tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5302814428700305582024-02-19T19:17:41.302-06:00LarksongHe will rejoice over you with singing! Zephaniah 3:17Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316952786085682826noreply@blogger.comBlogger521125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-530281442870030558.post-28670793661027859902023-08-22T13:03:00.001-05:002023-08-22T13:15:58.032-05:00Write them down<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-G-QllEo-L7uALLPP-1UyqsWfFcUJNuSwBDvn7HC7LaEL_ba_ju0I5IdkegW7GATpw9WgUEpExvk8dmGve3qowB5d-nCwFgc3w0bU5mlVoS4HdsKu9a4A9VCcETjeqy6YWI2sDry8tZH5LT94rFxYe-xn_lozbEnFxpXNhP-Oa5s_XNoPnFGD9ltj6d83/s2987/IMG_5263.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2987" data-original-width="2565" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-G-QllEo-L7uALLPP-1UyqsWfFcUJNuSwBDvn7HC7LaEL_ba_ju0I5IdkegW7GATpw9WgUEpExvk8dmGve3qowB5d-nCwFgc3w0bU5mlVoS4HdsKu9a4A9VCcETjeqy6YWI2sDry8tZH5LT94rFxYe-xn_lozbEnFxpXNhP-Oa5s_XNoPnFGD9ltj6d83/s320/IMG_5263.jpeg" width="275" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Sixty-nine years…ending another decade. A lifetime of memories, but I fear they are beginning to fade. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">When we were certain Rob would not see sixty, I gently coaxed him to tell me the hidden stories of his childhood. It was too late; he was fading away. I promised myself, I would leave our family snapshots of our life well-lived, but grief’s fog and a series of traumatic events left little energy for recall. Most remain bottled up in my head, ready to spill. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">Write them down before it’s too late! </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">1978-we had been married just over a year: a hard year, financially strapped, churchless, homesick for life back home in Kansas, and weary from grief. A small apartment on busy Westheimer was our temporary home. Our budget didn’t allow for any fancy getaways or romantic dinners so date night meant exploring our immediate surroundings. A new mega music store, Sound Warehouse, opened its doors at the corner of Voss and Westheimer and it soon became our Disneyland…well, mostly Rob’s dream store. I just tagged along, happy to be with him in his happy place. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I still see that young, thin guy, clad in faded loose jeans and worn t-shirt, hunched over rows of records, intently memorizing lyrics and musicians. There was no Google search to later jog his memory; my musician stored every detail in his inquisitive brain. Rob browsed for hours and I soaked in the music and him. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">One night, he bought a new release, Dan Fogelberg’s Nether Lands. Trust me, it would not have been his pick of the night, but that was Rob, always thinking of others. We could not afford it, but he bought it anyway; he knew how much I loved Dan’s music and backstory. As usual, we closed down the store, carrying our new purchase to our next destination: House of Pies, open 24 hours a day. That night we probably had to share a piece of chocolate meringue pie and a drink; our cash was now quite low. Oh, but how rich was my heart. I had everything I needed and more. </span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRHoLdQClZcK5P2G0mM3brOq6vziU37MN9oR6oxT5SMvyIQLj-ztVMN1Tg8k8zGbSb51g2tyv70iZZfu5iyH9uGgG_aOyqvMUnCdSi5reynljOiBF7iWPs8p9VIY0mRF03xaalToSFdndGgcYLm2JBE_TQfngdp4jMArbkrzzufqqPZMUC3T4f9XxikuA8/s2582/IMG_5262.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1804" data-original-width="2582" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRHoLdQClZcK5P2G0mM3brOq6vziU37MN9oR6oxT5SMvyIQLj-ztVMN1Tg8k8zGbSb51g2tyv70iZZfu5iyH9uGgG_aOyqvMUnCdSi5reynljOiBF7iWPs8p9VIY0mRF03xaalToSFdndGgcYLm2JBE_TQfngdp4jMArbkrzzufqqPZMUC3T4f9XxikuA8/s320/IMG_5262.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Scarecrow’s Dream, one of my most favorite songs from the album, plays on repeat as I enjoy my early morning coffee. Oh, how I hope you are making beautiful music, Rob. “And if you ever hear me calling out….”</span></div><p></p>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316952786085682826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-530281442870030558.post-51451576613535153472023-06-29T08:43:00.004-05:002023-07-01T07:10:00.877-05:00Bill’s wisdom<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">After 10 years, I am rereading Rob’s Caring Bridge site. There’s so much I’ve forgotten, a journey that deserves another trip. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">This entry speaks volumes to me. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Journal Entry by Robin Moore — June 29, 2013</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 9px 0px 8px;"><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Rob asked me earlier this week how I thought he should live out this devastating diagnosis. He wasn't talking about cures or drug therapies; he was really addressing the spiritual journey ahead of him. I've been chewing on this ever since. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Today I visited my former dentist's CaringBridge site and his two year anniversary entry provided powerful wisdom. He suffered a freak fall, breaking his neck at C-3 and sustaining a severe injury. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">He writes: “Dear friends, since today is the two year anniversary of my injury, I have been reflecting on all that has happened during the past twenty-four months….Throughout my roller coaster recovery, God has used me miraculously for His purposes. Presently, I am leading a nurse to begin reading the New Testament, and today one of our ministers asked me to give my testimony for a large men's group at our church. Even though I am one year behind where I had hoped to be physically, I have joy knowing that I am bearing fruit spiritually.”</span></p><p class="p4" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">So I offer Bill’s wisdom. </span><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span></p><p class="p4" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">"How do I live out this terrible diagnosis?" Continue to bear fruit.</span><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span></p><p class="p4" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Robin</span></p><p class="p4" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">And after ten years, I would only add Jesus’s wise directive which brings forth such fruit: remain.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"> Remain in Me. Hold on tight!</span></p><p class="p4" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 24px;"><span class="s3" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleEmphasizedBody; font-weight: bold;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p4" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 24px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s3" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleEmphasizedBody; font-weight: bold;">Jeremiah 17:7-8</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s3" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleEmphasizedBody; font-weight: bold;">"But blessed is the one who trusts in the LORD,</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s3" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleEmphasizedBody; font-weight: bold;">whose confidence is in him.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s3" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleEmphasizedBody; font-weight: bold;">They will be like a tree planted by the water</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s3" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleEmphasizedBody; font-weight: bold;">that sends out its roots by the stream.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s3" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleEmphasizedBody; font-weight: bold;">It does not fear when heat come;</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s3" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleEmphasizedBody; font-weight: bold;">its leaves are always green.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s3" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleEmphasizedBody; font-weight: bold;">It has no worries in a year of drought</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s3" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleEmphasizedBody; font-weight: bold;">and never fails to bear fruit."</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s3" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleEmphasizedBody; font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s3" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleEmphasizedBody;"><span class="versenum" face="system-ui, -apple-system, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Ubuntu, Cantarell, "Noto Sans", sans-serif, Arial" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; display: inline; font-size: 1.2rem; font-weight: bold; line-height: normal; position: relative; top: auto; vertical-align: text-top;">John 15:5 </span><b><span face="system-ui, -apple-system, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Ubuntu, Cantarell, "Noto Sans", sans-serif, Arial" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: white; font-size: 16px;">“I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit;</span><span face="system-ui, -apple-system, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Ubuntu, Cantarell, "Noto Sans", sans-serif, Arial" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"> apart from me you can do nothing.