tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33439235163692963602024-03-13T23:17:35.990-05:00Cleverly Masquerading as a Responsible AdultMollianne Masseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088163941917634506noreply@blogger.comBlogger132125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343923516369296360.post-4871728971385461462022-02-10T15:58:00.001-06:002022-02-10T15:58:30.093-06:00Remember<p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b> <span style="font-family: Quicksand;">Do you ever stop and think to yourself, </span></b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Quicksand;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><i>"I want to remember how this exact moment feels!" </i></span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i style="font-family: Quicksand;">To remember the sounds you hear. </i><i style="font-family: Quicksand;">The colors you see. </i><i style="font-family: Quicksand;">The way the world around you smells. </i><i style="font-family: Quicksand;">How the sun feels warm on your cheek. </i><i style="font-family: Quicksand;">Or how your breath makes smoke in the cold air. </i><i style="font-family: Quicksand;">How your favorite fruit feels in your mouth as the flavor explodes. </i><i style="font-family: Quicksand;">The heaviness in your heart or the lightweight feeling of dancing on air.</i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: medium;">To take all those feelings in your surroundings, what each sense is experiencing and capture them, wrap them up somehow, and revisit them on occasion. Those memories we tuck away to cherish and take out whenever we want and soak them up, savoring in the memory of a moment.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: medium;"><b>Do you do that?</b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: medium;">I do. </span><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: large;">I have done that for years and years.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Quicksand;">In fact, I remember vividly the first time I consciously stopped and thought I want to remember what this feels like for the rest of my life. </span><span style="font-family: Quicksand;">It was in May of 1967. </span><span style="font-family: Quicksand;">My 10th birthday, to be exact. </span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: medium;">I received saddlebags for my bicycle and I was out for a test ride. I stopped riding at the top of the hill. I lifted my face toward the sun, a warm springtime sun that emitted warmth on a cool day. I stretched out my arms over my head, as if to embrace the day, looked up at the blue sky full of white, puffy clouds, and thought, </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: medium;"><i>"I want to always remember how this feels."</i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: large;">And almost 55 years later, I still remember what I felt that day. The old blue bicycle with new red saddlebags, the fresh breeze, the sunshine. I think part of what I was feeling was a freedom of sorts. I was free to ride my bicycle the rest of the afternoon, as long as I was home in time for supper. I could choose to ride up this street or perhaps wait and ride down the next street. I could avoid the hilly streets in the neighborhood. I could ride up and down the same street over and over. As much as a 10 year old could be, for that moment in time I felt in charge of my destination. </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: medium;"><b>Something about the day made me want to take a slice of it and keep it. </b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: medium;">I want to remember. So often, I've taken note of the way I felt. Some of the occasions were just ordinary, everyday moments. Some were destructive and hurtful as I stopped to think I want to remember this and avoid it if at all possible. </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: medium;"><b>Some are the amazing and extraordinary moments of life;</b></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: large;">first kisses (</span><span style="font-family: Quicksand;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">not all that many, but a few, and they were all oh! so! sweet!</span></span><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: large;">), </span><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: large;">good news, births, </span><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: large;">new experiences, </span><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: large;">mountain top sunsets, </span><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: large;">beach sunrises, </span><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: large;">a simple melody, </span><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: large;">a lovely flower, </span><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: large;">a line of poetry, </span><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: large;">a helping hand, </span><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: large;">a shared smile, an answered prayer.</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: medium;"><b>Then there are those rock hard moments that I still recall with tears</b>;</span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: medium;">"I don't love you anymore", </span><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: large;">difficult diagnoses, </span><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: large;">that phone call you dread, </span><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: large;">gravesides, </span><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: large;">lost dreams, </span><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: large;">walking with a loved one in their last fight </span><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: large;">with devastating disease, disappointment, saying goodbye.</span></i></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: medium;">In all, I have tried to be intentional in my taking note of how things feel. And as I grew older than 10 and as my teen and early adult years flew by and all of the sudden I'm gettin-my-medicare-card-years-old this year...I have learned to offer gratitude for the moments I have tucked away in my heart. The good and the hard. The moments of my life. It's the only one I've had and while it has been a rather ordinary life (</span><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: x-small;">and that's really okay with me</span><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: medium;">), it has been full of extraordinary moments. </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: medium;"><b>The thing about all of those moments that links them all together when I sit quietly and ponder them is that God has been with me in every one of them. </b> </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: medium;">I felt His presence as a 10 year old reaching out to embrace that beautiful day as surely as I felt Him holding me tenderly when my heart was breaking. </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: medium;"><i>Should the day come that I no longer remember my carefully saved scraps of life, I know He will still be with me. </i></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: medium;">Last week, I was fortunate to escape the chill of winter and accompany the RocketMan on a business trip to Florida. I was able to spend time walking the beach, soaking up the gentle sunshine and feeling the ocean breeze on my face. I read great books, worshipped and sang praises, tasted freshly caught shrimp, laughed with new friends, and talked and dreamed out loud through the night with the RocketMan. I danced to some of my favorite tunes. I saw not one, but two launches! </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: medium;">And I found myself thinking over and over that I wanted to remember how this exact moment feels. Also? The camera on my phone helps :)</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i> <span style="font-size: medium;"> ~mollianne</span></i></div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: medium; text-align: left;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhCM_DhtkJvu3Dx5gThLUGl6ODcDHatZWm6MZd4PWJQVYtfk-Cd8TqLcdBUNzh_DXjYLMmLHbBWeYu4flwxxQ_CWkTXjuMcfaqpFRPREMUPP6mQO-Ni6IGrm3r_1xPQxVvsoEuDfICu8wvSpbd8QBcahydMbaKMoFZidaXUqWVTDI1V-72NeklLoo4=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhCM_DhtkJvu3Dx5gThLUGl6ODcDHatZWm6MZd4PWJQVYtfk-Cd8TqLcdBUNzh_DXjYLMmLHbBWeYu4flwxxQ_CWkTXjuMcfaqpFRPREMUPP6mQO-Ni6IGrm3r_1xPQxVvsoEuDfICu8wvSpbd8QBcahydMbaKMoFZidaXUqWVTDI1V-72NeklLoo4=w400-h300" style="cursor: move;" title="Cocoa Beach" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: medium;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Just a quick extra note:</span><div><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: medium;">I haven't written a blog post in a long time. But I have a pile of draft Instagram posts with more words than allowed, so I figured it was time to start up again. Not sure how often I will post, but perhaps I can get back into the habit. I know, I know...written blogs aren't the rage these days. Since when have I cared about that?</span></div><div><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: medium;">Thanks for being here, if you made it this far!<br /></span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Quicksand; font-size: large;"><br /></span></p></div>Mollianne Masseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088163941917634506noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343923516369296360.post-36714383969746181922020-06-11T09:00:00.000-05:002020-06-11T09:01:32.204-05:00Dangerous Noise<div style="text-align: center;">
We were sitting outside, cooling off in the shade after taking a walk in the heat and humidity of an Alabama June day. <br />
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The RocketMan was talking about his work. If you aren't aware, I'm a Philosophy major married to a Mechanical Engineer. He builds space flight hardware. A lot of the talk about his work goes way over my head. Newton's second law and The Tsiolkovsky rocket equation and such are formulas</div>
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I am aware of, but not things I use in my daily life.<br />
He, however, does.<br />
Use them in his daily life.<br />
<i> I think.</i></div>
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So as he talks about technical things, I often find myself blinking, smiling, nodding, and desperately trying to pick up on one piece of the information he is sharing so I can ask an intelligent question. </div>
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He, in turn, gets a pained expression on his face if I talk about Aristotle, Kierkegaard, or Hegel.<br />
So we're really a matched pair. <br />
<i>And for the record, I seldom talk about Aristotle, Kierkegaard, or Hegel anymore.</i><br />
But there was a time when I did and he was a good sport and he listened,<br />
even though he said it hurt his head. <br />
I feel your pain, there, RocketMan!</div>
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As I was saying, he was talking about his project and something he said hit me like a bolt of lightning. He was talking about his space flight hardware and said, </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>The noise can be thought of as high frequency energy. </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><font size="4"><span style="font-size: medium;">It </span><span style="font-size: medium;">can cause a great deal of damage</span></font><span style="font-size: medium;">.</span></i></span></div>
