amazes Andrea every day the depth of love she feels for this baby. Sometimes I would worry that he was replacing her Saviour as the Lord of her life. Then, slowly it dawned on me that Bobby </span><u style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">reminded</u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> her of her </span><i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">need </i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">for Jesus and that she has totally re prioritized her goals. She is the best mother I have ever seen, including myself and I think I'm a pretty good mother. She lived at the hospital while he was in The Unit. She tirelessly trudged up to the nursery to feed and hold and stroke him because he wasn't allowed outside of his little cell. She has never, ever regretted her pregnancy or even spoken in a negative way regarding it and she had a difficult one. (she DID complain </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">regularly </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">about her </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitxbWVPLHYq9VeID5C4FaMfVG0mTMcZ221u0W9lfK1w2F5cDQjiLD26gCr5PVluFl1yR5GUkjgcLoBRmtLxzzGAehYrhd2_LxqmaDZcqobIo7GyvuL1pQnRBAiSrOQGifpzM9wMszB_NI/s1600/116014739911581_352224_the_cankles_1.jpg" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">"cankles"</a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> though.) </span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I recently read a passage in Bob Goff's new book, <u><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Love-Does-Discover-Secretly-Incredible/dp/1400203759">Love Does</a></u> where Donald Miller is describing Goff:</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i>"(Bob Goff) loves people with a force that is natural, and by natural I mean like</i> nature<i>, like a waterfall or wind or waves on the ocean. He loves effortlessly, as though love packs annually in snow on a mountain, melting and rushing through him in an infinite loop. There's no explanation for a man who can love this well save God."</i></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">When I read this passage, I immediately thought of Andrea and the love she has for her son. The son that changed our family. Who brought absolute joy into our home. Who healed us with his mere existence. Who soothes me with his chubby hands on my face. Who stops whatever he's doing when I sing to him. Who grinds his new little teeth on anything and everything. Who "reads" by opening and shutting a book over and over again, Who lays his soft, fuzzy head on my shoulder for a second to let me know that </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">at the moment, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I'm his favorite. Who is loved beyond measure by his parents and all of the Burks and Pace clans. Who's gut laugh is gold and who's smile is priceless.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQDhYcYcENwy04cC2DLuKutoDYjvqSq9skPMcrjA8gd3I8I4rHjxRAXOmhGjTmtibeORKHN3uI7fXd8l-Smby3YwFqQcqvlLJfMBJiW7UhyphenhypheniLi6_nCxZITZ56NvmHpB-2k5dRCuzRStJY/s1600/406772_10150542758220236_501025235_11103685_165772237_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQDhYcYcENwy04cC2DLuKutoDYjvqSq9skPMcrjA8gd3I8I4rHjxRAXOmhGjTmtibeORKHN3uI7fXd8l-Smby3YwFqQcqvlLJfMBJiW7UhyphenhypheniLi6_nCxZITZ56NvmHpB-2k5dRCuzRStJY/s320/406772_10150542758220236_501025235_11103685_165772237_n.jpg" height="320" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">The only reason it will take a village to raise this child is <br />because everyone wants to be a part of his life.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bobby and his silly personality...where did that come from?</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Bewilderment #3: Yes, I'm bewildered that hosting an infant for six months was not hectic or in the least bit annoying. The day I walked upstairs and saw his crib taken apart before they moved into their own home, my heart lurched. It literally did a flip and landed in a sorry mess at the pit of my stomach. I like to imagine that the Gastrointestinal Crime Scene showed up and said, "Call Horatio, we'll need help with this one." He's my buddy of buddys. I don't know how long that will last because, at some point, I will not be nearly as cool as Granddaddy who has lots of fun things to do in his shop and can drive a boat and shoot a pistol, or lift a tank and throw a football like Uncle Jake, or sing thousands to their feet like Uncle Jeff and Aunt Jourge, or throw him to the moon (and catch him) like Uncle Buddy, or teach him to do flips like Aunt Bree, and he will soon tire of me trying to teach him to love literature...but until that happens, I will continue to read him important things by </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Dr-Seusss-ABC-Amazing-Alphabet/dp/0679882812">Dr. Suess</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> , help him find Waldo, make him whatever he wants to eat, and squeeze his plump thighs and kiss him till he yells for mercy.