</span></b></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s3" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleEmphasizedBody; font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s3" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleEmphasizedBody; font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p><p class="p4" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 24px;"><br /><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span></p><p class="p4" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 24px;"><br /><span class="s3" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleEmphasizedBody; font-weight: bold;"></span></p>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316952786085682826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-530281442870030558.post-24634369950894721452023-06-24T15:52:00.003-05:002023-06-24T16:01:30.079-05:00Ten years later<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBGPTidQ3bp4lS1jIYuA2WPzi7YAdYfhXUqQTo5r25lI_7TOcHUKEDkhKOuUbQcQS9y3IEEWTber3XQN3zwe5MmiHbp4OdCtBkSRXvnQgbUfO9OQeLkM78A1qrbIitWiXj9tdquIfhrTWJVJ6G1hy5da6sOZOqZn9zciAh5ZOJwR1RzMLIrnm1JeHnTeKP/s2850/B701A0C7-91D3-41AA-A1BF-42555AB8C9BC.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2850" data-original-width="2452" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBGPTidQ3bp4lS1jIYuA2WPzi7YAdYfhXUqQTo5r25lI_7TOcHUKEDkhKOuUbQcQS9y3IEEWTber3XQN3zwe5MmiHbp4OdCtBkSRXvnQgbUfO9OQeLkM78A1qrbIitWiXj9tdquIfhrTWJVJ6G1hy5da6sOZOqZn9zciAh5ZOJwR1RzMLIrnm1JeHnTeKP/s320/B701A0C7-91D3-41AA-A1BF-42555AB8C9BC.jpeg" width="275" /></a></div><p></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I was bargain hunting last week when I spotted this pair of charms. The box included the words: </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Made For Each Other. </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Yep, I bought them and once again, I journeyed down memory lane. </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Summer of 1972-my grandparents invited Rob to join our family at their Florida home. My sweet Poppy bought my sister, Rob and me tickets to explore a new amusement park. Yes, it was Disney World’s first official summer. My sister tolerated our immature puppy love; God bless her! Years later, our own family made memories at the magical park and then, Rob and I celebrated our 50th birthdays with Mickey; we loved living happily ever after. </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Today marks the 10th anniversary of Rob’s cancer diagnosis and our family’s unthinkable journey with the pancreatic beast. </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I’m still trying to process why this particular year is harder than recent</span><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"> ones; perhaps </span><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">milestone anniversaries are just naturally notable. I find myself wrestling with the thought of ten long years of more survival than surprise. Ten years of solo!</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5GYV7_ITzLZKDgp9KJxxLOccFAOJul1pCNfcFoP1CGkfgBSLKPzQZFzdpilvAhg3SW1ZKnZ4OV28mj5CthD6-GzTuryBRdu3Satbl_Ka0BAz3fJLwlufpXJMmWQ0Ez27WhzMtARUPFYeHAZrqEJr8BgWiJkMR9xhrbtGDL9wyE8Bdd09r4wb6aLiYwPzS/s4030/84D1B746-05DF-4D5F-B6C2-0D8FCE20665D.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3023" data-original-width="4030" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5GYV7_ITzLZKDgp9KJxxLOccFAOJul1pCNfcFoP1CGkfgBSLKPzQZFzdpilvAhg3SW1ZKnZ4OV28mj5CthD6-GzTuryBRdu3Satbl_Ka0BAz3fJLwlufpXJMmWQ0Ez27WhzMtARUPFYeHAZrqEJr8BgWiJkMR9xhrbtGDL9wyE8Bdd09r4wb6aLiYwPzS/s320/84D1B746-05DF-4D5F-B6C2-0D8FCE20665D.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I stood over Rob’s grave this morning; some of my most authentic conversations with God happen in the quiet of the cemetery. </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">I sincerely asked, “How long, O Lord? What are the plans You have for me? <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Is there any more adventure as I enter this new chapter because time’s running out! God, I’m no longer looking for fairytales, just Your perfect, but elusive plan.”</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">And He lovingly whispered back, “Have you forgotten that I</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">made you for Me? Remain in Me; trust my Goodness in the land of the living.” So we begin again…</span></p>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316952786085682826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-530281442870030558.post-51307540386455680962023-06-08T12:30:00.000-05:002023-06-08T12:30:15.973-05:00Eternal Perspective<blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0 0 0 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">I’ve been looking at what others are voicing on an eternal perspective; this woman’s thoughts really resonated with me. </span></p></blockquote><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiFjwkKcWnLSSRzYubLjzSBtu0IiWydkH3PfKqM7sFcxtrYtu167iZI-fB5vmDcE-SgXolpiEiTsLsVnp61TQpZq4FGtfH-7SX89IF9MekYfmJv-Xq7F-lmC3vo4pEVtfx07PxWx0QDm7xXDvH06Kgm-hKlp3CoE5gJuXk8a3f2NDvqZO5Ag8WHOYLHg/s859/FBA90813-B92A-4489-A1DA-10413E91030F.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="859" data-original-width="851" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiFjwkKcWnLSSRzYubLjzSBtu0IiWydkH3PfKqM7sFcxtrYtu167iZI-fB5vmDcE-SgXolpiEiTsLsVnp61TQpZq4FGtfH-7SX89IF9MekYfmJv-Xq7F-lmC3vo4pEVtfx07PxWx0QDm7xXDvH06Kgm-hKlp3CoE5gJuXk8a3f2NDvqZO5Ag8WHOYLHg/s320/FBA90813-B92A-4489-A1DA-10413E91030F.jpeg" width="317" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316952786085682826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-530281442870030558.post-71872469806227015862023-04-17T12:28:00.000-05:002023-04-17T12:28:01.935-05:00Press Forward<p> ‘It’s a good kind of tired.’ Surely you’ve experienced it; what makes bone-weary fatigue something to cheer about? Good memories, a sense of purpose, reward? But what about in the spiritual sense? </p><p>Obedience comes to mind. I can’t even imagine the fatigue Jesus experienced after hours of ministry in less than ideal conditions. The crowds pressing in…the pervasive brokenness…disciples watching miracle after miracle and still not understanding who He was. Oh, and all that walking in sandals without memory foam!</p><p>Exhausted Jesus never departed to rest and reflect on what He had received; obedience to the mission at hand was his prime motive for seeking his Father. </p><p>And us? At 68, fatigue happens a lot and the temptation to avoid it is real! Accepting assignments that will clearly produce exhaustion is often a real test of my own obedience. I watched as well some young parents this weekend, following after every step of their active toddlers; it would have been a lot easier to stay home, but they know all that mileage will eventually lead to their whole family knowing Christ. </p><p>Pressing forward toward the Prize that awaits us requires our trust, focus, and dependence on the One who holds us. Eugene Peterson beautifully describes this journey, A Long Obedience in the Same Direction. Press forward!</p>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316952786085682826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-530281442870030558.post-92014825556079918372023-03-13T18:10:00.002-05:002023-03-13T18:53:30.100-05:00Confession<p><span style="font-family: arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: arial;"><span> </span></span><span style="font-family: arial;">As a volunteer in a global evangelism ministry, I’m always looking for different wording to discuss Christianity with seekers. Language barriers can make communication difficult at times and I try to share with simple phrases and illustrations. While researching today, I ran across a devotional by Pastor Colin Smith on confessing Christ as Lord and Savior and behold, an Edison moment! Actually, a Holy Spirit moment as He illuminated a one syllable word. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>The Jesus statement in John 14:6 was the heart of his message: Jesus said to him, “I am <i>the</i> way and <i>the </i>truth and <i>the</i> life.” Many of us have memorized it, but how many of us have personalized this verse? Jesus is <i>my </i>way and <i>my</i> truth and <i>my </i>life. A small two letter word changes everything. Yes, it’s profoundly important to agree with and respect the integrity of what Jesus says about his own identity. The descriptive <i>the </i>is definitive; Jesus clearly states He is the only means to eternal and abundant life. But to respond with personal confession…well, it’s eternal and life-changing! </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>I confess both: Jesus is my only Way, my only Truth and my only Life. All in, not just considering His claims…my only Lord and Savior! </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span> And yours? </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;"><span>*I’m currently writing a collection of letters to my grandchildren. I want to leave with them the important things of life and my confession of Jesus is my most important gift to them. </span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: #f8f9fa; caret-color: rgb(57, 57, 57); color: #393939; font-family: arial; letter-spacing: 0.10000000149011612px;"> </span></p><p><span face=""Oakes Grotesk", sans-serif" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: 100%; background-color: #f8f9fa; caret-color: rgb(57, 57, 57); color: #393939; font-family: arial; letter-spacing: 0.10000000149011612px;"> </span></p>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316952786085682826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-530281442870030558.post-50513366925258548342023-02-13T12:02:00.000-06:002023-02-13T12:02:21.236-06:00<p><span style="font-family: arial;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggvFlm7ce8-Xpg19wkU8sfCr7qnD7-wBRbAaPSflayJjRvhGBN42Q1tNHqGJJDuZv6eofS2uG6GB2pHj3te-V_Nyqz2-H4NTVRxKFO0pA-hqB9CnIDKsTVUeAomO9319IrJ42V32KNSn1fUDVEcuT9IEhRPo6SR_ffcSg3q4asrepXnILsH2ZulFzcrg/s1080/FE5B7B80-AB9F-4AE1-9B29-DFCD17DE5CB7.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="350" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggvFlm7ce8-Xpg19wkU8sfCr7qnD7-wBRbAaPSflayJjRvhGBN42Q1tNHqGJJDuZv6eofS2uG6GB2pHj3te-V_Nyqz2-H4NTVRxKFO0pA-hqB9CnIDKsTVUeAomO9319IrJ42V32KNSn1fUDVEcuT9IEhRPo6SR_ffcSg3q4asrepXnILsH2ZulFzcrg/w350-h350/FE5B7B80-AB9F-4AE1-9B29-DFCD17DE5CB7.png" width="350" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br />It seems like life is one long climb to the summit more often than not. Lots of dilemmas and decisions… Anyone agree; fewer periods of easy coasting?