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Wait, what? <br />
Of course, he was talking about one thing but what he said caused me to take notice and consider noise and acoustics in a different way. </div>
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I have a remedial understanding of the physics involved in sound and noise. Noise is generally considered to be unpleasant sound. Both sound and noise are transmitted by vibrations through the air, but sound is much preferable to noise when it is processed in our brain. I <i>think </i>I have that right. </div>
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Friends, I don't have to tell you we are living in troublesome times. <br />
Politics<br />
Pandemic<br />
Economics<br />
Social Unrest</div>
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All you have to do is turn on the TV,<br />
check the news on your computer,<br />
take a look at any number of social media outlets.<br />
Or try to have a conversation with someone.<br />
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Evidence of this turmoil is everywhere you go.<br />
People on the street corners with signs<br />
Masks<br />
Angrily hurled epitaphs<br />
People out of work<br />
Name calling<br />
Businesses closed<br />
Mobs destroying everything in sight<br />
Fists raised<br />
Grand gestures<br />
Everyone has feelings...myriad feelings<br />
And those feelings are mighty noisy<br />
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The world seems to be spinning out of control.<br />
And the vibrations of this spinning is creating such noise as I have never experienced.<br />
It is damaging and ripping the very fabric of our everyday lives.<br />
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The noise in my head and heart caused by the vibrations of hate and discontent in the world is nearly unbearable. So many feelings abound and so much rhetoric surrounds us.<br />
It is deafening. No matter what the hot topic of the day, there is the accompanying noise.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">
Ever present<br />Eardrum pounding<br />
Glass shattering<br />
Heart breaking<br />
High frequency<br />
Damaging<br />
Noise<br />
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When the RocketMan told me noise energy damages the hardware,<br />
he also explained that they were taking precautions.<br />
They are moderating, absorbing, and dampening the noise to protect the hardware.</div><div style="text-align: center;">
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So, too, must I moderate the noise around me to protect my head and my heart</font>.<br />
By limiting time watching the news<br />
By stepping away from social media<br />
By choosing my words carefully<br />
By showing love to all I meet<br />
By standing firm on the Rock of Ages<br />
By starting and ending my day in prayer and conversation with The Father,<br />
and having conversation with Him throughout the day<br />
By knowing the most important conversation I have is with Him<br />
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and by dwelling here;<br />
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<i>Finally, brethren, </i><br />
<i>whatever is true,</i><br />
<i>whatever is honorable,</i><br />
<i>whatever is right,</i><br />
<i>whatever is pure, </i><br />
<i>whatever is lovely, </i><br />
<i>whatever is of good repute,</i><br />
<i>if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise,</i><br />
<i>dwell on these things.</i><br />
<i> <span style="font-size: x-small;">Philippians 4:8 nasb</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><font size="1"><i><br /></i></font></div><div style="text-align: center;"><font size="4">I'm striving daily to spend more time dwelling on those things that are true, honorable, right, pure, lovely, and of good repute. That is the best way I have found to moderate the noise of the world around me.</font><br />
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<i>~mollianne</i><br />
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Mollianne Masseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088163941917634506noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343923516369296360.post-15001791774083487062020-06-04T15:00:00.001-05:002020-06-05T14:35:36.276-05:00Hey there! Its me again.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I am amazed. </h3>
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Simply amazed. </div>
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This old blog is still here and I remembered the password to get to it!</div>
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Who'd have thunk it?</div>
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So much has happened since I last posted more than a few years ago. </div>
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My sweet Daddy lost his fight with Parkinson's Disease.</div>
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We have opened our home to share with asylum seekers from another country.</div>
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RocketMan retired</div>
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but he didn't really retire...</div>
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he went right back to work the next day at the same desk, </div>
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doing the same job. </div>
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Don't ask. </div>
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I'm confused, too.</div>
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I retired.</div>
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We went to France and Spain to walk 500 miles on the Camino de Santiago.</div>
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We walked over the Pyrenees mountains.</div>
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We walked over 100 miles in 10 days, </div>
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but had to stop when I fell </div>
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and dislocated my shoulder and tore my bicep. </div>
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<i>Getting out of the shower can be dangerous business.</i></div>
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I've had several surgeries, including rotator cuff and bicep repair (see the above statement).</div>
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We've crossed the threshold of a whole new decade and are proudly part of the 60+ crowd.</div>
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Which, unfortunately, comes with a whole new set of aches and ailments.</div>
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<b>Lots of stuff has happened, I tell you.</b></div>
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<b>Then...along comes 2020. </b></div>
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<i>The year that looked at all of us, </i></div>
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<i>laughed</i><i> and said, </i></div>
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<i>"Hold my beer!"</i></div>
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Can you believe it all? </div>
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It seems surreal, like a Salvador Dali painting.</div>
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The clock is melting off the table.</div>
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I feel like we are collectively wondering what could possibly be next? </div>
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I know I am.</div>
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I'm finding comfort and strength in simple things. </div>
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<i>Taking a walk</i></div>
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<i> Playing with my dog</i></div>
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<i>Reading a book </i></div>
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<i>Prayer and meditation </i></div>
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<i>Potting flowers for the patio </i></div>
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<i>Special time with my dear Mother </i></div>
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<i>Conversations with friends </i></div>
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<i>Very quiet evenings with the RocketMan</i></div>
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<i>Baking bread</i></div>
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<i>Dreaming</i></div>
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<i>I've even taken up the Ukulele again! </i></div>
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I read something in a newsletter once that goes something like this:</div>
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<i>If we attend to the small things, God will take care of the larger things. </i></div>
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Surely God is in the small and the large. </div>
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What I took away from that was to trust God </div>
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with the things I most certainly can't control. </div>
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<i>Pandemic </i></div>
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<i>Quarantine </i></div>
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<i>Violence</i></div>
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<i>Economics </i></div>
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<i>Riots </i></div>
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<i>Elections </i></div>
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<i>A world gone mad</i></div>
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<i>A world in need of a Savior </i></div>
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<b>What I can control is this </b></div>
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<b>...my attitude.</b></div>
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I may start working out my thoughts and recording my observations here again. </div>
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It was such a comfortable spot for me to write. </div>
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A place to check my attitude.</div>
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To concentrate on my blessings, which are myriad.</div>
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A place to note the beauty and good things that I see around me daily.</div>
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I'm clinging to hope and the familiar, especially in scripture.<br />
I hope you are, as well.</div>
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<i>Finally, brethren, whatever is true,</i></div>
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<i>whatever is honorable, whatever is right,</i></div>
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<i>whatever is pure, whatever is lovelocks,</i></div>
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<i>whatever is of good repute, if there is any</i></div>
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<i>excellence and if anything worthy of praise,</i></div>
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<i>dwell on these things.</i></div>
