tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-926519989409781362024-02-07T06:22:15.659-08:00Morning WingsMelaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14253635679233293750noreply@blogger.comBlogger36125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-92651998940978136.post-31740656062092412962015-12-30T17:12:00.000-08:002018-12-20T13:25:22.520-08:00It was the Morning of December 24th<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="270" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/PgGUKWiw7Wk" width="480"></iframe><br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">It was the morning of December 24th. Glancing at the clock on the bottom of my computer screen, I was surprised by the hour- nearly 10:30 am and no one was stirring. Usually by this time in the morning the women have popped in to say hello and have informed me of any new controversies. On this day, however, the house was silent and everyone was still tucked away in their beds.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Within a mere minute or two, I heard a soft knock at my office door. Finally someone was awake! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Melanie, I'm wondering when we get to open presents." one of the women asked sheepishly. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Piled in the corner of my tightly packed office was an impressive mound of donated gifts. Plush throw blankets, boutique cosmetics, handmade soaps, candy, and puzzles were all wrapped festively and awaited their new owners.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I answered, "When everyone else is awake."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">My role is a strange role. I supervise, I case plan, I problem solve, I mediate, I intervene, I teach, but more simplistically put, I mother a group of adult female offenders eight hours a day. My role was no different this day. In fact, in many ways, I was more maternally motivated because I was privileged to give a gift many had never received before- a safe Christmas. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The woman left my office and no more than 30 seconds later I heard a yell, "Get ready, Susan*, we get to open presents!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"I don't think Lucy* is up either!" another yell from another woman. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Their childlike enthusiasm was amusing. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Most of the women weren't looking forward to Christmas. The holiday regularly triggered upsetting memories and cravings. The season reminded them of the family, often their own children, they were separated from. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">A few minutes before 11:00 the same woman- with her wrinkled pajamas still on, her tousled hair, and a shy grin on her face- came back to my office. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Everyone is up and they're waiting in the living room." she said in a controlled manner.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">With a little help, I carried the red and white packages to the other room. The women's eyes were wide. I placed the gifts in front of them. It was easy to see all they really wanted to do was tear open their gifts, but they showed restraint. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">They saved me a spot and waited for me to sit down. I handed out the largest presents first because, even for adults, there's something very exciting about receiving a large gift. I informed them they could trade and swap their gifts amongst each other if they chose to do so. As soon as permission was granted the women shredded through every inch of gift wrap. Each woman held up her soft, oversized blanket, admiring it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"This is my color!" one woman shouted, clearly indicating she was pleased by her pick and had no intentions of trading.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"How did they know I liked blue?" asked another woman.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">"Who do we thank for these presents?" questioned one woman thoughtfully. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The women opened the rest of the gifts with equal enthusiasm. They passed around their handmade soaps, appreciating the unique fragrances. They instantly started to snack on the boxes of chocolates that were carefully concealed in other packages. Those women who received puzzles examined the intricate details and quickly requested help putting them together. They compared their lipstick shades and eye shadow hues. During this time of fellowship the women were given their last gift- a joyful, respectful, and safe Christmas. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">My program is polarizing. There are those who value the resources that keep women out of jail and there are those who do not. There is no simple solution for the incarceration problem in this country, but there is a simple solution for the fear, hate, and ignorance that plague our nation. Love. I don’t mean the threadbare, trivialized version of love. I mean the kind of love that is patient and kind. Love that isn’t envious or boastful or proud. The kind of love that is honorable and selfless. Love that holds no records of past wrongs and does not anger. A love that seeks and praises the truth and is safe and hopeful.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So love each other this holiday season. Love when it’s difficult and love when you’re bursting at the seams. </span></div>
<b></b><i></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><b><i>*Names have been changed in order to maintain confidentiality</i></b></span></div>
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<br />Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14253635679233293750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-92651998940978136.post-28520031660813628122015-12-20T13:23:00.000-08:002018-12-20T13:27:56.436-08:002015 Christmas Letter<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Another year is
coming to a close and what a year it has been. As we reflect on the reason
for the season, we can't help but recognize the blessings that have been bestowed
upon our little family this year.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Franklin Hugo turns
three just a few days before Christmas! Where has the time gone? This
year Franklin has worked really hard to learn how to shake and how to
stand on his hind legs. We're just so thankful he has such drive and
determination. We're hopeful that in the coming year he'll finally learn
the difference between sit and lay down.
So much to look forward to.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Franklin had a few
unfortunate run-ins with the neighbor pups. We continue to encourage him
and remind him that bullies never win. Of course that's difficult for him
to understand at his age, but Franklin has a good heart and is always looking
to include his peers.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Franklin still has a
fear of baths, vacuums, ear drops, the vet, the scent of wine/beer, small white
dogs, and posing for photos. It's truly adorable and we relish the moments he barks
uncontrollably or hides in inaccessible spots. Our hearts swell with pride. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Melanie has had a
full year as well. She turned a whopping 30 years old! She marked
this milestone by buying herself an oversized slice of cake and making homemade
candles using recycled wax. She takes pride in the fact that at 30
she still uses hand-me-down kitchenware and only washes laundry once every two
weeks.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">In the last year,
Melanie finished all ten seasons of Friends on Netflix. She also watched
all the available seasons of Arrow and the Netflix original series Daredevil.
It's been a good year for online streaming. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Melanie has been
able to maintain a really great relationship with her dentist. She's had
teeth now for three decades and still doesn't have a single cavity (even
though she started drinking coffee for the first time this year...another
highlight!). Her dentist even suggested she have her picture taken for the
Cavity Free Club at the clinic. We couldn’t be more pleased. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">After being a licensed
driver for roughly half her life, Melanie was incredibly excited to finally experience
her first fender bender in 2015. So much
so, she got herself into second fender bender just for good measure (side note:
neither were her fault). What a fun new adventure. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">As you can see, we
have countless reasons to be thankful. It's been a fulfilling year and we
welcome 2016 with hopeful hearts. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Be blessed this
Christmas season, we know we certainly have been.</span></div>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14253635679233293750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-92651998940978136.post-61213738751206065672014-09-22T20:13:00.000-07:002019-01-23T11:20:44.775-08:00Water's Widow<br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">In the densely wooded grounds of a gracious estate, lived an
accomplished dowager- a woman chronicled by her skills and talents. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was capable in her earlier life, but now the estate that once delivered independence caged her instead. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">Each morning she walked through the overgrown foliage and
below the thick boughs of the century old trees to reach the lake’s edge.
In her youth the water rippled and flowed as the surface reflected blue skies, but
through the years the water dulled and brought with it an unrelenting fog. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">
In search of a clear skies, the dowager climbed into the rowboat docked along her boathouse each day.
She rowed for hours and only came to shore for the midday meal and when the
light began to fail. Family members assumed her love of the land, and more
importantly, her love of the water motivated the daily routine, but the dowager
found no joy in rowing. You see, her talents and skills were lost in the fog many
years ago. Her quest for clarity birthed distressing compulsion.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Fa</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">mily members inevitably prompted her with questions over mealtimes, asking about her time on the water and her walks through the
woods. The dowager could never find the words to explain the terrible burden
rowing had become. The intangible qualities that once filled her personhood had abandoned her and left only a
shell. Often the dowager chose silence instead of attempting to choose the
right words in response.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><br /><o:p></o:p></span></span>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">Without ceasing, she made her trek through the woods and
boarded her rowboat daily.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some promising days the
dowager would row to the middle of the lake and witness a clearing.
Hopeful, she'd clutch the oars, relishing her small triumph as long as
possible before sundown mandated her return to shore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most unfortunately, those favorable days were often followed by days of impenetrable fog. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><span style="color: #b00000; font-family: "times new roman";"></span><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">One morning, the dowager headed toward the boathouse and began her habitual practice of rowing shore to shore. It had been ages since she had last seen the blue sky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It had
been longer still since she had remembered to look.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">She didn’t return for the midday meal that
day. The dull hunger pains couldn’t compete with the fog’s unyielding force. The dowager
rowed and she rowed and was completely engulfed by the fog. </span></span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">The dowager never landed another shore. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">
_____<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">More than five million Americans are living with Alzheimer’s
disease<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">
Every 67 seconds someone in the United States develops
Alzheimer’s.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">Alzheimer’s disease is the sixth leading cause of death in
the United States.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">In 2013, 15.5 million caregivers provided an estimated 17.7
billion hours of unpaid care valued at more than $220 billion.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">Alzheimer’s disease is the most expensive health condition
in the nation.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">Not only are women more likely to have Alzheimer's, they are
also more likely to be caregivers of those with Alzheimer's.<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">In her 60s, a woman's estimated lifetime risk for developing
Alzheimer's is 1 in 6. For breast cancer it is 1 in 11.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">In 2013 my mom was diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer’s Disease.
Growing up she attended every sporting event, sewed all our special occasion clothes, she worked behind the scenes of musicals and plays, she gardened, she
read, she cross-stitched, and she played the guitar. My mom no longer does
these things; she is no longer the same woman who raised me. That is the cost
of this disease.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><strong>Find out how you can support Alzheimer’s Disease research at
</strong></span><a href="http://www.alz.org/"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><strong>www.alz.org</strong></span></a><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #444444;"><strong><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">.</span></strong> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><o:p><span style="color: #444444;"> </span><span style="color: #444444;">
</span><span style="color: #444444;">
</span><span style="color: #444444;">
</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/AVvXsEgPwLPV8Jgvp7lR9EG0_cVD_kRQCClCNONI7RksNw_2drHeN83VfKB3j0WtX0GpiJGGVXPgC8uoTT2302YE9cnjMwt8XEHPoP1tHX1COLo2X9xjtboKGmoVI1DkvrIw6jxlVKktfkvcpLf2/s1600/family+pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPwLPV8Jgvp7lR9EG0_cVD_kRQCClCNONI7RksNw_2drHeN83VfKB3j0WtX0GpiJGGVXPgC8uoTT2302YE9cnjMwt8XEHPoP1tHX1COLo2X9xjtboKGmoVI1DkvrIw6jxlVKktfkvcpLf2/s1600/family+pic.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #444444;">Photo credits: Rebecca Reale</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="color: #444444;">
</span></o:p></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /><span style="color: #eeeeee;">
</span></span><o:p></o:p></div>
Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14253635679233293750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-92651998940978136.post-25626514550248590142014-08-24T19:10:00.002-07:002019-01-23T11:19:29.621-08:00Singled Out<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">Dear Married and/or Coupled Friends and Family Members, <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">It has come to my attention you are confused by my
ongoing singleness. Though I appreciate your genuine concern, I do want to
clarify that, though finding a partner in life is something I look forward to, I’m
truly doing okay on my own. To make things easier for our next encounter, I’ve
created guidelines to consider before advising me on my love life. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->When trying to convince me of the gift
that singleness is, it’s best to describe it in a way that doesn’t sound like a
life threatening affliction. </span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->The integrity of your advice is questioned when you talk about the gift of singleness and in the next breath mention an
eligible bachelor you’re acquainted with. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Better yet, avoid talking about the gift of
singleness altogether. I know it’s meant to be encouraging, but anxiety bubbles
when I realize that due to my lack of contentment, this “gift” must surely be
broken and in need of receipt and fool proof return policy. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Please refrain from making crazy cat lady jokes.