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Happy birthday Baby Bobby and thanks for teaching all of us that God shows up as beans, lemons, and jalapenos.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Love, BB</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i>"Oh a cowboy needs a horse, needs a horse, needs a horse.</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i>And he's gotta have a rope, have a rope, have a rope.</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i>And he oughta have a song, have a song, have a song...</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i>If he wants to keep ridin'....</i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;"><i><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d3_3Ri3QaiU" target="_blank">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d3_3Ri3QaiU</a></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace;">(our song)</span></div>
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Barbara Burkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04228874452748830083noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1158258711717056850.post-66510507474404947342012-04-20T23:11:00.000-07:002012-04-24T11:27:18.028-07:00Push-Button Hope is just not happening here. Not Today.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My hope is built on nothing less than Jesus' blood and righteousness....and Christian radio.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Nope. That last part is not true.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To be honest, I am not a hater of Christian music/radio but it sometimes makes me gag.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Let's do a few pros and cons on it right here, right now:</span><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Pros for Christian radio - </span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">• positive, encouraging music</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">• something the kids can listen to and you don't have to worry about them repeating any unsavory lines from the songs they hear in front of grandma.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">• some of the music is actually based on scripture.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">• there are countless testimonials of how someone was at the end of their rope then tuned in to Christian radio and the song playing literally saved their life.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Cons for Christian radio - </span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">• DJ's</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">• Pledge drives</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">• The same 5 bands on repeat</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">• DJ's</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9uzU-kgSgBDwZ8OORBs9VMNsF-CYH6Jm7VKvc1BLlfEcu72DVNhfbrspLBekmAud5kFc9FJgeSrNjevhSt9cpE59UlUT4jMne0CalEw5EQetpACALAlH1ONBV-n7Y14CeB9uGIsWNHOo/s1600/Christian-Radio24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9uzU-kgSgBDwZ8OORBs9VMNsF-CYH6Jm7VKvc1BLlfEcu72DVNhfbrspLBekmAud5kFc9FJgeSrNjevhSt9cpE59UlUT4jMne0CalEw5EQetpACALAlH1ONBV-n7Y14CeB9uGIsWNHOo/s320/Christian-Radio24.jpg" width="320" /></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There! I've said it! In other words, most Christian radio stations drive me bonkers. And yet, I still tune in. Why do I do that? What is it about my personality that continues to feast on a steady diet of cheese in my ears day in and day out? And by cheese, I am talking about the schmaltzy, fix everything with a 25 word devotional, fake-laugh-sounding deejay.</span><br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What I really want from a Christian </span></b><br />
<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">radio station:</span></b><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">• Hire DJs who actually laugh from their gut...not to mention have a good sense of humor. The ten commandments do not include, <i>Thou Shalt Not Be Witty</i>. Or <i>Thou Shalt Not Speak In Any Tone Other Than High Church.</i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">• Real music. Not pop music that is recorded under a Christian label.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">• Independent artists.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">• Music recorded after 1999.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7bllaENMt96E2RW-dspr51BdjzvLO91M5TqoGCCzSW0pePWPIZogM2OQ2h8Tsrvu9ncDcOn3BGCxNIz8xmHyphaMdJx28lZYutx0uju0P8KP9X2gvrdnjJZu9LPxB-yIC1lxJN1smlrk/s1600/dj-Web+Hi-Res.