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<i>Philippians 4:8 nasb</i><br />
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<i>~mollianne</i></div>
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<br />Mollianne Masseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088163941917634506noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343923516369296360.post-55954261574307764042015-02-10T15:28:00.000-06:002015-02-11T08:27:41.369-06:00A letter to Emily Freeman because #itssimplytuesdayDear Emily,<br />
I wish I could say, "My dear friend, Emily" but alas, I'm just a lurker in your virtual world and couldn't really say that we are friends. I read your blog and your books and am just over the moon about your Tuesday Instagram Tag #itssimplytuesday<br />
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Anyway, I'd like to tell you about my #itssimplytuesday. So far, because its only 2:22 p.m. CST.<br />
Quite frankly, there's lots of Tuesday left and I'd be foolish to think absolutely nothing else goofy will #simply happen before I lay my head on my pillow and close my eyes, blowing kisses to Tuesday till next week.<br />
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I woke up. Late. Because I didn't set my alarm. Correction. I set my alarm...I didn't turn it on. I've circled the sun almost 58 times and occasionally that turning-it-on-thing bites me in the behind. Gotta remember to do that!<br />
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Quite frankly, waking up {late} and scrambling for mirror time and the other necessary things that must be accomplished before I could walk out of the house sent my attitude a little south of grumpy. I had to hurry because I'd left my car at work last night and ridden home with my husband, so I had to be ready to leave when he was ready. And of course, the night I didn't turn my alarm on... he didn't even set his. We're a matched pair, we two.<br />
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I <strike>stomped </strike> walked out of the house and looked up to dreary grey skies and <strike>harrumphed </strike> sighed the sort of deep sigh that one learns to sigh as an asthmatic child/young adult. I <strike>walked</strike> stomped (who am I kidding?) toward the car and then I saw it. This little beauty I sighed again, this time just to slow down and breathe deeply and exhale a prayer of gratitude. I began to think my day might be salvageable.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1hQPfj3IK1g/VNp1aoMXZRI/AAAAAAAADcg/xf2lmyRopa8/s1600/daffodil.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1hQPfj3IK1g/VNp1aoMXZRI/AAAAAAAADcg/xf2lmyRopa8/s1600/daffodil.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a></div>
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Dropping me off at the door to the church where I work, my Rocket Man sent me off with some pretty serous smooching before I got out of the car {because he's sweet like that in the mornings, especially since he knows I like smooching}. I ran up the stairs, checked my email, finished putting on my makeup, returned a call and made my list of things that must be done today before dashing back out down the stairs.<br />
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You see, my Mother in Law is undergoing radiation therapy for breast cancer. She takes her treatment at the hospital across the street from the church where I work. I walk across and meet her there to sit with her while she waits and make sure she's okay. To do that, I have to cross a busy street, which seems to cause all sorts of concern by lots of people although I'm perfectly capable of crossing the street. Been doing it for about 50 years all.by.my.self. I am careful to look both ways and am quite willing to wait patiently until it is safe to cross. {I think squished on the road wouldn't be my best look}. Besides all that, look what is between my work and the hospital. <br />
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Yep. Panera Bread. Worth crossing a busy street for, don't you think? I checked my watch and felt I had plenty of time to get a cup of hot tea and a pecan cinnamon braid. Because...well, no breakfast. I bought one for Mrs. Massey, too. She needs the calories while she's doing radiation, you know.<br />
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So, I made it to the Center for Cancer Care, settled in and chatted up the peeps in the waiting room. There's Ms. Doris who has bladder cancer. And BJ, her caregiver. Then my Mother in Law and Jay the technician. I made sure everyone saw the picture of the amazing little daffodil who so bravely fought her way up through cold earth and about a foot of pine straw.<br />
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While Mrs. Massey had her radiation, I sat an enjoyed my tea and this lovely spot. It really is nice to sit there. {I pretend I'm waiting somewhere in Italy} It is nice any day, but today especially, because #itssimplytuesday.<br />
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On my way back to the church, I saw some birds having a tiff and I'm pretty sure I heard some major bird cussing. I saw looked up as I walked under this tree and caught the lovely pattern of branches against the sky. Because #itssimplytuesday!<br />
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I crossed the busy street, patiently waiting because of the whole squished-Molli-on-the-pavement thing. Every day, when I safely make it across the street and am back into safe territory, I look for some trash to pick up and bring in. Because there's always something on the grounds that isn't supposed to be there. Here's what I found today!<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0M-L3PGnj7k/VNp2qngT52I/AAAAAAAADdA/vbAimoBbMqI/s1600/photo%2B(7).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0M-L3PGnj7k/VNp2qngT52I/AAAAAAAADdA/vbAimoBbMqI/s1600/photo%2B(7).JPG" height="320" width="239" /></a></div>
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What? Ewwww! It was empty, capped and says insulin on the side. I was wearing gloves. I safely disposed of it, peeled off my gloves and put them in a ziplock bag and washed my hands {about 3 times}. I'm by no means a clean freak, but I think I'll wash my little stretchy gloves. In hot water. Twice. With bleach. Because, you know...#itssimplytuesday.<br />
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I settled back into my desk until a sweet little lady and her son came to plan her husband's funeral on Saturday. Planing funerals is one of the things I do here at the church house. What an honor to help them plan a service for this WWII vet. A man who was a low turret gunner on a B-24. And survived the war. Came home and got a degree in engineering from Vanderbilt with his GI Bill and eventually worked on the team that developed the Saturn Booster system...enabling us to send men to the moon. Married to a precious woman for 70 years. A man who taught Sunday School and loved "Whispering Hope" best of all the songs he knew.<br />
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When they left, I called to check on my mother who has been ill. I told her I'd like to come check on her during lunch. And about the time I was ready to walk out the door, my phone rang and it was the Rocket Man asking me to meet him. So I ditched my mother {she understood} and drove to meet this precious man Because #itssimplytuesday and #becauseheasked.<br />
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{More smooching in a parking lot after lunch} After all, #itssimplytuesday!<br />
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I ran into TJMAxx because #itssimplytuesday and #itsonthewayback.<br />
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Got into the church house and really, really had to use the restroom. Sweet tea at lunch will do that to you. I was in the ladies room and reached around to unzip the invisible zipper on my black pants and...<br />
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Remember the scene from "A Christmas Story" where the tongue is applied to the flag pole? And Flick begins saying in panic and ends screaming in agony. "Stuck. Stuck. STUCK!"<br />
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Yep! THAT would be the invisible zipper on my pants. Stuck. I ran down the hall to get help. My work BFF, who is constantly getting me out of all sorts of jams, ended up cutting me out of my pants. Because...well, ice tea. And I had to go.<br />
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Thank goodness my pants have a button at the top of the {broken} zipper and my sweater is long enough to cover the gaping gap in my britches where my zipper ought to be holding them shut. <br />
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And with that. Because I've lived about 3 lifetimes since the alarm didn't go off and because who knows what else could happen and because #itssimplytuesday...I'm going home. After I check on my mother.<br />
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If you WERE my friend, rather than someone I lurk around on the internet, I'd call you and we'd probably laugh till we cried. Especially if I went into detail about Dee Ann trying to get my out of my pants before I wet them. That was sort of a Laurel and Hardy moment. Really funny.<br />
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Since I can't, I'm going to let this little letter fill you in.<br />
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Because...#itssimplytuesday.<br />
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You {lurking} almost-friend,<br />
MollianneMollianne Masseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088163941917634506noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343923516369296360.post-2530678768273343782014-08-03T11:43:00.001-05:002014-08-03T11:43:33.459-05:00Sunday Praise-I was Glad<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I am glad, very glad to have been in the house of the Lord today!</div>
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~Mollianne</div>
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Mollianne Masseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088163941917634506noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343923516369296360.post-42737204864180988562014-08-01T14:37:00.000-05:002014-08-01T14:37:26.036-05:00Photo Friday-River Time<div style="text-align: center;">
I'm linking up with <a href="http://www.dianewbailey.net/2014/07/31/photo-friday-present/">Diane Bailey</a> today for Photo Friday. </div>
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Last Saturday, we {okay, I kind of decreed we were going to go} decided to throw responsibility to the wind and go on an adventure. I had one goal...to go where the water was running and the rocks were big! In my neck of the woods, the first place that comes to mind is Little River Canyon. One of my favorite spots on God's green earth, it acts as a balm to my soul.</div>
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I spent many, many afternoons happily stomping in creeks as a child. I love to have my feet in running water. Doesn't have to be swift, although I like that. I especially love to sit on a big, warm rock and watch the water flow over my feet. The carefree feeling evoked isn't replicated anywhere else in my life. If fact, given the choice...I think I'd choose time at a shallow river or a good creek bed over the beach. {Gasp!! I know I'm in the minority}</div>