It’s not only insulting because it makes me feel like not having a love
life destines me for social awkwardness, but also, it’s insulting because if
anything I’d be a crazy dog lady. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Understand that just because I’m single doesn’t
mean any and all attention from any and all men is welcomed. A girl still has standards.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">6.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->On that note, do not tell me it must feel good
to have men honk and cat call while I’m running around town. There’s nothing alluring
about a stranger shouting out the window of his car or slamming on his horn
like I’m some sort of wildlife that stumbled onto the pavement. </span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">7.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->There really are days when a glass of wine at
home is better than a mediocre date at my favorite restaurant. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">8.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->When at a wedding don’t look to me like it’s my
obligation to stand in a group of young women and wait for flowers to be thrown
in my face. If I’m gonna get on the dance floor when “All the Single
Ladies” starts playing, that’s entirely between me and Beyoncé. </span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">9.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->I don’t want to hear about your success stories
or your friend’s success stories or your friend of a friend’s success stories
with online dating. I’m telling you the man’s a creep with a girlfriend on the
side, trust my independent investigative skills and let it go. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">10.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->It’s confusing when during one conversation you tell
me to maintain my standards, but by the next you suggest I broaden my horizons
because I may be too picky.</span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">11.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->When I’m talking about my
desire to be in a relationship I’m just looking for a listening ear. It’s
advised you don’t provide advice unless it’s requested. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">12.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Suggesting to hold off on buying that great new
kitchen appliance I’ve been eyeing up because I could simply register for one
when I get engaged is a terrible suggestion. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I followed that line of reasoning my house
would be empty and my shelves bare. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">13.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]-->Please don’t try to make marriage and long-term
relationships sound like court appointed life sentences.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If it was really that terrible we’d all be starring in the next generation of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Golden
Girls</i> together.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">14. If there's a man in my life worth talking about, I'll tell you. You don't need to ask me if I'm dating someone new each time we meet. </span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">15. There's nothing wrong with me. My identity is not defined by romantic relationships. My identity is defined by my faith, my family, and my passions. When the right person comes along, I'll welcome him gladly. Until then, I maintain that I'm exactly who I'm supposed to be in this moment in time. </span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">I hope these guidelines will provide some basic framework
for future conversation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wondering what’s
left to talk about? Ask me about my job, my hobbies, even my dog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m confident our next chat will be rich and
inviting. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">Sincerely,<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">Your Single Loved One<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14253635679233293750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-92651998940978136.post-22458081968475791652014-07-08T18:01:00.000-07:002015-01-05T18:00:10.069-08:00Proof of the Extraordinary<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">I’ve recently been given the opportunity to take women who
have hit just about every stumbling block in life-addiction, abuse, poverty-
and support them through a life changing transition into sobriety and law
abiding behavior. In preparation, I decided to Google the phrase “real women
success stories.” I was hoping for inspirational testimonies from relatable
women. Instead, I pulled up page after page of results listing weight loss
programs and products. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">(Before I continue, I do want to acknowledge that there are very
admirable individuals who have taken on the difficult task of becoming healthier
people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is reason to celebrate this
feat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My intention is not to belittle
their personal achievements, rather, to argue there are far too many successes
our world is altogether failing to recognize.)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">I shouldn’t have been surprised by the results. It’s no
secret that our culture, especially in the United States, measures success by
external appearances and superficial qualities. Regardless of this well-known
observation, I was insulted. Maybe it was the feminist in me, or maybe it was
simply my disgust with marketing tactics that shame people using the guise of
personal empowerment. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">Out of natural curiosity, I next typed in “real men success
stories.” What I found left me both relieved and angry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Men too were targeted by the same weight loss
programs as women, though not as excessively. I was relieved because it revealed
females were not the only gender feeling pressure to conform to such empty terms
of success. I was angered, however, because as a nation we’ve been indoctrinated
to believe that only certain successes are worthy of public praise.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">I disagree with Google, or at least the relevance of the
results it provided. If I’m charged with the responsibility of advocating for
women in their pursuit of progress, I don’t want examples of the superficial. I
want proof of the extraordinary resilience and determination of ordinary
people. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">Women who shatter the stereotype that engineering is men’s
work and design bridges like the best of them are successful. Men who sacrifice
every earned comfort to care for sick loved ones are successful. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Women who patiently teach and reteach children
with autism how to socialize and communicate are successful. Men who guide the
development of tolerance and diversity in our systems of higher education are
successful. Women who travel half way around the globe to promote the unifying
benefits of visual art are successful. Men who spend days on end in arid climates
to drill water wells for those with access to none are successful. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">These are the successes worthy of public praise. This is the
proof of the extraordinary.</span> </span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW8kpTCU2UuebrX_bQLR7eahJpIN0klR_5aS0-PzYwGns2H0JQfBKdTRwBBP2xFuPA_g6XMBjz4VPiSvN0zegFzWS-Bwvg7yxKS9zXWlBIJlVbeTV2KbkBFmgjuKvmOSDJjJapTEQcjmLm/s1600/google+print.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW8kpTCU2UuebrX_bQLR7eahJpIN0klR_5aS0-PzYwGns2H0JQfBKdTRwBBP2xFuPA_g6XMBjz4VPiSvN0zegFzWS-Bwvg7yxKS9zXWlBIJlVbeTV2KbkBFmgjuKvmOSDJjJapTEQcjmLm/s1600/google+print.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><o:p></o:p></span> </div>
Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14253635679233293750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-92651998940978136.post-34367745006694640012013-12-03T18:39:00.002-08:002018-12-31T11:38:27.591-08:00Hear Her Roar<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">She wears her hair long and dark. She likes it that way; it’s
feminine. Pink is her favorite color and adding sparkles only makes things
better. She paints her nails every couple of days. She reminisces about last
spring’s prom and talks about going again this year. Deep down she loves her
little sister even though she finds her quite annoying. Oh, and boys bring out
both her insecurities and excitement. She is a typical 16 year old girl.</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">She was riding along with me in the car recently. I was
dropping her off after we spent the afternoon together. I entertained
her request to listen to the top 40 pop radio station. She was telling me about
how much she liked Lady Gaga’s new song “Applause” but disapproved of Gaga’s risqué
album cover. She described the cover in detail.</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">The track changed on the radio. Katy Perry’s song “Roar”
began pulsing through the speakers. Admittedly I started humming along and
singing soon replaced my quiet drones. She followed my lead and I turned up the
volume. In a loud-and-proud fashion we sang with enthusiasm. The words were
lost to her, however. She made an attempt to recite the lyrics in time and in
tune, but the best she could do was catch the line, “<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;">'Cause I am a champion and you’re gonna hear me
roar” as it cycled through the song. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span lang="EN" style="color: #444444; mso-ansi-language: EN;"></span></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpLZc5WCHhtKVR0Gd3UrpBHqWF0I3VTsUH96HYvqlDeQDNkhGtuFom9o_muklIkQK3MUKG0H3C-yHS3bYI8fk-FAcv9wr8uzmpGRuJmK48vXow2JtqT-G0AgG8dIF7h13KwWGig7O2pdD3/s1600/katy+perry+roar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpLZc5WCHhtKVR0Gd3UrpBHqWF0I3VTsUH96HYvqlDeQDNkhGtuFom9o_muklIkQK3MUKG0H3C-yHS3bYI8fk-FAcv9wr8uzmpGRuJmK48vXow2JtqT-G0AgG8dIF7h13KwWGig7O2pdD3/s400/katy+perry+roar.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
<div align="center">
</div>
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">All day she is
defined by her 21<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">st</span></sup> chromosome. She is told she will do less because
of the number 21. She is told she will want less because of the number 21. She
is told she will be less because of the number 21. Yet out of all the lyrics
she could have remembered she remembered the words that defined her as more and
gave her a voice- a fierce, roaring voice. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"></span></span></span>
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">She is a typical
teenage girl though her abilities are different. She likes pink. She idolizes
pop stars. She wants to spend her evenings dressed up in sparkly
gowns and makeup. She is hopeful her high school friendships will last forever.