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="128" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7bllaENMt96E2RW-dspr51BdjzvLO91M5TqoGCCzSW0pePWPIZogM2OQ2h8Tsrvu9ncDcOn3BGCxNIz8xmHyphaMdJx28lZYutx0uju0P8KP9X2gvrdnjJZu9LPxB-yIC1lxJN1smlrk/s400/dj-Web+Hi-Res.jpg" width="400" /></span></a><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I know I must sound like an atheist to some of you at this point. I actually love Steven Curtis Chapman and respect Casting Crowns. I recently saw Chris Tomlin in concert and was wholly impressed. But where are artists like Gungor, Jillian Edwards, All Sons and Daughters, Sandra McCracken, Sara Groves, to name a few? Is it all about the money and the label? I do realize that many many many people want to hear Third Day (whom I also love), Barlow Girls, Point of Grace, Michael W. Smith, and any of the Winans. I also understand that any song performed by a group with the word "Hillsong" in it is gold. They are the "cool kids" in Christian radio circles.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm a promoter of the kid who sits on the back row. Who talks in church. Who doesn't always wear the trendiest outfit or the latest style. Who loves to laugh more than anything and incorporates their humor into everything they do. Who almost didn't try because fear of failure paralyzed them. That was me. So naturally I am drawn to that kid...that group...that artist. I would love to see Christian radio promote that kid too. Not because they already have a Dove nomination. But just because they are freaking GOOD. INSPIRED. HAVE A WORD I need to hear...not a tired chorus that just rhymes or contains the verse-of-the-month. (Jeremiah 29:11 anyone?)</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Radio is a powerful medium. I appreciate its history, its effects, its purpose. But not everyone who needs spirit-filled music is comfortable listening to 2 people from the John Tesh School of Diction and Timbre (JTSDT) quote fragments of scripture out of context and acting like they have never had diahrrea or a crusty cold sore in their life. (I'm also picturing a toupe' and/or a perm.) I see that as a theme in our churches as well. C'mon people! Show your fever blisters. Don't be ashamed...everybody gets them.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI9BAbNW_lsK21XrCsf_htOLMCNCgVRX8zveKmiXqQr5e_cfsPAgF_C8I0Y5mAXPBXN_GdS5wRnYiCnZn5B7_Q-Hi7K7DNjB7JbM8Rg2FJvPgX_I1N0hy7iqdOqSk-k84eaie-av8YAfs/s1600/jourdan_album_8_RGB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI9BAbNW_lsK21XrCsf_htOLMCNCgVRX8zveKmiXqQr5e_cfsPAgF_C8I0Y5mAXPBXN_GdS5wRnYiCnZn5B7_Q-Hi7K7DNjB7JbM8Rg2FJvPgX_I1N0hy7iqdOqSk-k84eaie-av8YAfs/s400/jourdan_album_8_RGB.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">Available April 24th on iTunes</span></td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Currently 6 people follow this blog. I am expecting to lose a third of my following after this post. But before you leave, please look at this brand new album coming out Tuesday, April 24th. Have you ever seen anything more lovely? I expect the songs from it will be even more spectacular. Am I bragging? You'd better believe it. THIS is what deserves to be all over the airwaves. And not because of my relationship to the artist. (well...not JUST because of that) but because I know where her heart has been and what has inspired her to write the songs on this album. Check it out. It's 100% lactose free.</span><br />
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight</span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The clouds be rolled back as a scroll;</span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The trump shall resound, and the Lord shall descend,</span></i></div>
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Even so, it is well with my soul.</span></i></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now THAT'S hope! Horatio Spafford, I would definitely push the button to hear more of you.</span></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRMqTbQKqL48R02K0jEtwb6_L2WfhIQ1GufbD3bSYQod5Ymi61MY4sBJdL6pl3FuOfj3XIDulkDOz7SJIEFpO_PIDftSI4iS4f3L-pXGKWdlKkh6VpMd0ZwcZPhs1P2kdwTk-L_GnPHAY/s1600/jourdan_album_8_RGB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"><br /></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRMqTbQKqL48R02K0jEtwb6_L2WfhIQ1GufbD3bSYQod5Ymi61MY4sBJdL6pl3FuOfj3XIDulkDOz7SJIEFpO_PIDftSI4iS4f3L-pXGKWdlKkh6VpMd0ZwcZPhs1P2kdwTk-L_GnPHAY/s1600/jourdan_album_8_RGB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"><br /></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRMqTbQKqL48R02K0jEtwb6_L2WfhIQ1GufbD3bSYQod5Ymi61MY4sBJdL6pl3FuOfj3XIDulkDOz7SJIEFpO_PIDftSI4iS4f3L-pXGKWdlKkh6VpMd0ZwcZPhs1P2kdwTk-L_GnPHAY/s1600/jourdan_album_8_RGB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"><br /></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRMqTbQKqL48R02K0jEtwb6_L2WfhIQ1GufbD3bSYQod5Ymi61MY4sBJdL6pl3FuOfj3XIDulkDOz7SJIEFpO_PIDftSI4iS4f3L-pXGKWdlKkh6VpMd0ZwcZPhs1P2kdwTk-L_GnPHAY/s1600/jourdan_album_8_RGB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"><br /></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRMqTbQKqL48R02K0jEtwb6_L2WfhIQ1GufbD3bSYQod5Ymi61MY4sBJdL6pl3FuOfj3XIDulkDOz7SJIEFpO_PIDftSI4iS4f3L-pXGKWdlKkh6VpMd0ZwcZPhs1P2kdwTk-L_GnPHAY/s1600/jourdan_album_8_RGB.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"><br /></span></a>Barbara Burkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04228874452748830083noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1158258711717056850.post-23071416062737237092012-03-24T11:13:00.001-07:002012-03-24T12:22:26.235-07:00Keeping the Fun in DysfunctionEveryone has a dysfunctional family. Everyone.<br />