</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">Mountaineer Jenn Drummond advises a climber to know her limits. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">“The mountain will always be there, so one failed attempt does not mean you have only 1 shot; it just means it’s easier to take yourself out of the game for that round than lose everything.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">I’ve been asking the same question: do I know when to fold ‘em, whether it’s a temporary pause or a full out burial? What’s the difference between a wise surrender or simply just giving up? I’ve struggled with the folding part all my life, but hey, I don’t think I’m alone. Look at Tom Brady! When you invest your all into a goal, a mission , a career, a relationship, it’s hard to close that chapter because you leave a huge part of yourself behind. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">But that’s not really the question at hand: when is it best for you and the whole? Some signposts are clear: for me, a worn meniscus that can still avoid a total knee replacement shouts “wiser to walk away,” but some remain cloudy. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">1 Corinthians 12:25 offers me a very clear answer though: is it hurting the whole?</span></p>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316952786085682826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-530281442870030558.post-54781155666496066892023-01-03T12:03:00.004-06:002023-01-03T12:03:58.567-06:00Hello Joy<p><span style="font-family: verdana;">2023 Hello Joy </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6uG7OALTEPZGTzZulrArMgYQH5oaiVba7JWQIYhIcF7jykKgLcurKDmA-pCHfIv0OI8D1_7hNtds_WU9XSTqHAXS0KcvIJ8l0c7N86iXLkMfm7e4mODEk1fY-_ykHSm0EGh6HnCBiOVvXG6TimIwJZBP7EjOJuukM2VDQRg3q6YuMIxyWEhj3xXK14w/s2903/98C64C57-7FC8-47D5-BF69-88E0ABA44D34.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2903" data-original-width="2543" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6uG7OALTEPZGTzZulrArMgYQH5oaiVba7JWQIYhIcF7jykKgLcurKDmA-pCHfIv0OI8D1_7hNtds_WU9XSTqHAXS0KcvIJ8l0c7N86iXLkMfm7e4mODEk1fY-_ykHSm0EGh6HnCBiOVvXG6TimIwJZBP7EjOJuukM2VDQRg3q6YuMIxyWEhj3xXK14w/s320/98C64C57-7FC8-47D5-BF69-88E0ABA44D34.jpeg" width="280" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> It’s been a long while since I’ve considered joy. God desiring, that’s my path for a few months: Biblical Joy. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">At the beginning of Rob’s cancer journey, I was determined to choose joy, but I had to discover what that really meant. Even after 9 1/2 years, I think I’ve only peeled back a couple of layers. Now it’s time to dive deeper. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana;">I begin with a John Piper question: What’s at the bottom of my joy? Is it really God or is it me?</span></p>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316952786085682826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-530281442870030558.post-39325702600511098552021-11-12T12:15:00.002-06:002021-11-12T23:38:42.130-06:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghU-A7di6oCzUE-5CerCpKiSsnf9DK9eIPapRjK6Phn9Y3Tw4U06QRIh-TKQLjII5wN3BWQsEyy_A1Azgxcsl7KGP_7dUuvtWSXtaWiSZVcUEkuw_uVXVSxWVoWO9vLU9a6Jshny7khHnE/s401/82DF1B88-8EFF-49E5-8AC5-AA748FFC98A2.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="401" data-original-width="401" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghU-A7di6oCzUE-5CerCpKiSsnf9DK9eIPapRjK6Phn9Y3Tw4U06QRIh-TKQLjII5wN3BWQsEyy_A1Azgxcsl7KGP_7dUuvtWSXtaWiSZVcUEkuw_uVXVSxWVoWO9vLU9a6Jshny7khHnE/s320/82DF1B88-8EFF-49E5-8AC5-AA748FFC98A2.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p> Image: Charles M. Schultz</p><p> <span style="font-size: medium;">This pandemic: the isolation, the masks that cover up your facial expression…and your life. I’ve mostly missed your story. Oh, I’ve enjoyed your happy posts, but I’ve missed your real life stories. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I wish I could construct a Lucy Booth, not for cheap advice, but to simply listen to your present reality, past hurts, and dreams: broken and still unrealized. A story-keeper booth that only costs time. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">I wonder how the church, the workplace, our neighborhoods would morph if we enlisted story-keepers. When I was a young nurse’s aide, working in a long-term care facility, I’d frequently visit the residents when my shift ended. Oh, the stories of Grumpy Mr. Held’s sorties, life in the Great Depression for many, the Dust Bowl days for mamas trying to keep house. Those tales of courage and sacrifice, hardship and joy matured me, reminding me of my many blessings. I still treasure those storytellers and their accounts; time well spent. Time for them to feel appreciated and be heard. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Yes, Lucy Van Pelt, move on over; my booth is always open.</span></p>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316952786085682826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-530281442870030558.post-25438551794531677382021-09-22T11:22:00.000-05:002021-09-22T11:22:48.212-05:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgApB2UhzvueAJlIX8W0kbsPC5ZwpDR3QU4pWfC0kNLbSsGmjBLPAaosPPG3Vkx2FPcsQvyiKiyt0MCaQ5D_-LM2QnKWmdr6Rf6-aQWmOqicIkqg_kShMlvi_QfYhTLXqAdKrV3HCYoPIpX/s1393/FFA63511-E061-487F-8810-F3AB284AA833.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1393" data-original-width="778" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgApB2UhzvueAJlIX8W0kbsPC5ZwpDR3QU4pWfC0kNLbSsGmjBLPAaosPPG3Vkx2FPcsQvyiKiyt0MCaQ5D_-LM2QnKWmdr6Rf6-aQWmOqicIkqg_kShMlvi_QfYhTLXqAdKrV3HCYoPIpX/w179-h320/FFA63511-E061-487F-8810-F3AB284AA833.jpeg" width="179" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Dear Grands, </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Oh, this storm called COVID. I am struggling this morning as a young family friend has lost his fight with this ugly monster. </span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">“If only he’d been vaccinated…” runs through my sad mind. I don’t believe for one moment this was God’s intended will, although I believe not one detail escaped God. All along God knew Dave would join Him, but He gave him free choice to decide about earthly protection. He is the giver of good gifts, but choice as well. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">I’ve learned the hard way that consequences often follow my decisions. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">But I’ve also learned that He covers us with his perfect Grace. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">God rescued our friend by arresting his suffering and welcoming Dave into his Presence yesterday. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Our Father bids us to offer our imperfect grace to those who make unwise choices. A friend is always ready to pick up the broken. And just as importantly, Jesus asks us to grace ourselves. We can’t waste what He did for us on the Cross: perfect forgiveness!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Oh, Grands, offer and receive grace…always, dear ones. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Be held, Gigi</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /> <p></p>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316952786085682826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-530281442870030558.post-44700030249021746782021-09-11T15:45:00.001-05:002021-09-11T15:49:26.321-05:0020th Anniversary of 9/11<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /> <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYVPCKC3et1LckX2k26rbq9PK7QjR9ftDpev0A813cz08AEMEx7td_d9bAthesW5fucExhNRqEcSK8aDx76n_f8a_i4B6RK0eeldEkLG0BnNq1H4j1C1SN-CzJwEmnYlEdZGaK2777m4I6/s2048/C898F0DE-67E7-400C-81AC-B6674F674094.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1741" data-original-width="2048" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYVPCKC3et1LckX2k26rbq9PK7QjR9ftDpev0A813cz08AEMEx7td_d9bAthesW5fucExhNRqEcSK8aDx76n_f8a_i4B6RK0eeldEkLG0BnNq1H4j1C1SN-CzJwEmnYlEdZGaK2777m4I6/w320-h272/C898F0DE-67E7-400C-81AC-B6674F674094.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2AwoSMT6IvLYvpsYsg5qnVyotDjMp6h-wFLd5CUnICTjlW4KyigG6-fHv1mqn4GJ0nTbWQvIWjImNmm9hp-mPo8xjM6-IRDKYGqWLgsHl4BI9QMK5YXJJbK_1KTBdbTQ6hudzqdObi_0C/s2048/6FF7EA73-EDBD-4431-937E-4FD36CE3E087.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1623" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2AwoSMT6IvLYvpsYsg5qnVyotDjMp6h-wFLd5CUnICTjlW4KyigG6-fHv1mqn4GJ0nTbWQvIWjImNmm9hp-mPo8xjM6-IRDKYGqWLgsHl4BI9QMK5YXJJbK_1KTBdbTQ6hudzqdObi_0C/s320/6FF7EA73-EDBD-4431-937E-4FD36CE3E087.jpeg" width="254" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Dearest Grands,</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">9.11.2021</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Today we remember. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Twenty years ago, four planes tried to destroy our country. They did not! They caused a lot of damage and killed a lot of innocent people, but they could not destroy the American spirit. People were brave and they stood together in resolve and unity. I’ll spare you the details of that horrible morning, not because you can’t handle the tragedy, but because I challenge you to read the stories for yourselves. You must own your nation’s history-all of it: the good and bad…the blessings and the hard. Remember, we don’t forget lest we visit such again. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">We all had to be brave that day and we had to wait. Granddad was grounded in Portland, Oregon. We didn’t know his location for hours or when we would see him again. Others waited for word of whether or not their loved ones made it out of the fiery buildings. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Today, I encourage you not to use the excuse, ‘Well, that’s way before I was born’ to not remember 9/11. </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">I was not alive during the surprise military attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941, but every December 7th, I reflect on the events and loss of life </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">in Hawaii. My grandfather left his wife and two daughters to serve in the Navy shortly after we officially entered WWII. He sacrificed a lot to defend our nation, so I remember his and many others’ courage and pursuit of freedom. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I visited Ground Zero the summer after the Twin Towers collapsed. It was my physical way to grasp the magnitude of the enemy’s destruction; history is seared into my memory. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcX7f7zkbFU_W2TtALPQK04Ko5kjHi4DTHF5OplCl7LVoBaFpeRZbl4ETF2RYRBtfP2L808QutaOxb-rCkcSVnvvtzGzN_oMAIXPRh-iKyZ7mBPu22RTyhZF86dCyTp1pt9DY9Hx8JnqLC/s1232/CEDF7408-4FE3-4A94-B6CF-06D81A3D65D2.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1232" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcX7f7zkbFU_W2TtALPQK04Ko5kjHi4DTHF5OplCl7LVoBaFpeRZbl4ETF2RYRBtfP2L808QutaOxb-rCkcSVnvvtzGzN_oMAIXPRh-iKyZ7mBPu22RTyhZF86dCyTp1pt9DY9Hx8JnqLC/s320/CEDF7408-4FE3-4A94-B6CF-06D81A3D65D2.jpeg" width="249" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I captured this photo of a steel beam from one of the skyscrapers that rescue workers hoisted up weeks after the attack. It helps me never forget the ripple effect of evil, but more importantly, who holds our future. A cross in the rubble…hope in Jesus who hung on a wooden crossbeam to give us Himself, the Hope of Glory. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">My dearest Grands, never forget Christ triumphs all evil. When tragedy strikes, don’t lose sight of his Hope for He wins in the end!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5f9cjROo5iU3tU5omlOD5lYzISXuslMGlZNcaxePAwmOtrkBpcyHMH10vuH14HVTfXVcPg9fZV1ty30uR4AV-zOFL-qMPJ6yP1_2PoH82a2R_ubIN0BVDPbugKMArNs9Gygy7j-d1xM_m/s2048/9F4A0B47-0A87-4531-87C6-488473626FB0.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5f9cjROo5iU3tU5omlOD5lYzISXuslMGlZNcaxePAwmOtrkBpcyHMH10vuH14HVTfXVcPg9fZV1ty30uR4AV-zOFL-qMPJ6yP1_2PoH82a2R_ubIN0BVDPbugKMArNs9Gygy7j-d1xM_m/s320/9F4A0B47-0A87-4531-87C6-488473626FB0.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">And remember, as He knows every one of the names recorded on this flag, He also knows yours!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Blessings, Gigi </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><br /><p></p>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316952786085682826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-530281442870030558.post-26786186316345620632021-03-01T09:23:00.005-06:002021-03-12T20:43:56.418-06:00<p> <span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Vaccinations are recorded and tomorrow marks the last day of my personal nightmare with SARS-CoV-2</span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">. Has it come too late? The personal toll of isolation is great and I’m barely limping to the finish line. Am I ready to navigate ‘normal’ again? Have I retained enough social skills to resume life outside of these gray walls? Will freedom really look any different than lockdown?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">My biggest fear whispers: will my loneliness only change shape? I still remain alone in a world that belongs to couples and families. Re-entry may sting with the continued feeling of being forgotten, but now I’ll have no excuse of COVID-19 to claim. I’m terrified that thick scab may very likely rip open raw.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I truly want to shape re-entry as a fresh beginning, but I’m afraid I have nothing left to fight the giants. Perhaps, that’s the very place God plants me. </span></p>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316952786085682826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-530281442870030558.post-68261794482418806322021-02-19T09:09:00.002-06:002021-03-12T20:43:56.511-06:002021 Winter Storm<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"> <span>Just as I think there is nothing else to write on grief, a historic winter storm hits my entire state, resulting in an emergency situation of no electrical power or water. No heat for 65 hours forced me, like others, to drain pipes in a desperate attempt to prevent breakage. (The jury is still out on this, as I have not yet turned on the water.) When our neighborhood finally received restored power, we set about boiling possibly contaminated water. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Fortunately, I have a lot of camping experience in primitive environments. I spent a summer sleeping in a tree hammock while providing health care to young children. I’ve enjoyed the wilderness with little amenities, but goodness, not in my own suburban home and rarely alone. </span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnjF4YujKp0NP9zP7PB8zQFL-2j0S9jpNB95UeCUwWGsYn-e-e5_Eq4IGmPlmszk2PHDuAm4MEnyVug5Ma6vXbt5FUH55QbfwaMVwOT_NXvijJjndliAYZAbdbp4EQxSSmx5RGSrMTUN-Y/s1132/18074153-37E1-427C-AAB2-1217566EA7B4.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1132" data-original-width="1125" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnjF4YujKp0NP9zP7PB8zQFL-2j0S9jpNB95UeCUwWGsYn-e-e5_Eq4IGmPlmszk2PHDuAm4MEnyVug5Ma6vXbt5FUH55QbfwaMVwOT_NXvijJjndliAYZAbdbp4EQxSSmx5RGSrMTUN-Y/s320/18074153-37E1-427C-AAB2-1217566EA7B4.jpeg" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium; text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium; text-align: left;">Fortunate to have a small tent, I crawled in it several times a day to warm my chilled body. However, that was also the very place where I struggled with intense loneliness. <i>Where are you, Rob? I need your body heat; I need you to tell me all is going to be well!</i> Somehow, those two seemed to always go hand in hand in the past. Once again, I found myself fighting the demons of grief and loss.</span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">As I begin to thaw, I’m struck with how tired I am. Not only physically, but emotionally and spiritually. My conversations with God have been brutally honest. <i>How long, oh Lord? </i></span><span style="font-family: verdana;"><i>I’m still waiting for the year when the land is supposed to rest! I’m tired of tragedy, Lord. I’m tired of coronavirus- induced isolation and all of it’s hideous loss. I’m just tired and this is the only thing in which I’m not alone. Please, tell me You’re listening!</i></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"> But o</span><span style="font-family: verdana;">nce again, I lay down my questions and trust with a limp along with the rest of the fatigued. What else can we do? I am grateful, Lord, that in You I find greater refuge than an earthly tent. You’ve sheltered me in the shadow of your wing so many times; You’ll do it again and again with each trial ahead. You are good and trustworthy and kind enough to understand my need for my husband’s shelter as well.</span></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJlGtsvxhBCExvVnR9uPC6Gtrn9UVn1AJy4th-wGTXVgMp6EGfh4Xv0t0GSgqEyWweaXTm5R9bC91ADtLPdBQDDb8_fv9NbVWLHwrKOigtZUrfwVJhFsPp46v0QvZuIJCDdQm7x3LyTsXN/s960/D0C4442A-77EA-449B-83E2-3AD037ED058B.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="807" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJlGtsvxhBCExvVnR9uPC6Gtrn9UVn1AJy4th-wGTXVgMp6EGfh4Xv0t0GSgqEyWweaXTm5R9bC91ADtLPdBQDDb8_fv9NbVWLHwrKOigtZUrfwVJhFsPp46v0QvZuIJCDdQm7x3LyTsXN/s320/D0C4442A-77EA-449B-83E2-3AD037ED058B.jpeg" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwNxotUZE93V-vVJhGG6fFmXGupPHO9ZgBYXuz19UjFGPScq4kK22aKgF_4-hDCDg6B9ZcH_Q0d3g0Qd6DDKDyrK1fkUmiY_bIiSYrwhn0PeZKG5ta6GX-P6H5w5bGiolVTxKQJP0x8fSr/s960/77657F10-9ACF-40F9-8BB8-1261E0512DAB.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="807" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwNxotUZE93V-vVJhGG6fFmXGupPHO9ZgBYXuz19UjFGPScq4kK22aKgF_4-hDCDg6B9ZcH_Q0d3g0Qd6DDKDyrK1fkUmiY_bIiSYrwhn0PeZKG5ta6GX-P6H5w5bGiolVTxKQJP0x8fSr/s320/77657F10-9ACF-40F9-8BB8-1261E0512DAB.jpeg" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Perhaps, I’ll never really be at a loss for grief words. </span></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium; text-align: left;">“Give sorrow words; the great that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.” William Shakespeare</span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316952786085682826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-530281442870030558.post-48124436185162795132021-02-08T15:17:00.000-06:002021-03-12T20:43:56.606-06:00<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium; text-align: left;">I’ve been on the cusp of putting my blog to rest. My little writing corner has evolved with the seasons of my adult life; it’s been a sweet resting place for God and me. I’ve found it therapeutic and a good place to practice my writing. But for the past months, I’ve rarely had anything to say here... perhaps, the isolation of the pandemic? I don’t know, but I’ve run dry.</span></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium; text-align: left;"> I’ve terribly missed my family during this virus. A few necessary weeks of caution turned into months with only a handful of protected visits. Because young children wrestle with screen visits, those have not met any of our expectations. I’ve missed seizing an ordinary moment to tell a simple life lesson or funny story of Gigi’s childhood, so I’ve been tossing around the idea of crafting some posts to leave for my grandchildren. </span><span style="text-align: left;">I’m hoping a simple link will one day lead them to my little world. Of course, I could scratch my stories in journals, but I just think better in this format. So let’s </span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium; text-align: left;">see where these </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium; text-align: left;"><i>Letters to my Grands </i>lead.