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Anyway, I threw bathing suits and sunscreen in a bag, grabbed some towels and off we went! Little River Canyon is about an hour and a half drive from our house and we were pretty quiet as we rode. It was as pleasant as could be. Just the two of us and the radio, headed toward the Canyon.</div>
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It was obviously the choice of many people on Saturday and quite crowded. But we managed to find a spot and chill out for about two hours. Delightful.</div>
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We watched children splashing and letting the current sweep them down the rocks smoothed by centuries of rushing water. </div>
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Some folks brought their dogs and we loved watching them get in the water.</div>
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We saw fish and snakes {yuck!} and I spent a long time watching butterflies and bees feast on a flowering bush. </div>
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The song of the current and the warmth of the sun combined with the gentle kiss of a breeze made the event like a glimpse of heaven to me. </div>
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Yep! A little glimpse of heaven on earth. </div>
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I'll be thinking of our afternoon on the river tomorrow when </div>
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I'm doing the laundry and cleaning the house.</div>
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And remembering to be thankful for the time away last week.</div>
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~Mollianne </div>
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Mollianne Masseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088163941917634506noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343923516369296360.post-86153603274422412972014-07-28T14:40:00.003-05:002014-07-28T17:04:29.327-05:00Fifty-five things I Love and Admire about my Amazing Rocket Man!<div align="center">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>Today is an auspicious day in my world.</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>My husband, the Amazing Rocket Man, is having a birthday.</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>And while I won't tell you his exact age...I am happy to share fifty-five things I love and admire about him.</strong></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span>1 </div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>His steadfast faith in God</em>. Lived out daily in his life, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">expressed differently than my own, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">but as firm a faith as I have ever encountered. </span></div>
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2</div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>He is a man of deep integrity</em>, more so than any I have ever known. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Integrity would be one of his defining characteristics. </span></div>
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3</div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>He has the most deliciously sharp, dry wit!</em> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He is seriously the funniest human</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I know and his laughter comes easy and often. </span></div>
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4</div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>His intellect is amazing</em>. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He is smart in ways I never knew existed. I mean, he IS a Rocket Engineer and all, but his intellect goes beyond those formulas for propulsion. His mind is astounding and he uses it for good in the world. </span></div>
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5 </div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>He is loyal</em>. </span></div>
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6</div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He is faithful.</span></em></div>
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7 </div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He is honest.</span></em></div>
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8 </div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>He is self-disciplined.</em> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">{I am not and I do so admire this in him. I wish it rubbed off or I could catch it from him by osmosis. So far...that hasn't worked out for me}</span></div>
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9 </div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>He is selfless.</em> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He puts the concerns of others above his own. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I could give accounts of things he has done in his career and personal life </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">that are downright inspiring, but </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">10</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>He is an humble man</em> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He wouldn't want those details of his life plastered on the world wide web. </span></div>
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11</div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>He is a leader.</em> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He is the type of leader whose example speaks volumes. If his guys are working on the weekends...he's right there with him. He knows the names of the custodians in his building and thanks them for their efforts. He led a team during a crucial project who would have, I believe, stormed the gates of hell with him and re-engineered the air conditioning. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
12</div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>He has such a sense of purpose and lives intentionally.</em> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">More than anybody I have ever met, he always knows the reason he does what he does.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
13 </div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>His analytical mind.</em> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Which can also be daunting. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">But I admire the way he can break down a problem </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">and get to the bottom line. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
14</div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>He is practical</em>. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I can be practical. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">There is a difference...subtle but often telling.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
15 </div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>He is a generous man.</em> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I have never seen him turn down the opportunity to help someone in need. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Never. And he wants no kudos for his acts of generosity. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
16 </div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Then...there is his tooth that is crooked.</em> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">It doesn't have to be perfect to be beautiful and he has the most beautiful grin.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I love that tooth and when he grins at me and I see the crooked tooth...I'm a goner. Please don't tell him. He already owns me, but he'll know he owns me if he gets wind of that tiny piece of information!</span></div>
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17</div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He winks at me!</span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">After all these years, he winks at me and flirts with me in outrageous ways at times.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
18</div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He loves his Mother well.</span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> He is so good to her and it is one of his most endearing qualities.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
19</div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>He tells the best stories.</em> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I adore listening to him tell stories. He really ought to go on the storytelling circuit...he's that good.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I especially love stories of his Granddaddy and Granny. He can tell a story about their foibles without being demeaning. It is so obvious when he talks about them, especially his Granddaddy, that he loved them wholeheartedly and their influence on his life was great. </span></div>
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20</div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>He has the ability to find humor in almost every circumstance.</em> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The corollary is he has the outstanding ability to laugh at himself. </span></div>
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21</div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>He is a man of great strength</em>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Both in body and in character.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
22 </div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He is courageous.</span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He is willing to take risks.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Perhaps his greatest act of bravery was to enter into a </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">second marriage after being hurt so badly the first time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">That act alone gives him hero status!</span></div>
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23 </div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Then, there are the times he starts laughing and the laughter is so good and fine, </span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>so deep and true he ends up with tears in his eyes</em>. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Those around him cannot help but laugh as well when that happens. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I love it when he laughs like that!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
24 </div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>He kisses me ever-so-softly at night and whispers, "God Bless Molli</em><em>."</em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> Those are sacred times and I cherish them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
25 </div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He has this delightful ability to string words together in creative ways.</span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">A very effective communication tool. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Also? It makes me laugh every time. Every. Single. Time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
26 </div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>He is a good father</em>. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">One of the best. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I'm not sure his children understand this, but I pray they will someday.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He has done hard stuff with and for them and prays for them daily. </span></div>