How you deal with it determines whether your dysfunction turns into fun or funk.<br />
Don't think you're gonna get the bottom line lesson on happy families in this blog post, but I will share a tip that has worked for us to keep us from living in a funk because of our dysfunctions.<br />
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Marry well.<br />
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"Well" in this case does not mean marry into money or marry someone who is climbing the ladder of social acceptance. What it means is to marry someone who says, "WELL...we will just have work this out together" or "WELL...it's just not that bad" or "WELL...I am going to crawl down into the pit with you and help you out."<br />
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That's what Buddy and I have learned to do. It's taken approximately 33 years but I think we are finally getting the hang of it. As I look back, i see evidence there were certain clues this was happening. Such as the time when he was faced with the decision of closing down his business in Fort Walton, leasing his store in Niceville, and moving his business into our back yard shop. And further back when we were wondering if staying married might be harder than staying together. And most recently, when my husband has crawled into the pit of aging parent problems with me and kept my head and heart afloat.<br />
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I'm a crier. Not in the town crier sense. But in the ugly-contorted faced-red-nosed kind of crier. I shed tears occasionally. This most recent chapter in my life has caused a few riverlets of salty fluid to run down my cheeks as I think of the kindness, support, prayer, strength, and love my husband has shown me. I have felt overwhelmed, frustrated, and exhausted, but never alone. That's how I know I will make it through.<br />
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I knew I married well when I put laughter and sadness on a balancing scale and saw that thru every single rough patch in my life, there was laughter infused into it.<br />
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I knew I married well when all 4 of my children were born and they were beautiful...all favoring their father.<br />
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I knew I married well when after 33 years of marriage, we go on a vacation and still have fun when it's just the two of us.<br />
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I knew I married well when more than anything I want to go through the living room into the kitchen and fix myself some hot coffee first thing in the morning, but can't because my husband is on his knees praying for our family in the living room, blocking my path.<br />
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We married very young. (VERY young) I don't condone 20 year old children getting married. I don't condone children getting married at all. The evidence is my oldest married at 29 and my next oldest, at 29 is still unmarried and I was/am more than fine with that. (Little Bud bucked the system at 24.) I can only say that because we serve a merciful God and Buddy and I are both stubborn that it is working.<br />
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And working well.<br />
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Happy Anniversary to my Fun Husband.<br />
I love you.<br />
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<br /></div>Barbara Burkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04228874452748830083noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1158258711717056850.post-44474237746177633882012-01-31T16:46:00.000-08:002012-02-01T06:42:37.099-08:00From Ridiculous to Extraordinary in One Tall Moment.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I knew that I would be protected forever because of the day I sprained my ankle after jumping off the bow of a boat.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I see some explanation is necessary.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I'm very vague on dates, unlike my older southern friend from Fried Chicken, Alabama - "Yes, that was Septembuh of nannyfo-uh..."(September, '94) so I'll guess this took place about 5-6 years ago. We were with family and friends out on our boat off the coast of Pensacola Beach in a rather choppy sea on a dolphin watch or fishing or something. Well...I get very seasick in a choppy, wavy gulf so Buddy offered to get as close to the beach as possible and drop some of us off at Fort Pickens. The waves were bringing the boat in closer than was safe so Buddy hollered, "Y'all need to get off now before we get beached!" I, being a cross between the Proverbs 31 and Ephesians 5 wife, immediately jumped off the bow of the boat into what I thought was 18" of water. It turned out to be closer to 6" of water. Owee.