</span></div></span><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMkl2VvFEPY50SLSANadc6Ul4_tA5d7LLlV_oaW1nKiLJc72w0XebpdJI3_Gdx4ACt6rSSHCQsIZeihSwDdNcheu1HdIKVaHm_ioNZk1SeWEqypDQVeSLvfPKeuAnTslmYuwIsJgnumhwZ/s2048/3AC55540-9E5B-47AA-A0E6-089F978D23C4.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1429" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMkl2VvFEPY50SLSANadc6Ul4_tA5d7LLlV_oaW1nKiLJc72w0XebpdJI3_Gdx4ACt6rSSHCQsIZeihSwDdNcheu1HdIKVaHm_ioNZk1SeWEqypDQVeSLvfPKeuAnTslmYuwIsJgnumhwZ/s320/3AC55540-9E5B-47AA-A0E6-089F978D23C4.jpeg" /></span></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Ruth and Oliver Capper</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My maternal grandparents </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: verdana; text-align: center;"><span> </span></span><span style="font-family: verdana;">What I would give to hear my grandmother Ruth’s stories of the past. She went home to her Jesus before I arrived. My dad, swallowed up by grief of his mother’s sudden, untimely death, never spoke of her. We were robbed of her story which spurs me to tell mine before it’s too late. </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Dearest grands,</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I just bought two new CDs from the Sisters of the Benedictines of Mary Queen of Apostles. These Sisters live in a simple <a href="https://benedictinesofmary.org/">convent</a> outside my hometown of Kansas City where they ‘sing their lives and live their song.’ Yes, I still buy CDs and DVDs. (<i>Gigi, what in the world are those?</i>) Answer: little shiny silver circles you put in a machine to play music and watch movies. Gigi has a couple of those antiquated players and she enjoys playing her large collection, all alphabetized for easy selection. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Some things are worth holding on to, my sweet grands. Pictures housed in pretty frames, rocks and shells found along a new path, painted treasures made by you! Do you know that I still have my daddy’s records from the 1940s? As you read this letter 20 years from now, they will be a century old! Old things can be just as good as new ones, especially people. Treasure them as they can teach you many wonderful lessons. Learn from their lives filled with adventure and accomplishments as well as bumps and bruises. You’ll find many others are quick to dismiss their wisdom and earned wrinkles, but you can choose the smarter way. Don’t forget to touch the worn: run your hands over nicks and crevices, hug the ones crying out for human affection, cradle a well-read book, not always a shiny screen. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">One day, my grands, you too shall look back. Make many memories to treasure and share. You are writing a legacy for others. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Lovingly, Gigi</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><i>These posts will need some editing I’m sure, but they are meant to be spontaneous and free-form. Too much perusal makes for something artificial. Excuse the errors until I revisit </i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316952786085682826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-530281442870030558.post-13270279777994492982021-01-27T09:35:00.000-06:002021-03-12T20:43:56.698-06:00<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"> Even after seven years, I occasionally find myself center in one or more of these paragraphs, especially during the aloneness of a pandemic. I know that some of you who visit here are new to this journey, it was tragically thrusted upon you, so I share Alisha’s thoughts. A word of encouragement, though: as life weaves in and out, you’ll reread this, thinking, “I don’t identify with this painful definition quite as much anymore and when I land back here, it’s not for </span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">long. “ Robin</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpSEud-aLne5zoC_lC7Ntm9lVbbP-3TeAe4H8v6Zxja7-HK-beJByX6C2sOZzgZYEPO2E8xsKBENPi860XxHuA6op6EOk-oJTKCmBFkxDruwsUA2S_2qJ_7f7AgREVPLgHY-Nn2VXTah69/s2048/2EBF758D-9E36-4098-B5DB-8F5C45F61885.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1497" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpSEud-aLne5zoC_lC7Ntm9lVbbP-3TeAe4H8v6Zxja7-HK-beJByX6C2sOZzgZYEPO2E8xsKBENPi860XxHuA6op6EOk-oJTKCmBFkxDruwsUA2S_2qJ_7f7AgREVPLgHY-Nn2VXTah69/w293-h400/2EBF758D-9E36-4098-B5DB-8F5C45F61885.jpeg" width="293" /></a></div><p></p><p>“Widowhood is more than missing your spouse’s presence. It is adjusting to an alternate life. It is growing around a permanent amputation.</p><p>Widowhood is going to bed for the thousandth time, and still, the loneliness doesn’t feel normal. The empty bed a constant reminder. The night no longer brings intimacy and comfort, but the loudness of silence and the void of connection.</p><p>Widowhood is walking around the same house you have lived in for years and it no longer feeling like home. Because “home” incorporated a person. And they’re not there. Homesickness fills your heart and the knowledge that it will never return haunts you.</p><p>Widowhood is seeing all your dreams and plans you shared as a couple crumble around you. The painful process of searching for new dreams that include only you amount to climbing Mount Everest. And every small victory of creating new dreams for yourself includes a new shade of grief that their death propelled you to this path.</p><p>Widowhood is second guessing everything you thought you knew about yourself. Your life had molded together with another’s and without them you have to relearn all your likes, hobbies, fears, goals. The renaissance of a new person makes you proud and heartbroken simultaneously.</p><p>Widowhood is being a stranger in your own life. The unnerving feeling of watching yourself from outside your body, going through the motions of what was your life, but being detached from all of it. You don’t recognize yourself. Your previous life feels but a vapor long gone, like a mist of a dream you begin to wonder if it happened at all.</p><p>Widowhood is the irony of knowing if that one person was here to be your support, you would have the strength to grieve that one person. The thought twists and confuses you. If only they were here to hold you and talk to you, you’d have the tenacity to tackle this unwanted life. To tackle the arduous task of moving on without them.</p><p>Widowhood is missing the one person who could truly understand what is in your heart to share. The funny joke, the embarrassing incident, the fear compelling you or the frustration tempting you. To anyone else, you would have to explain, and that is too much effort, so you keep it to yourself. And the loneliness grows inside you.</p><p>Widowhood is struggling with identity. Who are you if not their spouse? What do you want to do if not the things you planned together? What brand do you want to buy if not the one you two shared for all those years? What is your purpose if the job of investing into your marriage is taken away? Who is my closest companion when my other half isn’t here?</p><p>Widowhood is feeling restless because you lost your home, identity, partner, lover, friend, playmate, travel companion, co-parent, security, and life. And you are drifting with an unknown destination.</p><p>Widowhood is living in a constant state of missing the most intimate relationship. No hand to hold. No body next to you. No partner to share your burden.</p><p>Widowhood is being alone in a crowd of people. Feeling sad even while you’re happy. Feeling guilty while you live. It is looking back while moving forward. It is being hungry but nothing sounding good. It is every special event turning bittersweet.</p><p>Yes. It is much more than simply missing their presence. It is becoming a new person, whether you want to or not. It is fighting every emotion mankind can feel at the very same moment and trying to function in life at the same time.</p><p>Widowhood is frailty. Widowhood is strength. Widowhood is darkness. Widowhood is rebirth.</p><p>Widowhood…..</p><p>is life changing."</p><p>Alisha Bozarth</p><p><br /></p>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316952786085682826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-530281442870030558.post-17465787709292222562021-01-25T18:21:00.000-06:002021-03-12T20:43:56.792-06:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB0PYEHTyPeeEW67FsBThyphenhyphenLcubq3kshLFcyrhOXZLKLR57D0163-dWYahiiPxUylzmqB_rIYit-mGaRfGtvStkbsN2jOeUaLjGqcMqSnEkJu0q15v5Hsc2iIGYZs992hwz-pT2ojcY4A1I/s618/D7A37505-EAF7-4596-B186-ABC16781E2D6.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="561" data-original-width="618" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB0PYEHTyPeeEW67FsBThyphenhyphenLcubq3kshLFcyrhOXZLKLR57D0163-dWYahiiPxUylzmqB_rIYit-mGaRfGtvStkbsN2jOeUaLjGqcMqSnEkJu0q15v5Hsc2iIGYZs992hwz-pT2ojcY4A1I/s320/D7A37505-EAF7-4596-B186-ABC16781E2D6.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Goodness, I have wiped away tears all day long. 50 years...a half of a century. Where did the time go?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I remember our first date on January 25, 1971 as if it was yesterday. I had flirted and schemed for an entire fall semester, trying to get that senior boy to notice me. Unfortunately, he already had a girlfriend from our same yearbook staff. We shared a crowded pie-shape room, full of manual typewriters and wishful glances. Shame on me!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">He was so unlike the other two guys I dated for a short while; Rob was focused and intelligent. It took a while, but we became friends and that never changed. Chats turned from sports and school activities to deep conversations about following Christ. My relationship with Jesus was young, but earnest; his, solid and mature. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">There were many bumps to navigate through the decades to follow, like most relationships. Honestly, it had to be by the sheer Grace of God that we made it through those first years and then again, through the teenage years of our kids. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The path smoothed though; we had grown up. I am so grateful for those years traveling back-and-forth from Houston to DC, the Florida vacations, suppers at Collina’s and lazy weekends watching our favorite teams. I loved watching Rob play with his three grandchildren probably more than anything.</span></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUjXrngrmeRbjpxjx3quK5GQjhmJ0wRPCgckxtgL4TI9lFC9_9x8AqEdNXisaLQRoDnqeecYK1nvr9wszwawlYVmD_Pi3wFPJnxMwqEaZHf47a4aUm9cQJxlSxak6lIeOYkte6oeizrHsi/s1350/A89DBE0D-54CC-4057-B475-0CAA9ED347B1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1350" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUjXrngrmeRbjpxjx3quK5GQjhmJ0wRPCgckxtgL4TI9lFC9_9x8AqEdNXisaLQRoDnqeecYK1nvr9wszwawlYVmD_Pi3wFPJnxMwqEaZHf47a4aUm9cQJxlSxak6lIeOYkte6oeizrHsi/s320/A89DBE0D-54CC-4057-B475-0CAA9ED347B1.jpeg" /></a></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL3K-oCXQtxv5LAc8lUyzT86Btrt_M_ZsAYgOYiXe-3ElDAtpfRkK-9SUIAmhmIZG2QrUWEZMVXdKPrUINomH9wbx2q1QD2VgESgh9ntELn4jQg866zKLeVuCXtVXkjx9CzCYwUfWtv1xm/s960/EB71A196-6352-4DB9-87B9-8364C111BB2F.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="510" data-original-width="960" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL3K-oCXQtxv5LAc8lUyzT86Btrt_M_ZsAYgOYiXe-3ElDAtpfRkK-9SUIAmhmIZG2QrUWEZMVXdKPrUINomH9wbx2q1QD2VgESgh9ntELn4jQg866zKLeVuCXtVXkjx9CzCYwUfWtv1xm/s320/EB71A196-6352-4DB9-87B9-8364C111BB2F.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div> <span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I just wish there had been more time. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Most of my life I walked side by side with my earthly best friend. Not all these tears are sad, some are the sweetest.</span></div><div><br /></div>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316952786085682826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-530281442870030558.post-75341639346922916762021-01-07T00:05:00.001-06:002021-03-12T20:43:56.888-06:002021 Word<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">It’s that time of year when I retreat to the beach for a couple of days of prayer and reflection. I began this many years ago on the advice of Rick Warren. <b>Divert Daily, Withdraw Weekly, Abandon Annually.</b> During this time of complete disconnect, I most always decide on a guiding word for the months ahead. That word helps frame my Bible study for the year and hopefully, my personal growth. Last year’s word was <b>Grace</b> and boy, have I learned a lot about giving and receiving it. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">There is no beach retreat or word this year. Oh, I will probably capture a few hours there, but definitely not a stay, considering the rising Covid numbers and no vaccine appointment. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">There is a focus, though. Not a word, but a Person: <b>Jesus</b>. The loneliness, anxiety, and chaos are closing in and I desperately need Jesus. He is all I need. During December, I read the Gospel of Luke, one chapter per day and now, I’ll return, studying a chapter weekly. I want to walk with Him via his own life-giving words. I’m hoping for a fresh understanding of his humanity, character and authority. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Anna, the prophetess, is introduced in the second chapter of Luke. She, too, lost her husband at a young age and devoted the rest of her life to worshiping God. She waited decades in anticipation of the arrival of Israel’s Yeshua Hamashiach...and eventually, she laid eyes on her infant Rescuer! She did not miss her Messiah.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Waiting and worshiping...I want an ‘Anna perspective’ this year...eternity-minded...never leaving his Presence.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">I’m looking forward to writing his beloved Name in the sand in 2021, but more so, to letting Jesus etch his Name on my heart. <b>JESUS</b>, the only name under Heaven by which we must be saved.</span></p><p><br /></p>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316952786085682826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-530281442870030558.post-46659290996717179292020-12-20T12:39:00.003-06:002021-03-12T20:43:56.981-06:00The Piano Saga<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"> If you’ve kept up with me for the past few years, you might remember we lost our family piano in the flood. The harp had to be discarded; the cracked block was beyond repair. I deconstructed our piano, holding on to salvageable pieces, including the pedals and well-played keys. Several weeks ago, I finally put the body out on the curb for heavy trash collection. Because it was going to take so much expense to make it into the intended console table, I abandoned the project. I collected some of the pieces that I had reserved for the rebuild, thinking I should just put those out in the trash as well. I had to struggle to get the last piece out of a storage closet, but to my surprise, I discovered that the underlying surface of the top lid had the most beautiful stampings from the builder. What if I flipped the lid over and built legs for it? And that’s what I did, thanks to some helpful online shopping!</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwX3bWUBnva3CJOqxutJKNhWQ2fsojRU6YiohQfjKQyULNw-Bmn16b15aYcusRMJSayNyNALEzG9EhTyOTXvv5VgYhnkd5fPfQYzW6DuwA7HgQhO3tUxtIcgRsn-EfKrVzpkUefCfpWwtn/s2048/6D3576FF-BE9A-49E6-BF00-DDD701F4A37B.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1855" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwX3bWUBnva3CJOqxutJKNhWQ2fsojRU6YiohQfjKQyULNw-Bmn16b15aYcusRMJSayNyNALEzG9EhTyOTXvv5VgYhnkd5fPfQYzW6DuwA7HgQhO3tUxtIcgRsn-EfKrVzpkUefCfpWwtn/s320/6D3576FF-BE9A-49E6-BF00-DDD701F4A37B.jpeg" width="320" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBe1QmcrS-zhQ6o4axx-b-yhnLEZ3BuOb__mX945kJ_4AHgSK8iKK6DGT6yUY0hAbdB6O6wJbDFeu8IRKCfYlALwaMT024w0-p4vPtuex6vBKWsL5XXvdtZiKipaIUiIWmjbUHbULkaarx/s2048/6C633C02-AFED-45A0-BAE8-C5C1549B552C.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1672" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBe1QmcrS-zhQ6o4axx-b-yhnLEZ3BuOb__mX945kJ_4AHgSK8iKK6DGT6yUY0hAbdB6O6wJbDFeu8IRKCfYlALwaMT024w0-p4vPtuex6vBKWsL5XXvdtZiKipaIUiIWmjbUHbULkaarx/w326-h400/6C633C02-AFED-45A0-BAE8-C5C1549B552C.jpeg" width="326" /></a></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKYdwl7VvoKng1pQmwDW1-r7UFIDgav7tR2pbYbsPBWbldY9-y4mSP3fsXsmsbcatNuBn-DYZu390fXZHZZ-4fS6pOEPwk5SsJ3hDbFL7ejkDKc3-AsGW4RXDVAYPajQQb6c7GpYwR6DMh/s2048/02CD93DA-044E-41F5-92FF-68C76C9296BD.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKYdwl7VvoKng1pQmwDW1-r7UFIDgav7tR2pbYbsPBWbldY9-y4mSP3fsXsmsbcatNuBn-DYZu390fXZHZZ-4fS6pOEPwk5SsJ3hDbFL7ejkDKc3-AsGW4RXDVAYPajQQb6c7GpYwR6DMh/s320/02CD93DA-044E-41F5-92FF-68C76C9296BD.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div></span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">It wasn’t my original idea, but a better one. It doesn’t play music, but evokes a melody of memories. When was the last time you abandoned a desire, only to receive a better one? I really wanted to resurrect that piano, but it was not until I released it did I find purpose in the unexpected. It’s a lot like my last seven years, life flipped upside down, only to find a new beauty. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Borrowing Rob’s teaching question: so what? </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Be willing to abandon what cannot be resurrected. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Embrace the unexpected; welcome surprise. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Chase beauty!</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"> </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p><br /></p>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316952786085682826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-530281442870030558.post-26551399722765857492020-12-15T12:05:00.005-06:002021-03-12T20:43:57.075-06:00<p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large; text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large; text-align: left;">I spent some extra moments snuggled under the covers on this brisk December morning, lingering in prayer for a couple of young women. I concluded by asking God to blanket them with his Hope, the only really sustainable hope. It hit me that this was my exact prayer for the entire world as we mark the last few days of a long, arduous 2020. </span></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">I’m reminded of Jesus‘s words in the thirteenth chapter of Luke: <i>how often I have longed to gather you under my wing. </i></span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">(my humble translation) He longs to cover us. </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Cover us with his:</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Love</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Protection</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Grace</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Blood</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Hope </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">And that’s just the short list!</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh1rw2rOzXo4BR2-8BNT1xEl95fG-Tfd19EHuCUdbQBMuHlQpvm0NrV1wabbHhf7clTV5af_FtbReMa8NwsPXH2Ib8iFIK8PGDIZlY6razVDPH1yhmTSE4jgLS9tk-xGRNm4bCB641w37E/s1125/4E66B9EA-2087-4392-B101-DEFE6A35F752.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="981" data-original-width="1125" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh1rw2rOzXo4BR2-8BNT1xEl95fG-Tfd19EHuCUdbQBMuHlQpvm0NrV1wabbHhf7clTV5af_FtbReMa8NwsPXH2Ib8iFIK8PGDIZlY6razVDPH1yhmTSE4jgLS9tk-xGRNm4bCB641w37E/s320/4E66B9EA-2087-4392-B101-DEFE6A35F752.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: large;">This present malaise and yes, even despair is working hard to suffocate our weary world, yet, our long-awaited Messiah longs to wrap us in his tenacious Hope. You know, the kind that shines brightly on his faithful promises, the type that drowns out chaos. </span></span></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Hope of Glory, wrap us tight!