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27</div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>He is good to my children and loves them deeply.</em> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He has been an amazing role model for them.</span></div>
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28</div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He loves my parents.</span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He is gentle and patient and good with them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He likes them, too, which makes life good!</span></div>
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29</div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He is, without a doubt, the BEST Granddaddy EVER!</span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">To my grandchildren, who in no way share his DNA, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">but who share his heart. </span></div>
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30</div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The way he says, "Moll-li!"</span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">And I know I'm busted.</span></div>
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31</div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">The way he gathers me close into his arms at night.</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></em><br />
32 </div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">When he whispers scandalous, outrageous things in my ears at the most inappropriate places.</span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">{I REALLY dig that!}</span></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></em><br />
33 </div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He dances with me.</span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He doesn't like to dance much, but he dances with me.</span></div>
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34</div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He's a go</span></em><em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">od sport.</span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He hates to have his picture taken and he bought me a camera.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Enough said!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
35 </div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He is good with his hands.</span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">In many ways.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Use your imagination :)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
36 </div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">His willingness to kiss me.</span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Over and over again. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">In public and in private.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I love kissing that man, and he obliges me with a myriad of kisses.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
37</div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He is an encourager.</span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He constantly is encouraging someone to do their best,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">to try something new, to reach for the stars. Its just the kind of guy he is.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span>38 </div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He fixes things.</span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">If its broken, he can fix it. He just can.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
39</div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He is concerned about others.</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span></em><br />
40</div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He is very nurturing.</span></em></div>
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41</div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">{ahem} Those intimate times we share</span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">That's all I have to say about <em>that</em>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
42</div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He is patient.</span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He will tell me something 3 different ways until I understand.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
43</div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He teaches Senior Adult Sunday School</span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He is so good with those precious saints and they adore him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
44</div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He ALWAYS strives to do the right thing.</span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Always. More than anyone I have ever known.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">No easy way out for my Rocket Man.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
45</div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He does hard stuff.</span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Even when it takes a toll on him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Even when he is unfairly handed a mess of someone else's making.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He does hard.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
46 </div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He takes me to ride the wind.</span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">One of the greatest joys we share is riding our motorcycle together.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
47 </div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He is always there to catch me if I fall.</span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Literally and Figuratively.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Always there.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
48</div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He is protective of what is his.</span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Whatever it takes, he will protect me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Because I'm his. And by the way...I love it that he calls me his girl.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Love it!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
49</div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He makes me feel safe.</span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Even when life is scary.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
50 </div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He looked past the baggage of my life and loved me anyway.</span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Warts and all.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">And he still loves me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
51 </div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He knows thing.</span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Things I would never, ever know.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Random things.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">It entertains me to hear him speak eloquently about things I never heard of.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
52 </div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He is easy on the eye.</span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I love looking at him.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I find him to be devastatingly handsome.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I am a lucky, lucky Mollianne.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
53 </div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He is a good man.</span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">From the inside out.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Unless he's being bad</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">{And I kinda like that part, too}</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
54</div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">He shows me unconditional love.</span></em></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">In word and deed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">United in one flesh, united in one spirit, united in one family.</span></div>
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55</div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>We complete each other</em>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We are best when we are together.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">We are a fine team and there's not much we can't do as long as we are doing it together.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Here's to you, my darling Rocket Man.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">You have made my dreams come true.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I love you.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Happy Birthday</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">~Mollianne</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">7/28/2014</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span> </div>
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Mollianne Masseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088163941917634506noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343923516369296360.post-11474843375522804932014-07-27T09:29:00.001-05:002014-07-27T09:29:46.651-05:00Sunday Praise<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GY1kxenLJpE/U9UJHwNhXgI/AAAAAAAADXs/z8pKk2j9fjs/s1600/IMG_6228.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GY1kxenLJpE/U9UJHwNhXgI/AAAAAAAADXs/z8pKk2j9fjs/s1600/IMG_6228.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span class="highl"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>He who believes in Me, as the Scripture
said, </em></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em><span class="highl">'From his innermost being will flow rivers of living water.'</span><o:p></o:p></em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>
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<br />Mollianne Masseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088163941917634506noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343923516369296360.post-7911050224021162872014-07-13T06:00:00.000-05:002014-07-13T10:17:15.597-05:00Sunday Praise: Shine!<div align="center">
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">Sunday Praise: Shine!</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">He will make your righteous reward shine....</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;"> Psalm 37:6a</span></em></div>