She rebels in her own way and keeps secrets from her mom. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"></span></span></span><br />
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #fff2cc;"><span style="color: #444444;">In those ways and
many more she is like any other 16 year old junior, but the world isn’t
comfortable seeing her as average, ordinary, or typical. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They tack “special” onto her needs and onto her
education. And although
she is a special individual, it has nothing to do with her abilities. Rather, it
has everything to do with the readiness to champion her own life even when
there are few others that stand to help her.</span> <o:p></o:p></span></span></span>Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14253635679233293750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-92651998940978136.post-10089380062886354512013-11-21T20:09:00.000-08:002018-12-20T18:18:06.138-08:00Running River Piercing Arrow<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #444444;">Small bodied and tense, the little girl sat next to her
sister in the canoe holding onto the yoke tightly. Her older siblings took turns
paddling while her father sat at the stern guiding them. They glided past
sandbars and followed the bluffs that kissed the river’s edge. The little girl
was too terrified to let her eyes linger on the pores and creases of the bluffs, fearing
the rock might collapse on top of her. She took a quick glance and then steadied
her eyes on the tree line opposite the shore. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Adventures made her anxious, but she couldn't
imagine a worthwhile afternoon without one. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "calibri";">They paddled for a while longer. Her father described the
kinds of monstrous fish that lived in the river and reminded them of the
monsters their very own grandfather caught in those same waters. They spotted snakes
and cranes, ducks and turtles. The little girl admired the cattails and the delicate
lily pads that grew among the tangles of slimy seaweed. God has a habit of
pairing the ugly and the beautiful together. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "calibri";">Stopping at a sandbar, everyone climbed out of the boat and
the little girl tiptoed through the mucky shallows onto shore. The little girl,
her three siblings, and their father walked along the water’s edge until they
found a suitable place to swim. Their father ventured out first and dramatically
and clumsily fell into the waves. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The river created hills and valleys below the
water’s surface. The little
girl and her siblings ran full speed away from the shore until the sand gave way to a
drop-off and they splashed into the deep. </span></div>
<span style="color: #444444;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Exhausted, with wrinkled fingers and toes, the little girl
retreated back to the sand island. While being warmed by the sun, the little
girl and her siblings began digging deep into the sand. Their father joined them. His strong forearms made him efficient with the task at hand. He struck water first. Then one by one, the
little girl and her siblings stuck water as well. Before long they created
canals and watched the water pass from one pool to the next. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "calibri";"></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqPe_WQkHsoQbZ0DGY59FYw5eQ9C1PzccITtpOG2BrquH5k0TG9YIfoA1k-is-C3hjUGip3wy63RQCRSTEygdZmWMlC1HAsRcdzn5GQnsLhh01xPEt9bv1xHYqbvWDqZv3-Ju7JUSEFd1D/s1600/lake+wisconsin..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqPe_WQkHsoQbZ0DGY59FYw5eQ9C1PzccITtpOG2BrquH5k0TG9YIfoA1k-is-C3hjUGip3wy63RQCRSTEygdZmWMlC1HAsRcdzn5GQnsLhh01xPEt9bv1xHYqbvWDqZv3-Ju7JUSEFd1D/s320/lake+wisconsin..jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="color: #444444;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Though finally relaxed enough to enjoy riding in the canoe,
the little girl couldn't wait for their journey to be complete. The side of the
canoe bumped and scraped against the dock. Waiting for them on the whitewashed
planks was the little girl’s mother and grandmother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was pleased to see them. Walking barefoot
up the small hill, the little girl brushed the sand from her legs and feet. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">The cottage stood atop the mounded earth, decorated with a scalloped-edged
roof, red shutters, </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "calibri";">and one simple red arrow. The cottage was a haven for the
little girl on Sundays in the summertime. It was filled with antique dressers,
lace curtains, old fishing nets, and arrowheads. And mounted on the walls were
the monsters her grandfather and great-uncles had caught. The basement was
musty and dark, and it housed tools and equipment the little girl had no
business using. Even still, with the accompaniment of her brother, she loved to
explore the murky space beneath the floorboards. </span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "calibri";"></span><br />
<span style="color: #fff2cc;"><span style="color: #444444;">
</span><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #444444;">The little girl had been told stories about what the red
arrow on the side of the cottage meant. It was a reminder of the brave men in
her family who fought in great wars. She tried to discipline herself to
remember that when looking at the arrow, but to the little girl the red arrow
meant something different. It pointed her in the direction of future pilgrimages
to the ever-changing islands and it pointed her in the direction of future
adventures waiting to be had. </span></span></span>Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14253635679233293750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-92651998940978136.post-71893202517811422572013-08-12T19:57:00.002-07:002018-12-31T11:35:02.118-08:00The Times They Are A-Changin'<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">They were black skinny jeans- the kind of skinny before the
skinny of the current trend. His black vest was embossed with a leaf and vine
design and it stretched snuggly across his expanded belly. One of the church
volunteers was making announcements while the man paced in the side aisle
waiting for his cue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The long chain he
wore around his neck bounced lightly off his full chest as he walked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His movement was intentional; it was designed
to make a statement. He had a position amongst the people. He had a title. He
was the congregation’s self-appointed lay leader.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I was visiting my sister and brother-in-law.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sunday morning rolled around and we readied
ourselves for church. Upon our arrival we learned the senior pastor was out of
town and the church’s lay leader would be responsible for leading that morning’s
worship. Change for church-goers is often an uncomfortable inevitability that’s
avoided whenever possible.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The cue came and the lay leader stepped up and turned his
lapel mic on. He carried a Styrofoam cup filled with water and held it as if he
was about to take a sip, but the cup never made it past his chin. He just held
it mid-tilt. The lay leader circled the sanctuary as he spoke. The wedding at
Cana was the topic for the morning’s sermon; however, between his comments
about Peter Jackson’s work in the Lord of the Rings and his Rubin Vase handouts,
the message was lost on me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I turned to
my big sister to gauge her reaction. When I realized both my sister and brother-in-law
were fighting expressions of confusion and amusement, I felt more justified in
my own confusion. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">After several more unclear references, the service was
coming to a close. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My sister pointed out
in the bulletin that the same man, the lay leader, was scheduled to perform
special music.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My brother-in-law leaned
over and whispered, “If he starts singing a Rod Stewart song I’m walking out.”
Luckily for my brother-in-law, there wasn’t room for Rod Stewart in such a
service, but there was certainly room for Bob Dylan, the born-again Voice of
Protest. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The lay leader prepared to perform “Forever Young” and hooked
his harmonica holder around his neck and picked up his guitar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first few chords sounded unfamiliar, but
the longer he played the more clearly the song took shape. He sang the first
verse and before starting the second the lay leader slowed his strumming and
asked that the congregation join him in singing the remaining verses. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He leaned toward his harmonica but couldn’t
reach the reeds. There on his chest, the harmonica and its holder sat for the
remainder of the song as if a decorative piece of jewelry and not an
instrument. Rounding into the last verse it was invoked as the benediction:</span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN" style="line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">May
your hands always be busy <br />
May your feet always be swift<br />
May you have a strong foundation <br />
When the winds of changes shift<br />
May your heart always be joyful <br />
And may your song always be sung<br />
May you stay forever young<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; tab-stops: 265.5pt;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">And so after a mystifying hour, I
left knowing <span style="mso-themecolor: text1;">nothing more about
miracles, other than the miracles of classic song writing and the miracles of
good will and patience. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; tab-stops: 265.5pt;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I tip my hat to you, Mr. Lay
Leader, for doing a job few have the courage to do. Bless your heart.</span></div>
Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14253635679233293750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-92651998940978136.post-28670015820652617172013-06-26T20:35:00.000-07:002018-12-31T11:31:16.508-08:00A Call to Worship<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">I listened to a sermon a few months back and the pastor,
Bible believing and Bible preaching, commented on dying denominations’
inability to maintain membership because of their inability to incorporate
modern worship into their services. A church must be relevant to the culture. Generally
when I hear this type of argument I find points I agree with and many I don’t. My
reaction to this sermon was typical. I’ve heard it before. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">There is something raw and emotional about contemporary
worship. The elevated heartbeats crescendo with the percussion. The guitar harmonizes
with the trailing congregational voices. It’s effective worship. It’s
gratifying and immediate. People feel something leaving a contemporary worship
service. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">However, I have never been more moved lyrically than by
traditional hymns. Where contemporary worship songs are full of feeling, hymns
are full of conviction and weight, the kind of weight that warrants action
rather than complacency. The hymn writers often reflect on tragedies and struggles,
but their choruses champion themes of joy and forgiveness. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">It was less than a week ago, while I was walking through
Hobby Lobby, that I began thinking about this topic. An instrumental version of
the song “In the Garden” (He Walks with Me) began to play over the speakers. Being
raised on traditional hymns, I immediately recognized the tune. I continued to
move through the aisles when I spotted a man in tailored dress clothes,
probably in his thirties, whistling along to the hymn. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was amused. Based on my stereotypes, it was
not something I expected to see, rather hear.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">As I moved closer to the checkout lines I passed a woman, if
I had to guess, in her sixties shopping with a friend. Dressed in light linens
and sporting cropped silver hair, she seemed free spirited. As I passed, the
woman began to hum, quite loudly, along with the song. The friend followed
suit. Again, I was amused.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I returned home and I began to think about what I had
observed. I think most people would have chalked up the whistling and humming
to good moods and beautiful weather. I think that would be a disservice. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">It is in moments like those I spent in Hobby Lobby, that
make me believe there is no place for arguments about contemporary versus
traditional worship. Is it necessary for a church to label its worship in one
way or the other? As much as I appreciate contemporary services, I attend a
church that worships in such a way, I find comfort in what traditional worship
offers: no lights, no power points, no amplifiers, no videos, no distractions.