</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p></p>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316952786085682826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-530281442870030558.post-43020590624883323212020-12-02T10:02:00.001-06:002021-03-12T20:43:57.198-06:00<p> “Zechariah asked the angel, “How can I be sure of this? I am an old man and my wife is well along in years.””</p><p><br /></p><p>“The angel said to him, “I am Gabriel. I stand in the presence of God, and I have been sent to speak to you and to tell you this good news.”</p><p>Luke 1:18-19 NIV</p><p><br /></p><p>Something struck me in the very first chapter. </p><p> Zechariah’s human response to what seemed impossible was greeted with greatness and power! </p><p>“I am Gabriel and I stand in the presence of God!”</p><p>Nothing is impossible with God!</p>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316952786085682826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-530281442870030558.post-27413507668499550312020-12-02T00:01:00.000-06:002021-03-12T20:43:57.353-06:00<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">The Lord has done this for me...In these days he has shown his favor and taken away my disgrace among the people. Luke 1:25</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Mostly the women whispered about her condition. Elizabeth, up in age, knew and still tried to live out the blameless life of one married to a priest of the LORD. But she could not hide her empty quiver and probably wrestled with the same lie born not of God: “what disobedience left me barren?”</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Shame, we silently carry it, often throughout our entire life. Perhaps a poor choice, the consequence of someone else’s actions or a sad self-fabrication...yet, we quietly render it a permanent albatross. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"> Try to imagine Elizabeth’s relief, joy, rescue as an answer to a worn prayer at last grew in her womb. No more speculation of past sin...Elizabeth, now dressed in anticipation, freed from shame! </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Some of us have been covered in the enemy’s disgrace far too long. No past or even present is too big for the Lord to redeem; nothing is impossible for the Most High.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">Rejoice this Advent in His favor!</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316952786085682826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-530281442870030558.post-1978793981039383602020-12-01T00:08:00.000-06:002021-03-12T20:43:57.445-06:00<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Thanksgiving during a pandemic...a bit tricky and scary. Only four of us gathered at the beach after a week of isolation, testing and a few prayers. So far, so good. Our time was lovely and for a spell, it almost seemed normal. I played with Lucas and the three dogs and even got to watch some KU basketball. I’m so thankful for our time together. </span><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">We had a frank discussion regarding Christmas plans as we figure cases will grow after Thanksgiving gatherings. I really want my family to live with some normalcy during the holiday season and to not worry about me contracting the virus, so we probably won’t be able to celebrate as a family this year. At least, not in the traditional sense. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">It hit me hard this morning; I struggled to get out of bed. How many Christmases must I celebrate alone?</span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"> </span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">It doesn’t help that this is the </span><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">anniversary of Rob’s last week on earth. You would think that after seven years, grief would be lighter. Perhaps, it’s this never-ending isolation.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"> I had no plans to drag out the Christmas boxes and decorate for one person, but I decided to get out just a few things that held some special memories. Ten hours later, I managed to decorate three trees and the kitchen! Because the grands won’t be running through the house anytime soon, I was able to trim one of the trees with Rob’s blown glass ornaments, a collection of birthday gifts from me each December 18th. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWqLhpg0_xs3YnrAKSgR2B02NLAFlIncbQLpXCyYim7cQzPc_LhPxNBEq8CMf6XCuLfRQQJWVNsJowdVnijIG1FKrskj8a3wdL3eGZpaQXY7ZIDGkErhtVfTASb6D8dnVCD92s08J1BVOF/s2048/F5628823-16DB-4FA5-B24B-CD525CB2EAEB.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1185" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWqLhpg0_xs3YnrAKSgR2B02NLAFlIncbQLpXCyYim7cQzPc_LhPxNBEq8CMf6XCuLfRQQJWVNsJowdVnijIG1FKrskj8a3wdL3eGZpaQXY7ZIDGkErhtVfTASb6D8dnVCD92s08J1BVOF/w231-h400/F5628823-16DB-4FA5-B24B-CD525CB2EAEB.jpeg" width="231" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDOWhN6M5Bgly9EpWjIEW7gCKEsd22HJc8VhwsYxxiZ1xAR8futrIksuo59nRooJqyQm4LgyACuYc8hRbbXrr3Iah7TppK5vn7gecQwJEoDnePMqrSN0Fc6hXskA1N8n6UNJ4z6O-NwHmZ/s2563/2DF2DE9A-2B2E-4B74-B71E-E51A1DAAFAC0.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2563" data-original-width="1227" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDOWhN6M5Bgly9EpWjIEW7gCKEsd22HJc8VhwsYxxiZ1xAR8futrIksuo59nRooJqyQm4LgyACuYc8hRbbXrr3Iah7TppK5vn7gecQwJEoDnePMqrSN0Fc6hXskA1N8n6UNJ4z6O-NwHmZ/w191-h400/2DF2DE9A-2B2E-4B74-B71E-E51A1DAAFAC0.jpeg" width="191" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWPC06Af0ekZOT8aDgW4bdcZiXFMYXT9SU7KwxX496Hyp1-nspVHmpdTUisyuFgdIWQQjOM0IheXQod-Pb995zi_YR1kzVfvEDuQC_8FkpThTbXlsTdmaz0WRNikSG5e92MXEAGAwg61mO/s2048/60373EE6-E801-4686-99A6-204E062C3107.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1393" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWPC06Af0ekZOT8aDgW4bdcZiXFMYXT9SU7KwxX496Hyp1-nspVHmpdTUisyuFgdIWQQjOM0IheXQod-Pb995zi_YR1kzVfvEDuQC_8FkpThTbXlsTdmaz0WRNikSG5e92MXEAGAwg61mO/w273-h400/60373EE6-E801-4686-99A6-204E062C3107.jpeg" width="273" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Good decision to get up and carry on! I love being surrounded by lights and Christmas memories. My advent (Jesus Tree) is ready for tomorrow: December 1st. I plan to read one chapter a night of Luke; 24 chapters will take me through the entire Gospel by Christmas Eve. Last year, I bought some deeply discounted white Christmas balls for a project that never happened, so I’m going add one to the tree each evening after my reading. By Christmas, my tree will shine bright and so will my heart!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">I’m determined to fill this pandemic Christmas with joy. No COVID-19, you will not steal Christmas!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><br /></span><div><br /></div>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316952786085682826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-530281442870030558.post-27307377204442274722020-09-17T12:06:00.006-05:002021-03-12T20:43:57.536-06:00<p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"> Am I too early to unpack that evacuation bag I put together as we watched Hurricane Laura grow in the Gulf last month? I’ve already snatched out my camera to capture Lucas’s first birthday. As I dug through the mess of essentials this morning, I picked up this marriage journal I kept for Rob as a gift on our 25th anniversary.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY4hfaT3C7ZJW1JZwbgo8uwGEk_-AxAHUjLGqwlG2nlPt63bmabemSZGFuhoGUyzbvThqH8H4ZDOYW3Tp2hRtRvrijNwn1cbASfOnxdVeC_pK7McTtcu25CxkquZ_yPqLZM9BEKizoQL4t/s2048/ECE1F368-1BC5-43D7-87FD-0D817948F929.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY4hfaT3C7ZJW1JZwbgo8uwGEk_-AxAHUjLGqwlG2nlPt63bmabemSZGFuhoGUyzbvThqH8H4ZDOYW3Tp2hRtRvrijNwn1cbASfOnxdVeC_pK7McTtcu25CxkquZ_yPqLZM9BEKizoQL4t/s320/ECE1F368-1BC5-43D7-87FD-0D817948F929.jpeg" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium; text-align: left;">If you know anything about me, you know few books remain closed; before long, I was reading entries. One struck me in particular. Written shortly after we lost both of Rob’s parents, I wrote of his emotional care for his parents during his mother's terminal cancer and then, his father’s deep grief. Long distance care of aging parents, laden with guilt, is a very difficult beast. Rob’s sister and brother-in-law lived much closer and assumed most of the physical care; we were so grateful, yet, aware of it's toll on them. It truly grieved Rob. Yet, I fondly remember, as I noted in this particular journal page, his almost nightly calls to them as he drove home in heavy Katy Freeway traffic</span><span style="text-align: left;">. Even after a long business day, he’d make his love known via a speaker phone. Then, he would report to me. It was often hard to read Rob’s emotions, but usually not after a particularly hard call. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Much like so many of us who are isolated from our loved ones during this pandemic, Rob struggled with the desire to communicate with his parents and the demands of work and family. It took great effort to stay connected. I so admired him for his faithfulness.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">I urge each one of us to invest in our senior adults during this difficult time. Even a five minute call changes the landscape of their week. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Recently, my small group discussed what ‘true religion’ looks like in 2020; it’s taken on a whole new look as we worship outside of our comfortable church walls. Weeks of hunkering down in our homes often shrink our ability to see and reach a hurting, lonely world. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Pure religion... looking after the marginal, the grieving, the lonely and isolated. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">My dear Rob, you understood James’s weighty words. I love you for that.