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">My oldest son, Buddy IV, was with us that day. Upon seeing my obvious and extreme pain, he plowed into the water as the boat was rapidly receding from the shoreline and swam to my side. The look of concern on his face touched me forever. He didn't know whether to blame his dad for yelling at us to jump, or to blame the boat for it's sub-par design that could allow it to be grounded in 6" of water, or to blame God for making waves in the Gulf that day. He proceeded to show me compassion and aid that I didn't think was possible from a 21 year old boy.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">That's not a very dramatic story, but it is typical of the character of my son. (Both of my sons, actually.)</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Barney B Burks, IV, aka Baby Buddy, aka Little Bud, aka Bud was our Bouncing Bundle of Blessedness. Being pregnant with him was akin to hiking uphill with a 60 pound backpack strapped to your belly. He was about 20" long and weighed 10 pounds 10 ounces at birth. I called him the Cube. Not really. But I have used that expression when describing him as a baby. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Oh. My. Gosh. The cutest baby ever. Dimples as deep as moon craters, wide open grins all day long, curly blond locks, and poop constantly running out of his diaper. Baby Buddy grew in knowledge and in stature. Mostly in stature. He graduated from high school at 6'3" and then grew 2 more inches after that. The freshman fifteen, for him, meant inches. It's nice to be tall, but the best thing about Buddy is not A single thing, it's three:</span></div>
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<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><u> His ridiculous personality</u>. Unlike the rest of us, Buddy won't repeat something funny if he thinks he wasn't heard. But you don't have to worry because something new and funny will be coming shortly.</span></li>
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<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><u>His humility</u>. This boy was good at every sport he tried. And believe me, he tried many. He's even good at Scrabble, which boggles the mind if you've grown up with him and listened to his vocabulary. But we had to pry out of him any of his accomplishments. (also unlike most of us) He never, ever brags on himself. Thank goodness for Bree, his amazing wife, my third daughter. Bree used to have to make him call me to tell me little things like winning a game BECAUSE OF BUD'S GRAND SLAM!!! One day I got an email from Bud and all that was enclosed was a link to another website. It was merely the University of Florida Intramural website stating the winner (Bud) of the best baseball hitter on campus...The Home Run Derby! University of Florida, home to 45,000 students. Sheesh.</span></li>
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<li><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><u>His character.</u> Of course you think your children are special. Each one of them has a gift. Everyone knows that. However, this young man has continued to blow our minds with his wisdom, capacity for love, and loyalty. He is child-like and a cut-up 90% of the time. As a matter of fact, if you didn't know him but happened to come upon Bud playing around with his family or friends, it would quite surprise you (because of his shenanigans) to learn that he has a masters degree in structural engineering. He does not quite fit the mold of the average engineering student, believe me! But he never ceases to amaze us with his ability to comfort, his desire to be Christ-like, to show compassion, and to bring a peaceful solution to any problem. His depth and insight are straight from Paul's prayer in Philippians 1:9-10: </span></li>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><b>"</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span">And this is my prayer: that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight, </span><span class="Apple-style-span"><sup class="versenum" id="en-NIV-29372" style="font-weight: bold; line-height: normal; vertical-align: text-top;">10</sup></span><span class="Apple-style-span"> so that you may be able to discern what is best and may be pure and blameless for the day of Christ..."