At times, simplicity is relevant.</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgNfT5P1yavt8NUKW87QhE17WhqfIUii7t1AAq0GCRp8DNPUt63cB5U-B1plXUZotA4AhLCX9hX0F4aW7eENasVXYb7oPiGAwlcAVxE_1rqCldXM04IRhL3EPKCO8aRpSoaQF5QQnjggLS/s1600/in-the-garden.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgNfT5P1yavt8NUKW87QhE17WhqfIUii7t1AAq0GCRp8DNPUt63cB5U-B1plXUZotA4AhLCX9hX0F4aW7eENasVXYb7oPiGAwlcAVxE_1rqCldXM04IRhL3EPKCO8aRpSoaQF5QQnjggLS/s640/in-the-garden.gif" width="435" /></span></a></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms";"></span><br />
<div align="center">
</div>
</div>
Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14253635679233293750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-92651998940978136.post-14067714915975435992013-05-27T16:34:00.000-07:002015-01-05T18:02:00.233-08:00Pledged Allegiance<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">It is by the tears that are spilled with the accompaniment
of blood that they have earned our memorials. It is by the time they sacrificed
and the security they abandoned that they have earned our remembrances. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are living souls fighting in the whispers
of legends.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Forgetting privilege, they survive on the notion that there
is goodness and careful justice in the choices our leaders make. They believe there
is reason to protect and reason to prevail- even when charging the fields of
another man’s war.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">They speak of honor and make oaths to an empire. When the minutes
pass like hours in the throes of chaos, they pray to a god they may not know
and endure rather than succumb to a villain they know too well. They live in a
world that showers both ally and enemy with metal raindrops. And if the light
fades and if the cold sets in they remain in hope; their lives and the lives or
their comrades weren't lost in vain.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">They are soldiers. Trained fighters. Trained guardians. Through
their sorrows and their successes history is made. Whether you’re an impassioned
patriot or an indifferent citizen, there is nobility in a soldier’s story and
that must be acknowledged. Whether you find war justifiable or inexcusable, a
soldier’s story is poetic. They are not the poems of idyllic melodies but percussive
darkness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They are poems that litter the
pages of every written history in all of mankind.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">
</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">
</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">
</span><span style="color: #444444;">
</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/AVvXsEhoZtLn5GNcB_nqOHMfQ8YLsYrSt_YO2PjfBwWWiYtbK86zdBdPdxJFPUTkFu3xXlfuL-42pLKaQCIhsaguH9CECkPfOcklL1Heas4ECfr1KFtN9EOxl0VAJLnjrKDrSD7agh7TEOXMEun0/s1600/dad+accepting+grandpas+flag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoZtLn5GNcB_nqOHMfQ8YLsYrSt_YO2PjfBwWWiYtbK86zdBdPdxJFPUTkFu3xXlfuL-42pLKaQCIhsaguH9CECkPfOcklL1Heas4ECfr1KFtN9EOxl0VAJLnjrKDrSD7agh7TEOXMEun0/s400/dad+accepting+grandpas+flag.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Photo by Rebecca Reale</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14253635679233293750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-92651998940978136.post-18451138047434267662013-04-18T18:26:00.000-07:002018-12-31T11:29:27.690-08:00Puppy Love?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Dear Franklin,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">You’ve lived with me a week to the day. I take pride when
friends, and even strangers, comment on your handsome features (like I had
something to do with it). I’ve found you to be an excellent cuddler, and though
you are still small, I feel a greater sense of security with you in my house. Your
eyes are expressive and your ears are even more so. You are a wonderful first
dog for a first time dog owner. In general, Franklin, you have been a delight. In
general...</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">However, I wish I could be as excited to see you as you are
to see me when I come home to a soiled kennel. And when you start tearing through
my house like your tail is on fire, I wish you’d take note of my disapproving
stare and politely retire to your dog bed instead of nipping at my jeans. It
would be lovely if after you gnawed on your toys and spit out itty bitty little
pieces all over my floor, you’d have the decency to clean up your mess. Oh yes,
and Franklin, I don’t appreciate when at 5:30 in the morning you tell me you
can’t possibly sleep a moment longer so we adventure out on a walk only for you
to fall asleep again twenty minutes after returning home. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">In conclusion, Franklin, I’m learning to love you even when
I have a hard time liking you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think I’ll
keep you so long as you promise to grow out of puppyhood soon.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Sincerely, </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Your Pseudo-Alpha Dog</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeoJ3sm8lSgcDSWD9t1WlegEKG92V5QrA-J1EqqNZD_2vOiJIqlZYKbvJLvVbLxnkCyVEwkGOuudXArOBRdC8jsNEV6yoHCnoA3himw4KpnMfuCDTctoiLQZo4leyl2xV6mvhB20dAlIaB/s1600/IMG_0947.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeoJ3sm8lSgcDSWD9t1WlegEKG92V5QrA-J1EqqNZD_2vOiJIqlZYKbvJLvVbLxnkCyVEwkGOuudXArOBRdC8jsNEV6yoHCnoA3himw4KpnMfuCDTctoiLQZo4leyl2xV6mvhB20dAlIaB/s320/IMG_0947.JPG" width="320" /></span></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFxOO5d04YJ8VpB1AJuk_04pqa_JLkeqqBmANjZN1muPfYCRi9Y9_gbusy6TeThCKkXzn_4_JDoVru7_DeorIoHVgCClpDi1rzJChLeTL449ViuvUR9kr-tIDq1tCb_ZF02aE_d-uA8tAC/s1600/Franklin+Hugo+and+his+toy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFxOO5d04YJ8VpB1AJuk_04pqa_JLkeqqBmANjZN1muPfYCRi9Y9_gbusy6TeThCKkXzn_4_JDoVru7_DeorIoHVgCClpDi1rzJChLeTL449ViuvUR9kr-tIDq1tCb_ZF02aE_d-uA8tAC/s320/Franklin+Hugo+and+his+toy.jpg" width="213" /></span></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
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Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14253635679233293750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-92651998940978136.post-33293292631704093672013-04-08T18:52:00.000-07:002015-01-05T18:02:30.111-08:00Burkina Faso: The Musical<div align="center">
<span id="goog_1065793214"></span><span id="goog_1065793215"></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">My life one year ago.</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"> </span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/g66QlGmxQdU?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;" unselectable="on">
<span style="color: #444444;"> </span></div>
<span style="color: #444444;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444;"> </span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444;"> </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">A disclaimer- I don't claim to being any kind of cinematographer. I apologize for the choppy footage. Can we all agree, however, that my song choices are excellent?</span> </span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444;"> </span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">For more videos visit </span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/OmarMel85?feature=mhee"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;">http://www.youtube.com/user/OmarMel85?feature=mhee</span></a></div>
Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14253635679233293750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-92651998940978136.post-72314057303961279242013-03-16T14:45:00.002-07:002018-12-31T11:28:08.292-08:00Dearly Departed<br />
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">Amplified by a corded mic I prayed, “Your word says ‘sorrow
may last through the night, but joy comes in the morning.’ We are in a season
of sorrow.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">There was little confidence in my voice as I eventually surrendered
to tears. His family and friends were gathered in a misshapen circle in front
of the stage where I stood. Hearing the cries of his parents made gaining
composure hardly possible. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was a
young man with a gentle heart and a genuine spirit. He was a young man who chose
to exercise his mortality rather than succumb to age. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I had hoped to pray a prayer of eloquence, grace, and
healing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead it felt like a
question. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What lies did he believe in
his last days? </span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Loved ones were left with an encumbered guilt and old
friends didn't know whether to find comfort in their reunion or regret. “If I
would have known I could have helped.” “I can’t remember the last thing I said
to him.” “When he asked how to be happy, I wish I would have given him an
answer.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Each of us recycled the same
generic responses when it was our turn to listen, and when we confessed our own
sadness words weren't sufficient. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
ached for an explanation that would bring light to the night fallen grief. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Rest in peace. Though he knew the Lord and is now forever
with Him, was it peace he was seeking or an escape from a haunting unhappiness?
Rest in peace. Friends and family must rest in the sovereignty of God while
wrestling with the anger they may feel toward the Sovereign One. Rest in peace.
A sorrowful mourning will be followed by a morning of joy and remembrance. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">“But pain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us
in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: it is His
megaphone to rouse a deaf world.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>-C.S.
Lewis</span></div>
Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14253635679233293750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-92651998940978136.post-71805122688185290382012-12-02T20:27:00.002-08:002018-12-31T11:24:48.871-08:00Hamelot: The Court of Common Kings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Where the trees grow thick and the hills lead to earthen
kettles and those kettles then fill with fresh water...that’s where the cottage
lies. Even in the dark, the forests feel familiar and welcoming. Freedom and
comfort are shaped from an idea into a tangible thing there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The cottage is simple, even a bit primitive,
but by my father and grandfather’s hands it was built without flaw.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Unpaved, unmarked dirt roads are laid out like veins through
the unchanged woods.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seemingly abandoned
shacks and one seemingly hidden shrine wait for their next visitors. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During my summers as a child, I soaked up
tales of ferocious beasts and unsavory characters that sought refuge in the
very same labyrinth of tangled brush and timber. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was inclined to believe and I still relish
the suggestion that the trees framing Lake La Fave kept secrets.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">The water is clear and deep and it’s lined with pale
sand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know of no other lake like La
Fave. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just off its shore, at the point
where feet can no longer touch, a pile of waterlogged trees are tethered to the
bottom. Sometimes they give the illusion of a capsized vessel when seen through
the rippled water’s surface.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The “log
pile,” as it has become known, shelters schools of bass and minnows and
supposedly an uncatchable fish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Daisies, purple irises, and blueberry bushes grow along the
shoreline.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Countless frogs hide among
them waiting to be caught by the next child, youthful adult, or enthusiastic
dog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Roots, exposed after decades of
erosion, are carpeted with moss. The shore has been deemed a worthy fairy
habitat by the new generation of make-believers. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The small beach is perfect for sand castles
and the reeds make perfect drawbridges.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I shot my first bow, caught my first fish, roasted my first
marshmallow, rowed my first boat, built my first fort, swam the width of my
first lake, and saw my first shooting star at the cottage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is no telephone or television, there is
no reception for cell phones, and there isn't a motor boat or jet ski.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The closest store sells groceries, hardware
supplies, and gasoline.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The closest
church has a sanctuary filled with timeworn pews.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The closest farm still has roosters that crow
every morning and can be heard from a mile away. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Conversations last a little longer at Lake La Fave. People
take the time to row out into the middle of lake at midnight just to watch the Northern
Lights.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Swimmers don’t just swim during
the heat of the day, but they swim right after breakfast, throughout the
afternoon, and before the sun sets. Then they dry themselves and warm up next
to the bonfire.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">My imagination was born within the pine and birch forests of
Northern Wisconsin, and it was matured by the scents of wood fires and moss
covered shores.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There was no adventure
left un-had in the sanctuaries of spring-fed lakes and quaint cottages. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was once called Chickopee- the land of the
birches- then it was named Hamelot, but to all it has always been Lake La Fave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
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<o:p><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> ____</span></o:p></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">“If heaven is like
the cottage on a beautiful summer’s day, then you can keep your streets of
gold; I’d rather be here.”</span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">-Peter Cornelius
Hamel</span></div>
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Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14253635679233293750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-92651998940978136.post-90790646652951509432012-11-04T20:03:00.003-08:002018-12-31T11:21:01.321-08:00Sing Like Never Before<br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The heat of the day remained on my skin even though the sun,
exhausted by its effortful grating, had retreated hours before. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The steady hum of the generator was accompanied
by the occasional light flicker. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
room’s floor was tiled and its parameter was lined with furniture that had been
moved in an effort to create space.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Cushions covered the floor and children, shoulder to shoulder, sat facing
forward with feathered hearts and eager minds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They spoke in different tongues yet they gathered together independent
from their parents to practice the faith that feathered their hearts and made
their minds so eager. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The music started. The oldest children, on the verge of
adulthood, led worship with a piano, violin, guitar, and their voices.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could hear myself singing along and I could
feel my body swaying back and forth, keeping time. In processing each detail I
fell further and further into surreal contentment. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Regardless of tradition, these children proved
mankind could be unified under a God that knows no boundaries of language,
distance, or political opinion. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was
encountering a real God; one that chose the humble things of this world to
upstage the grandiose.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">People heal in Africa; at least that’s what I was told.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is much brokenness, poverty and
corruption there, but in the dysfunction there is a necessity for faith. So
people find healing. The developed world basks in the conveniences that
developed it and forgets its own dysfunction; it forgets its need to believe in
something greater.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">There is no biological explanation for the pleasure found in
music or the joy found through dance, but humanity uses both to communicate the
condition of its soul. The children I met that night in the oppressive heat of
Burkina had access to fewer conveniences than some, so in the end they forgot less and
remembered more. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They sang and danced because
innately they knew there was nothing more natural than using unexplainable joys as a
means to worship an Almighty God.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Video taken during a service trip to a local village with the Wired Youth Group out of Ouagadougou</span></div>