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Mollianne Masseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088163941917634506noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343923516369296360.post-74482143819422121712014-07-11T12:03:00.000-05:002014-07-11T12:31:27.180-05:00Photo Friday<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Linking up with </span><a href="http://www.dianewbailey.net/2014/07/10/photo-friday-raw/#respond"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Diane W. Bailey</span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> this morning and her Photo Friday feature. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I love, Love, LOVE taking pictures. Mostly I take them, I look at them, I post some to Facebook or Instagram and then I forget them. Because, really? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> <em>I love taking the pictures</em>. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Not so much the editing, labeling and saving part. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I used to worry about that {perceived} flaw in my character but I've decided to give that up. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">I love taking pictures, so I take pictures.</span> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">This morning I walked through the Prayer Garden at the Church House before I came into my office. I snapped a few pictures with my phone with no intention of publishing them. But when I saw Diane's link up, I thought I'd see how my morning walk pictures turned out on a screen larger than my phone.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">It really is a lovely garden and I feel greatly blessed to be able to walk through it regularly, even occasionally to sit and spend a quiet moment in prayer among the flowers.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">This shy hydrangea was peeking out cautiously from the cover of her leaves</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NGHCWAQ7Tn0/U8AVhbq6koI/AAAAAAAADWs/zdDL4gCE8Us/s1600/photo+2+(7).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NGHCWAQ7Tn0/U8AVhbq6koI/AAAAAAAADWs/zdDL4gCE8Us/s1600/photo+2+(7).JPG" height="400" width="298" /></span></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I caught this bathing beauty still dripping from her morning drink</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G1Sw2Y9VcvA/U8AWS7-xkUI/AAAAAAAADW0/oHsNrPCRctI/s1600/photo+2+(4).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G1Sw2Y9VcvA/U8AWS7-xkUI/AAAAAAAADW0/oHsNrPCRctI/s1600/photo+2+(4).JPG" height="400" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rosemary adds a delicious fragrance to my walk<br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oKLBE1eOS1A/U8AWsIXLjfI/AAAAAAAADW8/eN29XFmIjBg/s1600/photo+4+(3).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vVNCvFY9578/U8AUVkiriDI/AAAAAAAADWU/FW-Xq4lv83Y/s1600/photo+1+(7).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-vVNCvFY9578/U8AUVkiriDI/AAAAAAAADWU/FW-Xq4lv83Y/s1600/photo+1+(7).JPG" height="400" width="297" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This bit of sunshine was lifting her face toward the heavens in praise<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oKLBE1eOS1A/U8AWsIXLjfI/AAAAAAAADW8/eN29XFmIjBg/s1600/photo+4+(3).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oKLBE1eOS1A/U8AWsIXLjfI/AAAAAAAADW8/eN29XFmIjBg/s1600/photo+4+(3).JPG" height="400" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love the light and shadow playing on the deck<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">Those few moments stolen from a busy morning</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;"> have added a depth and richness to my day.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;"><em></em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;"><em>Those kinds of moments remind me</em> </span><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">to </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">inhale of God's rich blessings and goodness </span></em><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;"><em>and to exhale in prayer.</em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">Happy Friday!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">~Mollianne</span><br />
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Mollianne Masseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088163941917634506noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343923516369296360.post-34599922884704685892014-06-22T07:36:00.000-05:002014-06-22T07:36:47.874-05:00Sunday Praise: The Lord is Good<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yWaiaJgA2ss/U6bMk-jrXEI/AAAAAAAADVw/Ce1DsWSIMRU/s1600/IMG_5889.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yWaiaJgA2ss/U6bMk-jrXEI/AAAAAAAADVw/Ce1DsWSIMRU/s1600/IMG_5889.JPG" height="266" width="400" /></a></div>
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<em><span style="font-size: large;"><strong>The Lord is Good</strong></span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-size: large;">Unfold in beauty, flowers of spring,</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-size: large;">Unto your Makers praise,</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-size: large;">Whose breath is in the soft, south wind,</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-size: large;">Who send the sunny days.</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-size: large;">And let the sparkling, rippling rill</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-size: large;">Tell, as it onward flows</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-size: large;">Our God is great, our God is good;</span></em></div>
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<em><span style="font-size: large;">His hand all good bestows.</span></em> </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><em> ~E.E. Hewitt</em></span></div>
<br />Mollianne Masseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088163941917634506noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343923516369296360.post-20397439505863647612014-06-20T08:16:00.001-05:002014-06-20T08:16:09.814-05:00Taking Care<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I work in a large church and have this fancy-schmancy title. I'm the Clergy Administrator. That is a pretentious way of saying I'm the Preacher's Secretary.<i> <span style="color: #0c343d;">I've always thought if it walked like a duck and it quacked like a duck and it lives in a pond, might as well call it a duck.</span></i> But somebody decided I needed a title to give me prestige, save my self-esteem and so as not to make me feel belittled (didn't know me very well now, did they?)...so Clergy Administrator it is.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Among other things, I act as funeral director/hostess when we have funerals and memorial services. While I have some rather humorous tales to tell concerning such events (like the time the funeral home came by with a casket and asked me if I could 'park' Granny in a closet till the service that evening. I'm not kidding. That particular funeral home isn't in business anymore). Today, I had a glimpse of an intensely personal moment. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I was helping a man whose wife had died. She had fought disease for years, suffering setback after setback. Her body finally gave out, as bodies do, and now she has new life in a new form. Quite frankly, I couldn't be happier for her. To be in Glory with the Redeemer, why, it flat out blows my mind! Her husband, however, is left behind to become a me instead of a we. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">He meticulously planned her service, being very careful of each thing and making sure the proceedings were as they ought to be. Our staff was vigilant to ensure the service was what he asked for and it was just lovely. When the service was over, I escorted the family out. We stopped in the Narthex to remove the pall and replace it with the magnificent spray of yellow roses her family had provided.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">As the spray was lifted and placed carefully on the casket, one yellow rose fell and fluttered to the floor. The husband, the man who had cared for this woman so tenderly and carefully...her lover and companion and mate, stooped down. <span style="color: #0c343d;"><i>He picked up the errant yellow beauty and with great tenderness put it back in the spray</i>.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Y'all.<i> I was undone</i>. Un. Done. His simple act of fixing the flower, one last act of taking care of his wife was only seen by the few of us beside him. I choked back tears at the intimate nature of the gesture I was privileged to witness. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Taking care.</i> Isn't that what we do in marriage? We structure our lives together in such a way that we are there for those we love best. The one we love above all others. That one. Our spouse. The one who makes our <i>me</i> into <i>we</i>. The person who, when we get it right, can help us make just a bit of heaven on earth. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><i>Taking care</i>. I saw an amazing, simple act of taking care today. One that exemplified what I seek in my marriage. That's just what we are called to do for each other.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Our widower followed the casket to the hearse and then the hearse to the cemetery. He came back to the church for lunch and has now gone home. To start his altered life.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I came back to my office to finish the work laid out for me. Much to my surprise, I had a call from the front office to inform me I had received a flower delivery. I went down and there was an amazing, extravagant display of red roses, nestled in babies breath. The card read, "Love, Ed" and there was no reason at all for him to have sent me flowers.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Other than my husband was simply <i>taking care</i>. Of me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span> <span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I hope you have someone who takes care of you. And I hope you have the joy of someone to take care of. Because I believe the <i>taking care</i>...that is the good stuff of life.</span><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cM3aqPYHdGE/UmWTn1oslfI/AAAAAAAADPg/uBM6Std6ah4/s1600/photo+(9).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-cM3aqPYHdGE/UmWTn1oslfI/AAAAAAAADPg/uBM6Std6ah4/s320/photo+(9).JPG" height="239" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Who me? {flashing big, innocent eyes}Stand up in the chair to take a picture of the pretty roses?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Nah! Not me?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Blessings,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Mollianne</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia;"><em>P.S. This was written last fall and never published. </em></span></div>
Mollianne Masseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088163941917634506noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343923516369296360.post-24165430486263638152014-06-19T14:42:00.001-05:002014-06-19T17:49:04.102-05:00Coming Home{Taking HUGE breath}<br />
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I feel like I'm making a journey home. To someplace more familiar. To this home where I was quite content. Just a little spot of the worldwide web that is, for me, perhaps a bit more comfortable.<br />
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Over two years ago, I obtained what I thought was a better <a href="http://www.cleverlymolli.com/">virtual home</a>. More grown up. More sophisticated. Just the spot to launch my blogging career. Where I would become a serious writer. {At least, in my own mind}<br />