</span></i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlBayVsrSiNb7RRdFierVQM9qzm0zlZFHbCjeK0dwnJze57yJpIlliZBIDnWLsym6luqw32qViDh41rxJ3Abs6QMT7-PBCL6ODPdRwMpQowh0BBIyI8XA5cVPhHsor8-BhM493R5l5YmU/s1600/207551_1017992254400_1362954280_50433_5288_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlBayVsrSiNb7RRdFierVQM9qzm0zlZFHbCjeK0dwnJze57yJpIlliZBIDnWLsym6luqw32qViDh41rxJ3Abs6QMT7-PBCL6ODPdRwMpQowh0BBIyI8XA5cVPhHsor8-BhM493R5l5YmU/s200/207551_1017992254400_1362954280_50433_5288_n.jpg" width="150" /></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlBayVsrSiNb7RRdFierVQM9qzm0zlZFHbCjeK0dwnJze57yJpIlliZBIDnWLsym6luqw32qViDh41rxJ3Abs6QMT7-PBCL6ODPdRwMpQowh0BBIyI8XA5cVPhHsor8-BhM493R5l5YmU/s1600/207551_1017992254400_1362954280_50433_5288_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0GBd_BnvhmC5eAZL9FzRyCHYLGa8sJqopFYf2vXI8JeScH25W9yGiCvaS3x3J0YkT1JLmUxfpF7yc2BGXfzQ56v0E01iwfinzxjEtjcMoZIy6SEwZ7P6OB0UAMts4BjEJZnYFptdBd44/s1600/8232_1235573575905_1426172929_30687730_5508424_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">One of the most beautiful things about my life is to see the love my children have for one another. ♥ I've never seen anything like it. When they are all together, the mood is usually set by Bud. He is a stabilizing factor in their lives...especially Jake's. Bud chose Jake to be his best man in his wedding. It was the best day of Jake's life. You see, Bud has been almost like a second father to his little brother. Not that Jake needed one because he has a wonderful dad. (and he certainly did NOT need any more mothers.) But Bud took it upon himself to be whatever Jake needed and he took his role seriously. When he turned 21, he chose not to drink because he did not want Jake to ever see him with alcohol and be tempted to do the same. He was on the sidelines of Jake's football games just like one of those dads that remembers every single play his son performs. It was torture for him to have to miss Jake's college games so he would try to listen online or at least watch the play by play stats on the UWA website. (torture, indeed). It's a beautiful sight to behold whenever they are reunited. </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Today (Feb. 1) is Bud's 27th birthday. To say we celebrate this day is an understatement. Buddy, you are both insane and an inspiration. P</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">reposterous and a</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> paragon. Here's to you, Buddy IV. Thank you for protecting our family and pouring your joy into our lives.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">"word from your mutha."</span></div>
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<br /></div>Barbara Burkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04228874452748830083noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1158258711717056850.post-63173700232219472182012-01-20T11:49:00.000-08:002012-01-25T12:49:30.309-08:00Command ZI was a 49 year old woman with an active family that included 4 biological adult children, a husband, a job working with students 12-18, a home to take care of, and the sole caretaker of unhealthy aging parents (reserving this topic for a future post). After much drilling and consideration and a new iMac computer, I decided with the help of my family to go back to school to pursue a degree in graphic design. Let me add here that I wasn't even really sure what a degree in graphic design was, but I just wanted to learn how to do art on the computer. So after making the decision Dec. 25, 2008, I signed up for my first class on Jan.4, 2009 and started 3 days later.<br />
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My first impression upon walking into class: Oh.My.Gosh.What.The.&#$@.Am.I.Doing? That was actually my second and third and twelfth impression as well. The class was Computer Graphics I. It is a beginner class in this program. To clarify "beginner", it really meant that you should already have a working knowledge of all the Adobe Design programs like Photoshop, Illustrator, and InDesign, as well as know your way around a Mac, which I'd owned for 2 short weeks. I felt stupid, stupid, stupid. And to top it off, my instructor was apparently the most brilliant, important, educated, philosophical, expert in his field....the elite fraternity of Junior College Visual Arts Instructors. (I did not assign him those attributes, he himself implied all of them). I learned in the first few weeks, that my best friend on that PJC computer was the COMMAND Z shortcut. For those of you who don't know what that does, it is the PC equivalent to CTRL-ALT-DELETE...to go back a step, to erase what you just did. Man, oh man! Those awkward little squiggles just disappear on the spot!<br />
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I have a new community of friends now. I am probably the only one without a tattoo and have the fewest piercings...but they are artists, therefore a very colorful group. My youngest daughter, Andrea, tells me incessantly how glad she is that I have a more worldly view and diverse friendships And she is right! I consider my life richer for expanding my circle to more than just "church" friends, or middle-age grandparents. (But if you really know me, you understand that my circle of friends will NEVER consist of only people my age.)<br />