</span></div></span><p></p>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316952786085682826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-530281442870030558.post-85238513806475367392020-08-22T12:51:00.002-05:002022-08-22T22:02:30.409-05:00<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGE7VEwia3aNEdp9r3_c_Kpe19TNEJf3TaTO0I8iUCZeDpGfHjLsAUaagJsDJM9O8pXp0J6_u6DaV8g8zjr_NGIT6XM7Oss5kznmRAyTwkgx8lu061P_dHQnsdI0Y3rMMt0zy1BF1SE8I4/s640/5DDECC3D-59C7-4E80-8EAE-6A89763605AA.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="630" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGE7VEwia3aNEdp9r3_c_Kpe19TNEJf3TaTO0I8iUCZeDpGfHjLsAUaagJsDJM9O8pXp0J6_u6DaV8g8zjr_NGIT6XM7Oss5kznmRAyTwkgx8lu061P_dHQnsdI0Y3rMMt0zy1BF1SE8I4/w315-h320/5DDECC3D-59C7-4E80-8EAE-6A89763605AA.jpeg" width="315" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I allow myself a small pocket of sadness each anniversary and usually a pep talk about moving forward. I kind of linger, not wallow, in my blanket of memories and emerge on a brighter, hopeful side for the future. But, toss in a pandemic and twin storms eyeing the Gulf Coast...plus </span><span style="font-family: verdana;">my inner war as an enneagram 6 personality laced with post-Harvey trauma and you have one mess of a girl. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">When paralysis and anxiety hit, I’ve learned to DIVE head first into the Scriptures. Stop everything and sit in them until peace and calm returns. It’s not an easy discipline with preparedness lists swarming around in my mind. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">But, poring over Scripture is always an adventure and often comes an Edison moment when Light shines on a passage. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">I wasn’t expecting this one:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Psalm 84:11</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Hear it from the New Living Translation.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(0, 19, 32); color: #001320; font-size: 17.600000381469727px; text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(0, 19, 32); color: #001320; font-size: 17.600000381469727px; text-align: left;">For the LORD God is our sun and our shield. He gives us grace and glory. The LORD will withhold no good thing from those who do what is right.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(0, 19, 32); color: #001320; font-size: 17.600000381469727px; text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="color: #001320;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(0, 19, 32); font-size: 17.600000381469727px;">Life will always have a series of storms in the queue, but storms, meet my great God!</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="color: #001320;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(0, 19, 32); font-size: 17.600000381469727px;">He is my Protector...Period! Battle for my mind, meet my Commander; He is my Grace! He will pick me up when the lies press heavy and He will never withhold his goodness; I only need to offer my heart. He is the Son that calms the storm. </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="color: #001320;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(0, 19, 32); font-size: 17.600000381469727px;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="color: #001320;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6KJciayF6Wvr7B8OcgbWwbIuFJI6VHAAfuybeNnY5Pambs1w75sMgML8iFQn904mjGVsC0A2WZ0rfsrRCH51n-KMCKSy2cuEv5yly48oqXtdq9xAB1Kbg15kKoUjczYGUcw_c1ib35VQg/s834/3945C461-844C-481A-8940-34C2123636C1.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="557" data-original-width="834" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6KJciayF6Wvr7B8OcgbWwbIuFJI6VHAAfuybeNnY5Pambs1w75sMgML8iFQn904mjGVsC0A2WZ0rfsrRCH51n-KMCKSy2cuEv5yly48oqXtdq9xAB1Kbg15kKoUjczYGUcw_c1ib35VQg/w328-h219/3945C461-844C-481A-8940-34C2123636C1.jpeg" width="328" /></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(0, 19, 32); font-size: 17.600000381469727px;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="color: #001320;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(0, 19, 32); font-size: 17.600000381469727px;"> Yes, good gifts are lining up as well.</span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="color: #001320;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #001320; font-size: 17.600000381469727px;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="color: #001320;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(0, 19, 32); font-size: 17.600000381469727px;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="color: #001320;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(0, 19, 32); font-size: 17.600000381469727px;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span face="arial, sans-serif" style="color: #001320;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: white; caret-color: rgb(0, 19, 32); font-size: 17.600000381469727px;"><br /></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><p></p>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316952786085682826noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-530281442870030558.post-13754366896643943442020-08-18T10:21:00.003-05:002021-03-12T20:43:57.720-06:00<p> <span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">Usually I make a plan for this </span><i style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">worst week ever. </i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">My August plans for Yellowstone were dashed by this incorrigible virus; profound loneliness seems my current destination. This go-around with my ugly enemy is crippling. I flirted with abandoning all rational thought; I even began equipping my small SUV for a solo trip to wherever. </span></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px;"><p style="text-align: left;"></p></blockquote><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">After realizing my ensuing insanity, I unpacked my car, then unloaded my pain at the waiting feet of Jesus. Oh, when will I learn to begin there?</span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">So in the cool of this morning, I slipped on my running shoes and earbuds and started over. I’ve been building a playlist for the hardest messes; Steffany Gretzinger tops that list. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); caret-color: rgb(60, 64, 67); color: #3c4043; font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">“You're always moving in the unseen </span><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); caret-color: rgb(60, 64, 67); color: #3c4043; font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"> </span><span style="color: #3c4043; font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">The breath You exhale sustaining me</span></p><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); caret-color: rgb(60, 64, 67); color: #3c4043; margin-bottom: 16px;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><span jsname="YS01Ge">Before I call, You know my need</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">You're always going before me</span></span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); caret-color: rgb(60, 64, 67); color: #3c4043; margin-bottom: 16px;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><span jsname="YS01Ge">I'm confident Your faithfulness will see me through</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">My soul can rest, my righteousness is found in You</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">With every moment left, in every borrowed breath, let this be true</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">That all my heart, for all my life, belongs to You</span></span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); caret-color: rgb(60, 64, 67); color: #3c4043; margin-bottom: 16px;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><span jsname="YS01Ge">Your laughter scatters my enemies</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">You give me joy for my mourning</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">You lift my head so I can see</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">All of Heaven surrounding me</span></span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); caret-color: rgb(60, 64, 67); color: #3c4043; margin-bottom: 16px;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><span jsname="YS01Ge">I won't win this battle with the strength in my own hands</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">You're the mountain-mover and only You can</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">I won't build my life on sinking sand</span><br /><span jsname="YS01Ge">You're my hope forever, the rock where I stand”</span></span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); caret-color: rgb(60, 64, 67); color: #3c4043; margin-bottom: 16px;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">I walked a little further this morning...at times almost a respectable jog...head lifted a little higher. </span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); caret-color: rgb(60, 64, 67); color: #3c4043; margin-bottom: 16px;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">Truth is, the longing for human interaction has no end in sight, but neither does His Presence. Jesus remains my one faithful, confident traveling companion. </span></div><div class="ujudUb" jsname="U8S5sf" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0); caret-color: rgb(60, 64, 67); color: #3c4043; margin-bottom: 16px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj51SxxMTVhR2Cc0s5kmk6W5dmi0VqeUj_dhtkahuCuXKOgCCFvIZupkRRJCsGTe4auKli7xA-0rumqlYR5SOtiLXXbQ3x8tIPNJeBGcNX0-kfG4lc7iwZfWDD92O91-OTMx66zNY3Ei39J/s1280/C871D732-1DBF-4E8D-9CAB-CD46E78556A7.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj51SxxMTVhR2Cc0s5kmk6W5dmi0VqeUj_dhtkahuCuXKOgCCFvIZupkRRJCsGTe4auKli7xA-0rumqlYR5SOtiLXXbQ3x8tIPNJeBGcNX0-kfG4lc7iwZfWDD92O91-OTMx66zNY3Ei39J/s640/C871D732-1DBF-4E8D-9CAB-CD46E78556A7.jpeg" /></a></div><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><br /><br /></span></div><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Robinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02316952786085682826noreply@blogger.com0