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And Cleverly Molli is a lovely blog layout. Beautifully decorated by a professional. I spent several months just looking at it. I became immobilized by the thought of writing words to put in it. So it was a beautiful showcase, not a home. And while I did finally write words there, last fall I temporarily closed up shop. I didn't delete the whole thing. I simply let it go for awhile.<br />
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This blog space always felt like my favorite chair. I wasn't afraid when I was here. I blithely wrote what was on my heart and hit publish. <br />
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What changed?<br />
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I think my expectation of what I had to write changed. I thought (silly me) I was playing in the big leagues because now I had put some money into my blog design and domain. What was I thinking? <br />
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I lost sight, somehow, of the reasons I enjoy writing. I write because there are things in my head and my heart I need to figure out. I write because I have things to say. I write to tell stories. I write to capture memories, feelings and events. I write because I love to put words together in such an order as to convey a feeling. I write because I can't paint pictures on canvas, so I have to paint pictures with words. <br />
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I write as insurance against the day I could be unable to express my thoughts and feelings, so the people I love and care for can come back and see the word pictures I've painted for them. I write so my grandchildren will know my heart.<br />
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And quite frankly, the pretty site and snazzy graphics don't make the writing any more polished. Or the stories any funnier or more poignant. Or my insights any wiser. <br />
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So, why am I intimidated?<br />
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I don't know. <br />
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I only know this: I am. I am intimidated. I also know this: I need to write. So for just a bit, I think I'll come home to this comfy place and do just that. And try to find my voice again. <br />
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~MollianneMollianne Masseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088163941917634506noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343923516369296360.post-63562624022096414082012-06-29T13:26:00.003-05:002012-06-29T13:27:06.887-05:00Five Minute Friday-Dance<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Its Friday and I'm linking up with Lisa Jo. Normally, we get a prompt and write for 5 minutes. No editing, no rewrites. Just pure and from the heart.<br />
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This week, I'm cheating. I already have a piece that I wrote with this very prompt. I probably wrote it in 5 minutes or less one morning. I did not rewrite. I have not edited. This is what came out of my pen that morning. So, here is my contribution today.<br />
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Go:<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 115%;"><strong>The Dance</strong></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Like puzzle pieces, our limbs intertwine<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 115%;">Your knee fitting perfectly into the bend of my leg</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 115%;">Your long leg draped securely over mine which is short</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 115%;">Arms wrapped</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 115%;">Hands held</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 22pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: small;">Gentle breath blowing across my neck</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 115%;">My hair in your face, tickling your cheek</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 115%;">A nighttime dance we perfect in our slumber</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 115%;">An unconscious reaching out for each other</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 115%;">Waking to the warm comfort of love that creates the blissful dance</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 115%;">My first thought a calculation of the hours</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 115%;">Until the dance will begin again</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> <span style="font-size: x-small;"> ~Mollianne</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>Mollianne Masseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088163941917634506noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343923516369296360.post-28124815056772613482012-03-07T16:42:00.000-06:002012-03-07T16:42:37.725-06:00Moving DayWell, its official. I have moved my blog to a lovely new virtual home. Please come by and visit me at <a href="http://www.cleverlymolli.com/">Cleverly Molli</a> sometime.<br />
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I feel like I'm playing with the big kids now. I'm not shutting this site down, and may post something here from time to time. But my main focus will be the new site.<br />
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To all {3} of you who have occasionally read my posts, I am very grateful. This has been a wonderful experience and I am ready to kick it up to the next level.<br />
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Here goes nothing!<br />
<br />
~MollianneMollianne Masseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088163941917634506noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343923516369296360.post-19691614134573044962012-02-14T13:44:00.001-06:002012-02-15T06:51:50.665-06:00Let me introduce myself!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1jz9kGCUI2s/Tzlk0b49V5I/AAAAAAAADGY/Kk-EL9FNlBg/s1600/BD12brown_FirstBliss.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1jz9kGCUI2s/Tzlk0b49V5I/AAAAAAAADGY/Kk-EL9FNlBg/s1600/BD12brown_FirstBliss.gif" /></a></div><div align="center"></div><br />
It's BLISS! A real-live-grown-up conference <em>and I'm going</em>! I'm so excited. Everyone is writing to introduce themselves and I thought I'd join in {<em>since I'm pretending to be a blogger</em>}. So...here I am. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jR3Bm5zsvkQ/TZVxl9vYsSI/AAAAAAAABzg/NCFHDWntkZw/s1600/me%2521.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="307" r6="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jR3Bm5zsvkQ/TZVxl9vYsSI/AAAAAAAABzg/NCFHDWntkZw/s320/me%2521.bmp" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's me! I need to get rid of that red eye, dont' I? </td></tr>
</tbody></table>Hi! I'm Mollianne. Welcome to MolliWorld, where I am the Queen of all I survey{mostly an early 60s split-level in dire need of remodeling...on my extended list of things I'll get to someday}. I'm a 50-something career homemaker who finds myself sitting behind a desk 40 hours a week wondering why I'm not at home in Camelot {yes...I live in Camelot. Don't you just love it?}! <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-i08YrQMg0Zs/TZVkp7vI9dI/AAAAAAAABzM/wTr1BDMayPY/s1600/Earl+Pendley+birthday+4-16-2010+031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" r6="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-i08YrQMg0Zs/TZVkp7vI9dI/AAAAAAAABzM/wTr1BDMayPY/s320/Earl+Pendley+birthday+4-16-2010+031.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The amazing Rocket Man</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I am <em>deliriously, happily </em> and <em>blissfully</em> married to the amazing Rocket Man {he's a real-live-honest-to-goodness Rocket Engineer y'all!} and we have 4 children {1 son, 3 daughters}between us, all grown and gone. We're happily-ever-aftering here in the Camelot subdivision of Rocket City, USA. We love our quasi-empty next and the grandsons {The Boys Fantastic- Mac Attack and Boy Wonder} who spend their weekends with us. Adolescent grandsons. Teenagers. Boys, no less. The<strike> stench </strike>aroma gets strong at times.<br />
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Rocket Man is coming with me to BlissDom. He's also known as <strong>The Adult Supervision</strong>. For some reason... he thinks I require such. Mostly, he'll be in the room guarding the remote control against anyone who might try to steal it from the hotel. Care and handling of a television remote control is one of the many things at which he excels.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-M4__WGOwTtw/TZVlaJgXy1I/AAAAAAAABzQ/wgEIaARTbaY/s1600/IMG_5118.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" r6="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-M4__WGOwTtw/TZVlaJgXy1I/AAAAAAAABzQ/wgEIaARTbaY/s320/IMG_5118.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Boys Fantastic, Boy Wonder and Mac Attack</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
I work at The Church House as the Clergy Administrator {fancy title for preacher's secretary} and mostly love what I do there. When I'm not doing that {and sometimes when I am} I find plenty to do. I sing. I read. I write. I occasionally make cards. I bake. I cook. I take pictures. I knit a little. I think. I think a lot. But don't worry. I'm professionally trained at thinking. My degree is in Philosophy.<br />
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I got a .357 magnum for Christmas last year and I named it <strong>The Vera</strong> {I store it in a Vera Bradley backpack in my closet}. I think I'm very big now that I have my very own revolver.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uO9G8fUI4sI/TZVmofhna4I/AAAAAAAABzY/Q1htwA84moI/s1600/Molli+got+a+gun.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" r6="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uO9G8fUI4sI/TZVmofhna4I/AAAAAAAABzY/Q1htwA84moI/s1600/Molli+got+a+gun.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mollianne and The Vera</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Rocket Man is my biggest hobby and I find myself lured to the couch to watch sporting events of all sorts just to sit next to him. We spend time together in the garage while he works on his cars {a 75 Camaro, a 65 Mustang and a 64 Falcon}. I'm working on a Junior Mechanic Merit Badge by fetching tools and turning wrenches. Sometimes, he even lets me play with the power tools! We recently purchased a {new to us}motorcycle, so we'll be riding the wind when the weather warms up a bit, and once the necessary repairs are done.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZVnAt4gcqkA/TZVmXXphSGI/AAAAAAAABzU/OlstdBI-6Nw/s1600/playing+with+power+tools+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" r6="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZVnAt4gcqkA/TZVmXXphSGI/AAAAAAAABzU/OlstdBI-6Nw/s320/playing+with+power+tools+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I helped rotate the tires!<br />
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</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I have some sort of undiagnosed autoimmune deal going on that has stumped doctors at Vanderbilt, UAB and the Mayo Clinic. The best theory takes it back to a story titled, "Rabies is Always Fatal" in which we woke up to a bat circling our bed one night. We survived. The bat did not. He did NOT have rabies, which we found out after taking 3 rabies shots. Anyway, I have goofy symptoms and every few months take IV steroid infusion to try to keep the symptoms at bay. I've just come off a round, so I'll still be on a steroid high when we arrive next week. I'm bringing my dancing shoes. I know something about chronic illness, which I will occasionally write about.<br />