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I'm over halfway through the program now, working 34 hours a week, going to school 12, planning which 2 nights of 7 that I'll actually cook, washing many loads of laundry on Saturdays, folding laundry on Sundays, declining social opportunities because I have projects to complete, scurrying around trying to discover scholarship opportunities for old women going back to school, calling the emergency room to see if either one of my parents has checked in, and <i>still </i>using COMMAND Z in class. But I have learned that you can't use CMD Z in life. No matter how much you've grown up, how many times you've rededicated your life at camp, how many old sweatshirts you've donated to Goodwill, how many tears you've shed, that you just can't undo what you have done...to others, to yourself.<br />
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But...<br />
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Thank God we don't have to worry about that. <i><b>Jesus Paid It All</b> </i>so that we could have our canvas white as snow. I'm trying to use the consequences of my mistakes to paint a new picture on it. I know we've all been to the place where we couldn't stop uttering, "If only I hadn't done that". We've torn up hearts, relationships, reputations, etc. and we have to live with the consequences. What you do with those consequences is what determines the whole, completed picture of your life.<br />
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Some changes since I started school: I'm 3 years older, we added a daughter in 2009 and a son in 2010 (thanks to Buddy and Jourdan), Andrea brought new life to our first grandchild in May 2011 (Baby Bobby), my boss quit, my aging parents are unhealthier than ever, and I have a fish named Nick. Did I mention I'm 3 years older?<br />
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Things that haven't changed: I am still married to a wonderful man, I still get more pleasure out of my family than I deserve, I still can't find matches to socks, I still plan trips I'll never take, I still don't exercise regularly, and I still love teenagers. (not ALL teenagers so don't start making plans to ship me yours). I am still using the CMD Z option like crazy and I am still making mistakes in life I wish I could erase. However, I hope to put those paints to proper use. And if I happen to get a tattoo, I'll post it proudly.<br />
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And here is what it will look like:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjekIvT0YeqAQGljCF23AqTjqEvBBAyZLxddR1Jz_uXADGdzHyTG-8jFQlzAdrZwggpOKhxjaT7y1MDTW6VJqBJy2GY5CbT4avMwEtlXq5FnC2_kqiNoc1cCxmGhg0_oVjqDoLmClw2QUw/s1600/ilovecmdz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirsOn3CF4IZwRmVgWOO4RefdG9x4bzBkr6Tcsq3wpVzpjvepCmbRVWXJqifHwDreHxJ2duiORwjvZxhGGOnScut3_5AFTMa4CWkqbqDCmIYLy9VMRZTRzv80Fps9PupXot0mnx6aMpXoU/s1600/ilovecmdz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; clear: right; color: black; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;">:</span></a></div>Barbara Burkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04228874452748830083noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1158258711717056850.post-74632855807537746392011-12-20T09:30:00.000-08:002012-01-26T11:56:04.310-08:00The First One<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">the first one...</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">today i am recalling the events which led to my eldest child's birth.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">some people might call it "Babies Having Babies".</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">while i was certainly the most mature 21 year old i'd ever met, in reality i was an infant myself. spiritually. i made the decision to quit college, marry young, and get a real job. what a life we were living! brand new house (mortgage - $329/mo.), brand new car (1979 thunderbird) and brand new boat (24' sea ray cabin cruiser that we kept in our driveway, which made it necessary to park on the street). to these defining possessions we were adding a child. perfect.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">back in the day, early gender identification was a crap shoot so we decided not to have the official guess and be surprised with whoever god brought to us and just decorate in primary colors...which we all know is the major reason anyone REALLY wants to know...to solve the nursery design mystery.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">because i came of age in the 70's, i chose no drugs for delivery. ( i also read breastfeeding books published by LaLeche League so that should tell you i was basically a <i>dairy cow</i> for all of my 20's.) poor baby jourdan. tugged into this harsh world with forceps, and then given a name that cannot be found on any magnets, mugs, or mini license plates. while i was weak, weak, weak with post-partum exhaustion, my mother-in-law slid a quick one in on me and asked me to spell my new baby's name with a "u" since it happened to be a family name on her father's side...of which we were totally unaware or else jourdan's name would have been "alexandria" or "edith" instead.