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Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14253635679233293750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-92651998940978136.post-46070701328247246062012-10-26T14:48:00.002-07:002018-12-31T11:17:49.076-08:00The Consent of Ignorance<div align="center">
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><o:p><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Lindsay was a guest at a
wedding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The couple’s reception followed
the ceremony and the festivities continued.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lindsay,
an attractive, energetic, friendly woman, began talking to a fellow wedding
guest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had never met the man before,
but he seemed nice enough. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had a
casual drink with him. Things slowly progressed throughout the evening and
conversation was followed by a kiss or two.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Lindsay had no intentions of moving any further with a man she just met
and she told him that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man offered
her another drink and she accepted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Soon
an unnatural paralysis traveled through her body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Away from the rest of the wedding guests, Lindsay
could feel the man removing her clothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Everything went blank.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Minutes
later, Lindsay woke up and the man was on top of her and inside of her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was being rapped.</span></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #444444;">Lindsay left the wedding a changed woman. At home she
scribbled any intelligible thoughts down in her journal and she cried.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No amount of scrubbing in the shower removed
the filth. She felt powerless and unclean.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Lindsay, like many other survivors of sexual assault, did not go to the
hospital to get medically cleared. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
like many survivors, she did not report the assault to the police. Lindsay hid
away her secret from many of the friends and family members she trusted
most.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">While in college, Lindsay
and I became friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We lived in the
same residence hall, had a few classes together, and shared similar
values.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t know about Lindsay’s assault until one afternoon she admitted to having questions about
the event.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not sure what led her to
ask me, but she described a conversation she had with a mutual friend. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This friend stated Lindsay was responsible for
the rape.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This friend, an educated
woman, believed that Lindsay’s choice to drink and socialize with the man
passed the blame to Lindsay, not the man who assaulted her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lindsay asked for my thoughts. Infuriated and
with blazing conviction, I reassured her that she was not the
cause of another person’s violent choice.</span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 10pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwFz3ORAL-mQ9Dk4qAbyewhEXfYIsfuBEa9Ai8mFBRD1QneOGQzjV5pBgAAm85aZNI33mmKqNX7JuTMOGIlCsyIFoGsqTR3rRjWdS0ISguAWZxnv0EHnmG6TIPljyimjdmipxQZt7ejbsq/s1600/Forcible+Rape+stats.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444; font-size: small;"><img border="0" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwFz3ORAL-mQ9Dk4qAbyewhEXfYIsfuBEa9Ai8mFBRD1QneOGQzjV5pBgAAm85aZNI33mmKqNX7JuTMOGIlCsyIFoGsqTR3rRjWdS0ISguAWZxnv0EHnmG6TIPljyimjdmipxQZt7ejbsq/s400/Forcible+Rape+stats.png" width="400" /></span></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">Your opinion of me may change after you read this post.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’ll likely believe you’re not a part of
the problem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With that said, I rarely
write on hot topics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For the most part
it’s because I’m not enough of an expert on any of them to spout off opinions
based on mirrored facts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today’s
exception has been made after years of observations that both anger and
embarrass me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today I’m writing about
rape.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Tony Campolo, a sociologist and pastor once wrote, “The
United Nations reports that over ten thousand people starve to death each day,
and most of you don’t give a shit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>However, what is even more tragic is that most of you are more concerned
about the fact that I said a bad word than you are about the fact that ten
thousand people are going to die today.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>For the sake of my argument, that quote could easily refer instead
to the roughly 600 women who are assaulted every day in the US.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like everything else, unless we are
personally affected, the vast majority of US citizens won’t touch the topic
unless a celebrity or a politician is somehow attached to the debate.</span><br />
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #444444;">Lindsay’s story isn’t unique, and Lindsay’s friend’s
reaction isn’t either.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Therein lies the
problem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The US fosters a rape culture. Survivors
of sexual assault, both male and female, have not only been forced into a
violent sexual act, but as survivors, they are being forced to defend their
status as a victim.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444;">
</span><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px 1em 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">She drank too much. It’s not rape. </span></div>
<span style="color: #444444;">
</span><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px 1em 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">She was dressed to impress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Clearly not rape. </span></div>
<span style="color: #444444;">
</span><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px 1em 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #444444;">She knew the guy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
couldn’t have raped her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444;">
</span><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px 1em 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">She was just looking for attention. There’s no way he raped
her. </span></div>
<span style="color: #444444;">
</span><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px 1em 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">She eventually liked it. It wasn’t rape.</span></div>
<span style="color: #444444;">
</span><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px 1em 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">She kissed him first. That can’t be rape.</span></div>
<span style="color: #444444;">
</span><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px 1em 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">She didn’t fight back. Not rape.</span></div>
<span style="color: #444444;">
</span><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px 1em 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">She was walking alone. Of course she was raped.</span></div>
<span style="color: #444444;">
</span><div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin: 1em 0px 1em 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">She wasn’t carrying pepper spray.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s why she was raped.</span></div>
<span style="color: #444444;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-size: small;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The point is, in a country that honors the constitutional
right to be considered innocent until proven guilty, the victims are often put
on trial by society instead of the perpetrators.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
</span></div>
<span style="color: #444444;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh_S-uNbJvqxHAzvCcOB6MZM44166OMZZTergegrOfoxfvJx-6NseL2bymxlY2cOl60k4h_T2NSRqJAjCvctLdMzvWdXxHnuDAD4iADTL2I0P5HSG77vdBqR-GEe8FbKr8enWN-m6HsJL7/s1600/reporting-matrix-2012-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444; font-size: small;"><img border="0" height="321" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh_S-uNbJvqxHAzvCcOB6MZM44166OMZZTergegrOfoxfvJx-6NseL2bymxlY2cOl60k4h_T2NSRqJAjCvctLdMzvWdXxHnuDAD4iADTL2I0P5HSG77vdBqR-GEe8FbKr8enWN-m6HsJL7/s400/reporting-matrix-2012-1.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
<span style="color: #444444;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<span style="color: #444444;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">You can argue the facts and argue against my opinion, but
that only proves one thing; you’re missing my point. Sexual assault, on a
global scale, is an immensely harmful problem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>If we can justify rape in the US, a country built on civil liberties,
how are we in a position to respond when countries like Yemen justify the rape
of child brides or when Congolese soldiers justify the gang rape of fifty
women?</span></div>
<span style="color: #444444;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #444444;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">In the political season of 2012, sexual assault has become a
political issue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rape is not a political
issue; it’s a human one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Too often
politics are used as a platform to talk about issues that people are otherwise
uncomfortable discussing. This is a good thing you might think. Yes, there are
certainly positive things about making certain issues public, but Western
culture- a rape culture, mind you- convinces us that only with political intervention
can we solve the problem. Politicians can establish stronger laws and harsher
punishments, after all. </span></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">I am telling you, the problem will not be solved at a podium,
or on a platform hung with banners, or behind Senate walls; it will be solved
around the kitchen table, in the classroom, and on our own personal soap boxes. We
have to teach our peers and our children what it means to respect each other, a
lesson not learned in politics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We need
to teach our children about sex and healthy relationships even when it’s
uncomfortable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We need to teach our men
and women about accountability and consequences.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We can’t wait for additional laws to be
passed and we cannot wait to take our cues from politicians.</span></div>
<span style="color: #444444;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #444444;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Lindsay shared her story with me and she gave me permission
to share it with you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She explained that
she rarely provides details because people often blame her for the
assault.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lindsay believes people are
more comfortable labeling the assault as a mistake on her part rather than a
mistake the perpetrator made.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She told
me, in doing so, these people feel like they have more control and are, for
that reason, less likely to make the same “mistakes” Lindsay did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #444444;">Lindsay was not misguided when she attended the wedding. She
didn’t wear a dress designed to attract perpetrators. Lindsay was not being
unreasonable when she decided to socialize with other wedding guests. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lindsay did not ask for her drink to be topped
off with a drug. She didn’t mistakenly give permission to be stripped
naked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lindsay didn’t accidentally
consent to being assaulted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was not at
fault. I stand with Lindsay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #444444;">Information was sourced from both
the <span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Justice Department, <em>National
Crime Victimization Survey</em>: 2006-2010 and the FBI, <em>Uniform Crime Reports</em>:
2006-2010</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: small;">
</span></div>
<span style="color: #444444;">
</span></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #444444;"></span><br /></div>
<span style="color: #444444;">
</span></span><span style="color: #444444;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #444444;"></span><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<br /></div>
Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14253635679233293750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-92651998940978136.post-59915517019711955382012-09-17T17:32:00.001-07:002018-12-20T18:03:52.530-08:00A Workbench Like His<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">Losing a loved one, regardless of the cause, requires a
proper shedding of old.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We hold onto old
trinkets and some of us hold onto old wardrobes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We fear by letting go of these possessions we
are somehow welcoming the loss and forgetting the person that made the loss so
great.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am no different. I am a
survivor of loss.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And though I have shed
much of the old, in my fear, but more importantly in my love, I have stored
away trinkets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
***</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">Every inch of his workbench was
covered in tools, hardware, contraptions, and junk (at least to the untrained
eye). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He kept a cabinet and tool chest
nearby, and they too were filled to capacity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My dad spent hours at that bench tinkering, sorting, repairing, and
creating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His hands were always coated
in a film of grease, dirt, and sometimes even his own blood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My dad’s hands impressed me, especially as a
child; wide and powerful, yet nimble enough to fit together the smallest
mechanical pieces.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">Until a few days ago, I left my dad’s workbench untouched. I
couldn’t put names to majority of the objects found there, and I didn’t know if
I’d have the courage to upset the altar of his resourcefulness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nonetheless, I began to sort and discard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At first I was careful about keeping my
hands clean, or at least as clean as could be managed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But as I recognized the futility of my efforts,
I allowed the grease to stain my fingers and the dirt to collect under my
nails.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">The sheer volume of screws, bolts, nails, and washers became
a daunting Everest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The storage shelves bowed under their weight. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because my dad saved so much under the guise
of practicality, I tried my best to be objective in my task, but there’s
nothing objective about working in a space so encased in memories. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">It started with a large, hexagonal
washer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The symmetry and unusual weight
of the washer tempted me, and it soon found in home in my pocket. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before I gave much thought, a keychain, a perfectly
untouched nail, and a few other odds and ends joined the washer inside my
pocket. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">After I finished, I went to my parents’ laundry room and
reached for my dad’s abrasive, citric-scented soap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My hands have never been dainty or delicate,
and I’ve always seen them as flawed, but as I scrubbed my short, flat nails and
the heavy creases in my palms I saw my dad’s hands in my own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Smaller versions perhaps, but they were his.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
***</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">So a few washers, a three inch carpenter’s nail, and a
greasy key chain were empowered as the talismans of my father’s magic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Void of hocus pocus or abracadabra, he