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">i was supposed to go back to work after 6 weeks and finish out my first year at my job so i could get a check for 2 weeks paid vacation. i opted not to for a couple of reasons:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">1.) i could not tear myself away from this child, </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">2.) when i told my boss (a proud member of N.O.W. and hater of babies) that i was pregnant, she asked, "well...are you going to HAVE it?" uhmmm....yeah, jerk. i'm not only going to have "it", i am going to be proud to be a mother who doesn't have a career that requires a business card and sensible shoes. so we sold the sea ray and became poor so that i could stay home with my perfect baby daughter with a "u".</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">at first, she slept in a hand made cradle next to my side of the bed. i tied one end of my robe belt around the rocking part of the cradle and held onto the other end so that i could lay in bed and rock her after she woke up for the 3rd time in the middle of the night. and jourdan loved to rock. i rocked her every day until i was too pregnant with her sister to lift her up out of the chair after she fell asleep. i'm sure that was traumatic for her. she was one of those you had to lay down with in order to get her to sleep.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">if i knew then, what i know now, i would have laid down with her every night until she left home for texas at the age of 22. she has been "that" kid. the compliant one. the peaceful one. i should have had an inkling what her personality would be like when i was told my due date was dec. 24th and i stated, "i do not want to have this baby before christmas because i don't want to be in the hospital on christmas day." so she waited until the 27th, after i had packed up my christmas decorations, to come stay.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJp63uRdC7KgsoO1YsJr6I5uM_SKE-TBPH_zwkqSkPqZVu_AwlErhSR9mlVMi43Z45CJ5syMSwxIqTwqy415UJ9d175FbYbIsS1sABJjvzLehfh5Lc5HkYpdfhb2z0AUVdg5R2Kb__tog/s1600/JourdanPiano.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtOz_s_JXSHRk81xFyNYvSCOWDdSAJjJIfJ5vGWouKN962VJppgrIpuaKbR_X4UvPY7-PLkwvUee7YV44YGW20DEs8D_CGhxDLLfdUr5AsDqR2v05EH0j2jx0LgE8gwMADN8-NdoglErU/s1600/untitled.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtOz_s_JXSHRk81xFyNYvSCOWDdSAJjJIfJ5vGWouKN962VJppgrIpuaKbR_X4UvPY7-PLkwvUee7YV44YGW20DEs8D_CGhxDLLfdUr5AsDqR2v05EH0j2jx0LgE8gwMADN8-NdoglErU/s320/untitled.bmp" width="240" /></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">i could write an entire day about this first one. how we grew up together, how she became a friend, how proud we are of her, how strong she is, the way she cares for her younger siblings, her loyalty, her gifts, her importance to us. but today, i will just reflect that she is ours and i'll never understand why. except that god has used her to grow me up and to teach me unconditional love and make me grateful i know jesus better because of her.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Happy Birthday, Jourdan.</span><br />
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<br />Barbara Burkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04228874452748830083noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1158258711717056850.post-53143716533130489712011-12-01T15:02:00.001-08:002012-06-26T14:11:12.847-07:00Blog Schmogi swore i'd never do it. i have an aversion to people writing down their thoughts and expecting other people to want to read them. now i realize most people have moments of brilliance now and again but those are usually watered down with stories of recipes and how hard it is to be a mother and bad metaphors for the christian walk, etc. i don't mean to sound cynical...i'm just busy. way too busy. too busy to be typing this out for sure. with the exception of a few profound and gifted women I know (and one I don't know) who blog, there is no reason good enough for me to read someone else's thoughts when i have a stack of books beside my bed that i have not finished...by equally profound and gifted writers whom i have just supported by PAYING for their books.<br />
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however, my daughter has insisted i try this because she likes to read my texts. go figure.<br />
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so here i am imposing upon you, the reader with no extra time on your hands, to see what i'm thinking today.<br />
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in today's entry, i will covenant with you, the busy reader:
"i will try my best to limit my paragraphs. to not endlessly speak of my children. to not whine or cuss. to not tell you what to do. to only use a rare cheesy metaphor, and to not make every post about my grandson, bobby." <i>~Barbara Burks</i><br />
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i know i will be more successful at some than others and those of you who know me can probably guess at which i will fail.Barbara Burkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04228874452748830083noreply@blogger.com2