instead mastered the magic of ingenuity and parenthood.</span> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifYM1-H5oFRlTNCYzWZYB2I2JRpb0nlP-wKaO_WU5OeG7foF1npUogjLUKdWLb7ftYLvhEfBEursEs1WG6Zr0hm568Dr_-2euE3Qw-7-xt6JQ7Z2XZQEXQgjRZLxxt1RdcvDInYMg8y6SV/s1600/father.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifYM1-H5oFRlTNCYzWZYB2I2JRpb0nlP-wKaO_WU5OeG7foF1npUogjLUKdWLb7ftYLvhEfBEursEs1WG6Zr0hm568Dr_-2euE3Qw-7-xt6JQ7Z2XZQEXQgjRZLxxt1RdcvDInYMg8y6SV/s400/father.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14253635679233293750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-92651998940978136.post-58607595423826598852012-06-23T19:29:00.000-07:002018-12-31T11:09:24.220-08:00The Ghost and the Darkness/Call Me Val Kilmer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm8S0EL6xIdYWp44VSRwaEP3yfwcq-aYFnmM61z3so4SmdvHjqR13yn1ZspGVT_RMdW0Nort0Jh01yEP3O4eDBuB9GX8hu3l90fn2OfofxWFJfRWLYhIv1_z5eK6pFwyhxVK8W_GqOdmfB/s1600/DSC00107.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm8S0EL6xIdYWp44VSRwaEP3yfwcq-aYFnmM61z3so4SmdvHjqR13yn1ZspGVT_RMdW0Nort0Jh01yEP3O4eDBuB9GX8hu3l90fn2OfofxWFJfRWLYhIv1_z5eK6pFwyhxVK8W_GqOdmfB/s400/DSC00107.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></div>
<span style="color: #444444;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I don’t believe in karma, but I do believe in humbling
situations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During my last Burkinabe’
hurrah at Nazinga Animal Park my innate warrior-like ego was bruised. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Let me begin by saying my twin sister, Megan,
is one of the bravest people I know for moving to Burkina Faso three years ago without
knowing the language or a single soul.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her
boldness and fearless creativity are admirable. But in the same breath I can
say with confidence, Megan is also one of the biggest scaredy cats I’ve ever
had the privilege of loving. For example, if the lighting is dim, an exaggerated
breath is enough to make her jump and grope for the nearest body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And at our family cottage she doesn’t dare to
walk to the end of the driveway past dusk for fear a bear might be waiting for
her there. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can see how it was easy
for my pride to get in the way when I learned I’d be staying solo in a bungalow
on the edge of the game reserve. I made sure to point out to Megan that she wouldn’t
survive a night alone under similar circumstances. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My story thus begins…</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Megan, her husband Matt, and I arrived at Nazinga’s gate
mid-afternoon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We took an afternoon tour
of the park, and we planned to wake up unsuitably early to tour a greater
portion of the park before the heat consumed any bit of adventurous spirit. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our goal was to see the elephants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They roam in herds at the watering holes of
Nazinga.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif;">Unfortunately for us, our
timing was poor and the heat was too intense, so every last elephant had
apparently crossed the river into Ghana.</span><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif;">
</span><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif;">Our trip wasn’t in vain, however.</span><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif;">
</span><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms", sans-serif;">We saw plenty of warthogs, baboons, monkeys, assorted birds, several
deer or elk or antelope species. I can’t quite be sure which was which. I
even spotted a Timon (as in the friend of Pumbaa).</span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
The evening of our arrival we ate some sort of wild deer or
elk or antelope (again, I can’t be sure what it was exactly) that the local
staff graciously prepared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After our
fill of gamey, but tasty meat, and oiled potatoes, we retired to our separate
bungalows. The bungalow was lit by one light bulb and the windows were covered
by wide, metal shutter blinds, but there were gaps along the windows and in the
door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I opted to leave the outside light
on to distinguish my bungalow from the darkness that swallowed up everything
else.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was in this decision that my
mind started to conjure up unpleasant questions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What would happen if I instead turned the
light off and simply blended in with the black of Burkina?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I kept the light on, who or what could see
me all alone?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those questions led to
doubts about the structural security of my bungalow. Anything with any bit of
motivation would be able to break through that door or crawl through those
windows. </span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">I tried my best to shake those thoughts from my mind, I said
my prayers (with an extra emphasis on personal safety), and I settled into
bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was hot and my skin was sticky,
but I wasn’t willing to take any risks in the midst of my uncertainty. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I covered myself with the sheet and trusted in
the protective powers of bed covers. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Within minutes of lying down, I heard the
first bang. My heart leapt, but after a moment or two I reasoned myself back to
relaxation. Then it happened again. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>BANG! BAM! BAM!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I needed no additional confirmation; it wasn’t
just my imagination. There were unholy creatures running amuck outside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t dare leave my bed. Maybe they could
sense movement. Maybe my movement would send them into a frenzy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I shallowed my breath.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>BAM! The creature, or creatures, hit the
window right above my head. BANG!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
were on the roof.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>BAM! BANG! They ran
into the door. It was a full on attack, and all of my warrior-like courage had
been flushed out through my pores along with profuse amounts of sweat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">
I realized I needed a plan. There were no phones, so I
couldn’t call Megan and Matt for back-up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Even if I could call, I couldn’t dare expect them to risk their safety during
a beastly attack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After several minutes
and countless more bangs and bams, I had yet to come up with a functional
plan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">As a byproduct of the incessant
clamor I developed a paper thin tolerance to the noise. With a bit of tolerance and all the gumption I
could muster, I ditched my need for a plan and sprang into action.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> (</span>Let's be clear, by “sprang into action,” I mean I tip-toed
into lesser amounts of inaction.) I cautiously removed my humid sheets and slowly
walked to each window and listened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No
sound.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With equally slow steps, I made my
way to the door. Through the cracks I could see light seeping in and just then a
thought popped into my head. What if, like moths are attracted to light, these fearsome
beasts were also attracted to the light outside my door?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the risk of being devoured by the dark—or much
worse, a nocturnal monster—I flipped the light off and then I waited. I
continued to wait. There were no bangs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There were no bams. It was quiet. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">After two terrifying hours I was able to finally rest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The morning came with no additional incidents
and I woke up unsuitably early as planned. When I met Megan and Matt for
breakfast I asked if they too experienced similar disturbances.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They hadn’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I described the harrowing tale and humbly admitted to Megan I was
bear-at-the-end-of-the-driveway scared.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
I still can’t be sure what type of animal haunted my night
outside of Nazinga.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I suspect they were
lizards now that I’ve had time to logically think about the situation. In my
defense, if they were in fact lizards they certainly were the fierce, ferocious,
dinosaur-like lizards…the kind worth being afraid of.</span><span style="font-family: "calibri";"> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span>Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14253635679233293750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-92651998940978136.post-15457827359385617742012-05-07T14:33:00.000-07:002018-12-31T10:57:31.316-08:00Don Juan Olivier<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">There were nine hours to go. The plane had one quick stop in
Bamako and then I’d finally be in Ouagadougou.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was stifling my excitement and nerves as best as I could while I
pretended to wait patiently as the plane sat idly on the tarmac. I was becoming
hopeful that I no one was assigned to sit next to me as more and more
passengers passed me by.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then it
happened; the event that changed the rest of my flight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A man, between the ages of 32 and 57 if I had
to guess, paused next to the empty seat on my left. Trying to remain polite
even though my dreams of having a row to myself seemed to be quickly fading, I
asked the man if his ticketed seat was the one next to mine. He looked
confused, and that’s when it dawned on me, he probably didn’t speak English.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, naturally wanting to prove that I wasn’t
the typical ethnocentric American, I prepared myself to communicate in a
foreign tongue…12<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">th</span></sup> grade Spanish. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fortunately for me, my ignorance was quickly
humbled when he responded in broken, but quite understandable, English. He
explained his seat was further back on the plane.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Crisis averted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or so I thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That initial, seemingly insignificant
interaction would lead to nine hours of vigilant avoidance. </span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I was gingerly paging through the on-flight magazines before
takeoff when a familiar gold-embroidered tie grabbed my attention. I turned and
smiled at the man who threatened to take away the comforts of my empty row just
moments before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Without invitation he
sat down next to me and introduced himself as Olivier. He leaned in closely and asked my reason for visiting
Burkina.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I answered in vague details. A
smile of both purpose and determination crept across his face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Olivier, a Burkinabe, continued by telling
me he has lived in Florence for 20 years and was visiting family back
home in Burkina. Once again, I gave an apathetic response.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With each spoken syllable it became clearer
and clearer that Olivier’s determined smile was the result of his determination
to win my affection.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My suspicions were confirmed
when Olivier, without reserve, told me he wanted to "give [me] happiness." He spoke
of owning his own car and being able to show me all the sites of
Ouagadougou.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He promised me a “funny”
time, which I couldn’t help but find funny. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His tone and facial expressions became
expectant. Leaning forward, Olivier ripped a page from the very magazine I was
innocently enjoying earlier and wrote his name, address, phone number, and
email on it and handed it to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
tepid grasp on the torn page went unnoticed as he reminded me of our plans to
celebrate Easter together by drinking wine and whisky.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">To my relief the fasten seat belt sign flashed and the
announcement to prepare for takeoff was made.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Olivier stood up and remarked that if no one took the empty seat next to
me he would return and give me company for the remainder of the flight. Olivier
interpreted my grimace as a smile. I bluntly told him I was probably going to
be sleeping the majority of the flight since I was quite tired.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(This, I assure you, was not a lie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was genuinely tired and my exhaustion had
only increased tenfold in the 45 minutes since meeting Olivier.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">In the hours that followed I used every
technique I could think of to ward off welcome.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I put my jacket on the empty seat next to me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I sat with my arms intimidatingly crossed. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I lowered the neighboring seat’s tray and used
that for my drinks and snacks instead of my own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I slept, and pretended to sleep, as often as
it seemed natural to do so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also
watched the in-flight movie with as much interest as I could muster up for a film
like Happy Feet Two. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">The plane landed in Bamako for what was supposed to be one
hour, though it slowly stretched into two.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When the first 30 minutes passed without incident I became cheerfully
confident that my contact with Don Juan Olivier was no more. Before my next breath, Olivier appeared next to my seat and resumed
where he left off eight hours before. He told me he had checked on me during
the flight and didn’t want to bother me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Small talked ensued and Olivier asked if I would call him after I
settled in Ouagadougou.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I gave a non-committal
reply and tried to smooth the conversation over. Olivier then asked why I hadn’t
given him my email address or phone number.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This was my chance to break this thing off once and for all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I simply explained that I don’t give my
personal information out to strangers- a lesson I learned and have held dear
since childhood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Olivier looked at me
with surprise and made a noise that I could only assume meant he was
disappointed. And just as all good relationship end, Olivier asked me for a
piece of gum and left.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">The final hour of my flight to Ouagadougou was peaceful and
flew by (pun intended).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Olivier’s
sincere effort was flattering, but his aggressive and entirely inappropriate
approach made me thankful our contact was limited to the confines of a Brussels’
airbus.</span> </span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc;"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPhTWNv0QTHGIWK2UXHuToMtNdeGcMgNSM-rGxaQ889mRgBtazgoKZGYo1aSDaZ6d_a23IiDchR-yDIx-AvXL6TVJxYWfAeQMvdFnMW0K_AM7_m4GrrFwYvN02M6KvDcHQU2kroGtkDA_v/s1600/burkina_faso-pos.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #cccccc;"><img border="0" height="289" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPhTWNv0QTHGIWK2UXHuToMtNdeGcMgNSM-rGxaQ889mRgBtazgoKZGYo1aSDaZ6d_a23IiDchR-yDIx-AvXL6TVJxYWfAeQMvdFnMW0K_AM7_m4GrrFwYvN02M6KvDcHQU2kroGtkDA_v/s320/burkina_faso-pos.png" width="320" /></span></a></div>
</div>
Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14253635679233293750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-92651998940978136.post-31937755644667109732012-02-25T15:27:00.000-08:002018-12-20T18:26:10.185-08:00I Pray the Lord His Soul to Keep<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ7ECl6JaladI6uZTJ6CwDcxFjVBTEO0JqWmiDrGl4-H3XUf1LhDyiJSDFnwLk549AifNaEVluhdYzcK0Ky5UXetbl3uJv9gkJCNwkGj1m-LZ1gHmCS4WzkkknFV5C2tUx7stxqmy7Ba3r/s1600/family+photo+modified.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ7ECl6JaladI6uZTJ6CwDcxFjVBTEO0JqWmiDrGl4-H3XUf1LhDyiJSDFnwLk549AifNaEVluhdYzcK0Ky5UXetbl3uJv9gkJCNwkGj1m-LZ1gHmCS4WzkkknFV5C2tUx7stxqmy7Ba3r/s400/family+photo+modified.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="color: #444444;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "calibri";">His hospital bed was angled in a small room, framed by
oxygen tanks, folded linens, and medical tubes. With tears freely flowing and
arms reached out toward their patriarch, his four children and devoted wife
laid their hands upon him and cried out in prayer. They never questioned the
reason for his suffering; they never spoke out angrily toward God. Instead they
voiced words of thanksgiving and confident praises. The prayer was continuous.
Unearthly words flowed from the tongues of his children all the while he
labored for every heartbeat and every breath.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>His body was worn.</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">The oldest twin was first to speak out in prayer. The
steadiness of her voice was breached by conflicting emotions of sadness and
joy. Her many similarities with her dad historically produced the perfect storm
in the heat of an argument. Never accepting the damages as done and valuing the
importance of reconciliation, he wouldn’t allow anger to harbor. As he neared
his end, she couldn’t remember the causes of these conflicts from their past,
but she remembered the way in which he lovingly treated her to lunch in order
to mend what was hurt and communicate respect in the midst of disagreement. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "calibri";">Following her twin sister’s prayer the youngest twin gazed
at her dad, seeing his weakness but remembering his strength. She trusted him
implicitly. Whether in need of directions or in need of an honest opinion, she
turned to him. Even when lost in thickness of the north woods at Lake LaFave,
she put her trust in her dad- the driver of the antiquated jeep, the explorer
of unexplored woods, the “man who could fix anything.” </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "calibri";">He relished his time with his dad as the only son. Praying
by his side, he spoke of Biblical truths and testified his assurance in God’s
timing. He desired to emulate so much of what his dad represented. Growing up,
time was often cut short when his dad had to leave for work days at a
time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite the limitations of the
conventional 24 hours, his dad used every Sunday to show his son that he was uniquely molded in his likeness. Halftimes in the backyard was their chance
to live out dreams of throwing that touchdown pass in the shadow of Title
Town’s greats.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "calibri";">As the oldest child, she had the privilege of paving the way
for her siblings and the privilege of calling him “dad” the longest. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She desperately prayed
prayers of reassurance next to his bed. She remembered the value he placed on
her individuality. When it came to trends, like ear piercings or contact
lenses, he insisted she made lists detailing the valid, or perhaps invalid,
reasons for joining in on the trend. He refused to let her get lost in the
trivial things of this world. </span></div>
<span style="color: #444444;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">The tears had slowed and the voices that once faltered in the
midst of sadness regained their strength. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apart from his body’s fierce determination to
stay alive, he appeared at peace. His wife, the woman he made his intentions
clear to after only their second date, remained faithfully at his side. She
thought back to his claim that he could “get stuck on [her],” and expressed her
gratitude to the God that gifted her 38 years of marriage. Then with immense
courage, his bride, with her dewy cheeks and reddened eyes, bent over and
whispered in his ear, “It’s okay to go home.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><span style="color: #444444;">Brave and fearlessly, he held on for a few more hours. In his life, and
especially in his death, he demonstrated how earthly fathers only make their
children more eager to see their Heavenly Father one day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He did not “pass away” because he is not
gone; he is simply waiting for his children and his best friend to join him in
paradise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiPcWjUVpAlyFm6c_cKdhQsO1IpyvhSIlXI-a92Rdu94YGvcBxzB9_5FWQMpknn6VRjaPpPVin-YyTlOynR2ub6mKi_1d649sO-Piy5sPl8LR4woxIZfC8-GbvKpdkfuUCsc0zVoOPhqyH/s1600/dad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiPcWjUVpAlyFm6c_cKdhQsO1IpyvhSIlXI-a92Rdu94YGvcBxzB9_5FWQMpknn6VRjaPpPVin-YyTlOynR2ub6mKi_1d649sO-Piy5sPl8LR4woxIZfC8-GbvKpdkfuUCsc0zVoOPhqyH/s320/dad.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
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Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14253635679233293750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-92651998940978136.post-38088466131380416832012-01-02T11:24:00.000-08:002018-12-31T10:50:09.299-08:00Run Like the Winded<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I have come to believe there are few people who genuinely
like running long distance, and there’s a plethora of people who talk about
running like it’s second nature only to despise the activity in their private
thoughts. </span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
I willingly admit that I fall into that second category. I
respectfully despise running.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I,
however, fall into a third category of running folk as well- people who run
because they don’t know how to “exercise” creativity when it comes to
exercising. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I turn to running because I don’t
know where else to turn. </span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Then comes the topic of winter running. Crazy, you might
think…and you’re right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is nothing
logical about running in cold weather. In fact, even a body’s cells argue
against it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So for your enjoyment and my
need to process things in writing, I’ve compiled a list of the unpleasantness
associated with winter running.</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>First of all anything below 15 degrees is too
cold, in my opinion, and anything above is fair game. This rule of thumb,
unfortunately, has never considered variables like wind chill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So on a day like today the thermometer may read
20 degrees, but it feels like six.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That
makes for a chilly run. Chilly enough to make stopping to walk an unrealistic
option. If you stop, you’ll develop a case of hypothermia instantly, along with
cholera, anthrax, and leprosy. </span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>Breathing becomes a problem when running in
winter weather. Anyone who has spent time exercising, or living for that
matter, understands the importance of being able to breathe. Let me explain
what happens if you try to breathe deeply in the cold. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Your throat already feels like it’s freezing
shut, mind you, and your mouth tastes like iron, so when you take a deep breath
through your mouth an instant chain reaction of never-ending coughs begins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you choose to breathe deeply through your
nose, you’ll experience the joy of forming miniature icicles on your nostril
hairs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I affectionately call them
nostricles. </span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>There’s no point in trying to save face when
running in the winter. You can buy the cutest running gear available, but by
the time you’re finished layering up you’ll look ridiculous. There’s nothing attractive
about an adult wearing a turtleneck with stretchy pants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you’re still thinking there’s hope, consider this: if tears aren’t
running down your face, snot surely is. </span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>The first mile of a winter run is miserably cold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cold to the point where turning around and
bailing on the run seem like the responsible choice. But after about mile
one, something strange begins to happen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>While it’s too cold to actually get a good sweat going, you’ll start to get hot. You’ll want
to push up your sleeves or take off your gloves, but you know better. Any skin
to air contact leads to those awful diseases I talked about earlier, and no one
wants to contract typhus. </span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>Running in the winter poses another challenge,
which actually presents more like an obstacle, or obstacles. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you’re not dodging the ice patches you’re
certainly climbing the snow banks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It forces the runner to flair their arms and hands out as if you’re about to start tap dancing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This may not be a truly effective running
technique, but when you hit the inevitable patch of ice, you’ll sure be happy you
had those dancin’ hands ready. </span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: "symbol"; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span>After you’ve completed your run, your body
goes through several stages of shock. As soon as you hit the warm air again you’ll
start sweating profusely, to the point where you’ll need to strip down all your
layers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’ll also go through a brief
period of nausea, and I mean brief.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sometimes it only lasts a matter of seconds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I equate the sensation to jumping from a
regular pool to a hot tub several times in a row. Soon enough you’ll begin
experiencing the post-run chills.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then
for the next hour or two your lungs will feel tingly and itchy all at the same
time. Truly remarkable. </span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
As you can see there are added complications when running in
the winter. There are times when I picture myself in a scene from The Edge or
Alive just to motivate myself to move. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(There’s no better motivator than being
chased by a grizzly bear or avoiding cannibalism.) </span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">Though the winter has been mild so far, harsh weather is impending
for sure, so I thought I’d share my sentiments with you, my eight patient
readers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Happy New Years!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Blessings all around.</span> <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14253635679233293750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-92651998940978136.post-18678182667998624612011-10-11T16:20:00.000-07:002018-12-31T10:44:55.988-08:00The Plague of Weight Loss<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">He reached the last hole on his belt five homemade notches
ago. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The curves of his face have become
angular and the brightness in his eyes has yellowed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He once stood six feet tall, even with the
weight of the world on his shoulders.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
was industrious and willing, and still desires to be.</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">His time has been marked by the pounds he has shed.</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">He was blessed with good genes and a drive to keep busy. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Delighting in well-prepared food was his reward
for a day’s work and he cleaned his plate without prompting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Over time he earned a subtle roundness—a roundness
only procured by 30 plus years of family dinners. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His body’s density made him durable and, to
all appearances, unbreakable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">His time has been marked by unfinished meals.</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">He has never outgrown clothing. His sweatshirts always fit,
even if both midriff and wrist are on display. Lederhosen from his years in the
Army, suit coats from his newly-wedded life, and swimming trunks with a three
inch inseam allowed no room for an expanding waistline, yet they maintained
their place in his closet. </span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">His time has now been marked by inches of extra fabric. </span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">He lost weight and continues to lose more. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is no accomplishment to speak of. There
wasn’t a miracle pill or an exercise plan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In fact, there are no health benefits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He is living in a body that feeds the disease first and the man second. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He has only sacrificed one thing for a more
slender figure: his life.</span> </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTFIX3fLf6bFdosn5ICLvAj8TXTxViGsjqg9jJm9NzYjjNh7121del8ld2yMyQ7hX3x9vrfwbi6rlugNEO2XxpHMj93JO8Yhkv3gPE8SPdSe_-ljk0sox5gehXvzCEjydNjcJ8FJ4qlxDl/s1600/IMG_1965.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" height="350" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTFIX3fLf6bFdosn5ICLvAj8TXTxViGsjqg9jJm9NzYjjNh7121del8ld2yMyQ7hX3x9vrfwbi6rlugNEO2XxpHMj93JO8Yhkv3gPE8SPdSe_-ljk0sox5gehXvzCEjydNjcJ8FJ4qlxDl/s400/IMG_1965.JPG" width="400" /></span></a></div>
<br />Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14253635679233293750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-92651998940978136.post-56752020284062334412011-09-22T16:53:00.000-07:002015-01-05T18:06:02.041-08:00My Stint on the Railway<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKljDDpoQszQ9bCks4T6j3aRhr019nJq3RKLj9m5oB8fZWhN_0_t81WV57BE5evmPGuc1kdHLDqlTEFYAT3jH-FybqLXjf_paH1sO1PqVVIrUMFoVIwG2v2ElD3NqH9S_fFCE39MYYKuBI/s1600/railroad+with+the+demiens.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKljDDpoQszQ9bCks4T6j3aRhr019nJq3RKLj9m5oB8fZWhN_0_t81WV57BE5evmPGuc1kdHLDqlTEFYAT3jH-FybqLXjf_paH1sO1PqVVIrUMFoVIwG2v2ElD3NqH9S_fFCE39MYYKuBI/s400/railroad+with+the+demiens.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">6Ms Hamels and the Demiens. Conquering the rails.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeu5p7QhiOZquilYfaHzIK-DihHP3YJXyi7eAxpKnIGCESOyZHNjfvKe2xyOMA8lPex1eFt3P5meySGPBpjaCTOC-9KhcZIo0OyTRbzjQtRWevEA_S2_BT1Xf3qUoLdm0ub6i0NvVm6GnW/s1600/railroad+with+dad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeu5p7QhiOZquilYfaHzIK-DihHP3YJXyi7eAxpKnIGCESOyZHNjfvKe2xyOMA8lPex1eFt3P5meySGPBpjaCTOC-9KhcZIo0OyTRbzjQtRWevEA_S2_BT1Xf3qUoLdm0ub6i0NvVm6GnW/s400/railroad+with+dad.jpg" height="265" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Confident there would be no trains on that set of tracks.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk0uX0whJc5s95u8VrAvHHG9BwoswZIcpucQvG4eFKlIEKAy-g3Pw6l8HjUtfdK5BJ55tDUuBxp0pWrquV3MMiq1eSTLIHpL-iiiyh8nSnNjSV2aqPPfF7XntbO9nfG4EasUSB3cxykfzI/s1600/the+caboose+at+renee+and+kirks+wedding+2011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk0uX0whJc5s95u8VrAvHHG9BwoswZIcpucQvG4eFKlIEKAy-g3Pw6l8HjUtfdK5BJ55tDUuBxp0pWrquV3MMiq1eSTLIHpL-iiiyh8nSnNjSV2aqPPfF7XntbO9nfG4EasUSB3cxykfzI/s400/the+caboose+at+renee+and+kirks+wedding+2011.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">A Cannistra/Wienkes wedding isn't complete without a caboose.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1VVuMw3cju_KIFosEBsf0WWvdifSc3SEM1tB_8kbx2TEbw2coQuQHmLLayfzgTx7biuvQbc53Uku8WPAUC0dQpidHgKgZD5ORkyH4t-oY5n-Ajsd5o7QXPzRcryRANZr_6KMa52fqzC1i/s1600/JJ+and+me+at+renee+and+kirks+wedding.+maintainance+car.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1VVuMw3cju_KIFosEBsf0WWvdifSc3SEM1tB_8kbx2TEbw2coQuQHmLLayfzgTx7biuvQbc53Uku8WPAUC0dQpidHgKgZD5ORkyH4t-oY5n-Ajsd5o7QXPzRcryRANZr_6KMa52fqzC1i/s400/JJ+and+me+at+renee+and+kirks+wedding.+maintainance+car.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Just me, my friend JJ, and a MOW (Maintenance-of-Way) car.</span> </span></div>
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Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14253635679233293750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-92651998940978136.post-13249388387151717502011-08-13T13:15:00.000-07:002018-12-31T10:42:04.125-08:00A Birthday, a Funeral, and a 21 Gun Salute<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #444444;">In the frantic bustle of hurried packing the man turned to me, weeping, and said, “My dad’s dying.” Knowing there was nothing that could sufficiently comfort him in that moment, I simply acknowledged his words by whispering, “I know.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were supposed to celebrate his father’s 92<span style="font-size: small;"><sup>nd</sup> birthday that afternoon.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #444444;"> </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "calibri";">We arrived as quickly as was manageable without risking a speeding violation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The house was filled with family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Children and grandchildren and great grandchildren were scattered, quietly waiting for the inevitable. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Birthday cupcakes sat on the counter, covering the surface in irony. As we filtered in the room we were warned of the mood upon entrance: sadness. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #444444;">Breathing was labored and his father was unresponsive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With assistance the man wheeled his chair to his father’s bedside and grabbed his hand. That morning’s revelation was filled with truth, his dad was dying. Without control, mourning swept through the room and the newcomers were teeming with new tears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everyone understood the significance of a tired son reaching out to his departing father. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #444444;">The afternoon had matured and grief was interrupted by prayers of peace and assurance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Scripture was read and people spoke of a restored body, healed of all ailments. The man’s father was surrounded by all his children and many of his grandchildren in those final minutes; he was encouraged to join his bride in heaven. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On the day of his birthday party, the man’s father died an earthly death and was born into an eternal life. The symmetry was hard to ignore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "calibri";">Several days later, we gathered together once more to celebrate the patriarch’s life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Grief had subsided and the family was renewed with certainty- they too would meet their Father in Heaven one day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Memories were shared and we sang songs of gladly bearing burdens and singing souls. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "calibri";">At the end of the service the pallbearers paused before reaching the doorway of the church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two sailors in uniform stood before them at attention.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We watched and listened as the man’s father was honored by a 21 gun salute and taps. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The flag, folded with precision and care, was presented to the man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As one of the sailors knelt down to pay tribute, the man sat up in his wheelchair with dignity and accepted their gifts. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "calibri";">In the ensuing hours, tears dried and the church was emptied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man’s father was remembered with the breaking of bread and the fellowship that naturally followed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The feelings that night were uncomplicated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the midst of a world in chaos, the family could rest knowing they belonged to a line of faithful, honorable, and loving men and women.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were left with one charge…to continue the legacy. </span></div>
<span style="color: #444444;"> </span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><span style="color: #444444;">In memory of Peter Cornelius Hamel, aka Grandpa Cor.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14253635679233293750noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-92651998940978136.post-11731797776807686192011-06-29T21:19:00.000-07:002018-12-31T10:37:52.483-08:00A Tribute to True Love<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUhqF3TGQK-v6Mkm_g_gz1g5PU-AuM0f2gA2z7hZwS2Oy6UCqCrnaqAddV_nY3HZ2RaCnJaBqVmTWxtpA5NgDRIVApW2x7PKJXGel82bAVsN4rlvnKVioKS_F621q2_Teg2gaFAZMGC4My/s1600/IMG_0667.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUhqF3TGQK-v6Mkm_g_gz1g5PU-AuM0f2gA2z7hZwS2Oy6UCqCrnaqAddV_nY3HZ2RaCnJaBqVmTWxtpA5NgDRIVApW2x7PKJXGel82bAVsN4rlvnKVioKS_F621q2_Teg2gaFAZMGC4My/s320/IMG_0667.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="color: #444444;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">When he said “I do” he didn’t know she would save every card he ever gave her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He didn’t know about the career changes or the layoff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He didn’t know about the stress that followed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He didn’t know they would settle in a small town apart from friends and family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He didn’t know something as simple as toothpaste would fuel a fight, and he didn’t know about the roses he would buy to help heal the hurt afterwards.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He didn’t know she would slowly begin to forget; small details at first and then larger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He didn’t know the full extent of his vow “in sickness and in health.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">When she said “I do” she didn’t know he would be away for days, and even weeks, because of his promise to provide.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She didn’t know about their four children, or that two would happen to come at the same time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She didn’t know in moments of frustration she would walk away, only to return again after the moment passed. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She didn’t know that for twenty plus years they would own the same furniture or that for thirty plus years they would own the same house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She didn’t know he would battle a disease that was actively trying to claim his life, and she didn’t know how the promise “until death do us part” would feel.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444;">When they said “I do” they didn’t know when she communicated sentiment he would communicate humor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They didn’t know her preference for a simple palate would inspire his desire for more flavor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They didn’t know of the warmth and acceptance their families would offer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They didn’t know about the death of loved ones. They didn’t know that she preferred more blankets when he preferred fewer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They didn’t know about the trips they would take and the adventures they’d have with their children in tow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They didn’t know about the sacrifice, the mistakes, the tragedy, the fear, the confusion, the forgiveness, the accommodation, the privilege, the joy, the romance, the laughter, the gratification, the grace, the passion, the commitment, and the entirety of their love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They didn’t know about these things, yet they chose to say <br />
“I do” every day for 38 years. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;"> </span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Happy Anniversary, Mom and Dad!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope one day to understand love the way you do.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkK7bXhtirMA4Vzy4ON3wDia0PUlK2_kJQTOtFOla7OhxkQDqLRJrrqFgflabqvJ6wbhOeaBLKclG-wYUcbFYogA616vLI1zfTaRoslpQIWCJ27wFLvUFQPfHIinvSl9SihXUO605wUfOQ/s1600/IMG_0664.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkK7bXhtirMA4Vzy4ON3wDia0PUlK2_kJQTOtFOla7OhxkQDqLRJrrqFgflabqvJ6wbhOeaBLKclG-wYUcbFYogA616vLI1zfTaRoslpQIWCJ27wFLvUFQPfHIinvSl9SihXUO605wUfOQ/s320/IMG_0664.JPG" width="213" /></span></a></div>
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Melaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14253635679233293750noreply@blogger.com