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In the midst of all of that, we manage to find a lot of things to laugh about. I suspect at the heart of my things... I'm just easily amused. Those are the things that I write about here. I'm glad that you stopped by and hope that you have a wonderful time at BissDom! And I hope I get to hug your neck. Come back anytime. I'll try to always make it worth your while.<br />
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Oh, just for the record...and because I <strike>never</strike> <strike>seldom </strike> don't often do things the way other {maybe more normal} people do...I'm launching a beautiful new home for my blog. The design is beautiful and I can't wait to share that space. Hopefully after I meet all y'all at BlissDom I'll be launching. So, this isn't going to be my address forever. My new home, coming soon to a URL near you will be <a href="http://www.cleverlymolli.com/">www.cleverlymolli.com</a> I'll still be masquerading as a responsible adult just under the name of Cleverly Molli.<br />
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I can't wait to meet all y'all. I have made lists, read all I can find bout BlissDom and really! I'm ready to come and make friends, rock babies {one grandmother who would LOVE to rock your baby coming right up!}, exchange twitter handles {I'm @ CleverlyMolli} swap business cards and be part of this wonderful community. <br />
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Till then, I'm blowing you kisses from Camelot!<br />
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~Mollianne<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aenD8ujIurY/TZVpSRd_vkI/AAAAAAAABzc/HaeE1ay15cw/s1600/The+Kiss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="228" r6="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aenD8ujIurY/TZVpSRd_vkI/AAAAAAAABzc/HaeE1ay15cw/s320/The+Kiss.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love smooching with the Rocket Man!<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-D4px2y2kZSg/Tzq0sPeTt6I/AAAAAAAADGg/AVHKV9dgzZ4/s1600/True+Love.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="259" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-D4px2y2kZSg/Tzq0sPeTt6I/AAAAAAAADGg/AVHKV9dgzZ4/s320/True+Love.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;">Photo by the Amazing Melissa Tash of</div><div style="text-align: center;"> Spoiled Rotten Photography</div>Mollianne Masseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088163941917634506noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343923516369296360.post-28546403275590207122012-02-03T07:38:00.001-06:002012-02-03T07:38:56.221-06:00Real {5 minute friday}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-63jvUM8_cu0/Tyvi-Mr1cjI/AAAAAAAADGQ/SM06605AdNs/s1600/5_minute_friday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-63jvUM8_cu0/Tyvi-Mr1cjI/AAAAAAAADGQ/SM06605AdNs/s1600/5_minute_friday.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Its Friday and one of my favorite things in the blogosphere...5 Minute Friday over at <a href="http://thegypsymama.com/2011/10/five-minute-friday-ordinary/"><span style="color: #336699;">The Gypsy Mama.</span></a> Where we set a timer, write for 5 minutes on a specific topic with no rewrites, no edits. Just words pouring from our hearts through our fingers onto the screen. Sometimes its raw, oftentimes poignant, always a good exercise. <br />
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The prompt: Real.<br />
Go<br />
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Today, real is about doing something I loathe doing. Its about being a grown up and putting on those big girl panties and presenting my self and my veins at the infusion center for the first of 5 days of IV steroid infusions. 1000 mg a day.<br />
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Real is the war that will take place in my body as the steroids do battle with antigens that are attacking my body. Real is the flush I will feel within 24 hours of the first drip that will remain uncomfortably there for several days. From my chest to my scalp. Real is the metallic taste of pennies that will be in my mouth for the next week. Real is the loss of those things I guard carefully when I'm not full of antigen-fighting chemicals. Real is the embarassment I will feel after the fact when I've blurted out something I really wish I hadn't.<br />
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Real is the love and care that my Rocket Man will shower upon me. Real is the surrender I make to let him 'be the boss of me' for the next days. Real is the struggle to not be a burden to him. Real is this journey we are on that begin with a bat flying in our bedroom one night, almost 7 years ago and the myriad of medical tests and the doctors shaking their heads and telling me I'm interesting. Real is the offering up of my veins and my body and the hope I cling to that someday, the treatment will overcome whatever is wrong with me and I will be whole. <br />
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Real is the love of my Savior who walks this path with me and keeps me in His care. That part of my real is what will give me the courage to walk into the clinic and roll up my sleve, smiling at the nurse to encourage her as she sticks the garden hose into my vein and administers the drip. Real. Oh, yes. Its real.<br />
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Stop.<br />
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~MollianneMollianne Masseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088163941917634506noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343923516369296360.post-56060623354171445802012-01-17T15:21:00.000-06:002012-01-17T15:21:22.702-06:00Dichotomy<div align="center"> </div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;"><strong>Dichotomy</strong></span></div><div align="center"> </div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Instrumental music sweetly floating through the speakers</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sirens urgently screaming out on the street</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Life is full of the sweetly floating and the urgently screaming</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Each wanting my attention</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Each pulling me</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Excuse me, can anyone help?</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Help figure out which parts of the sweetly floating </span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">and the urgently screaming </span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I should combine to have a well ordered life?</span><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Only I can decide to which I will attend</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">How much each will have my ear, my voice, my heart <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and my time</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My life will reflect those choices</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I will become the sum of those choices</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I must choose wisely</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> ~Mollianne</span></span></div><div align="center"> </div>Mollianne Masseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088163941917634506noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343923516369296360.post-60742433594142763932012-01-06T14:22:00.000-06:002012-01-06T14:22:51.153-06:00Roar {5 minute Friday}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XnZUzaO1Pl0/TwdXXDYEPjI/AAAAAAAADF4/nQrUVSCdkuY/s1600/5_minute_friday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-XnZUzaO1Pl0/TwdXXDYEPjI/AAAAAAAADF4/nQrUVSCdkuY/s1600/5_minute_friday.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Its Friday and one of my favorite things in the blogosphere...5 Minute Friday over at <a href="http://thegypsymama.com/2011/10/five-minute-friday-ordinary/">The Gypsy Mama.</a> Where we set a timer, write for 5 minutes on a specific topic with no rewrites, no edits. Just words pouring from our hearts through our fingers onto the screen. Sometimes its raw, oftentimes poignant, always a good exercise. <br />
<br />
The Prompt: Roar<br />
Go!<br />
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I hear it.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Behind me.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Stealth as it creeps.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-family: Calibri;">I freeze.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Anticipate. </span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Trying to still the drum of my heart as it pounds in my chest.</span></div><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Don’t breathe, Molli.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Be still, Molli.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Maybe it will go away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Dear Lord, make it go away.</span><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It creeps closer. </span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even closer, until I can smell its vile breath as it exhales.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I stand frozen.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anticipating.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Unable to move.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Certain that it is about to envelope me.</span></div><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It does.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">With a mighty roar, I am immersed in fear.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And I fall to my knees as I am powerless to fight it.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I whisper a faint prayer to my Father.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He is able to conquer all fear.</span><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He comes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He comes with an even greater and mightier roar.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My Savior and Redeemer comes.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">He roars and fear is gone.</span><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Oh, how I love His roar.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Roar over me, Jehovah God.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Roar around me.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Roar through me.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Let me reverberate with the presence of your roar.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Stop</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">~Mollianne</span></div><br />
<br />
<div align="center"></div>Mollianne Masseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088163941917634506noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343923516369296360.post-56884969116710840992012-01-06T11:42:00.002-06:002012-01-06T19:10:47.897-06:00In which I admit what a coward I really am<div style="text-align: center;"><strong>2012</strong></div><div style="text-align: center;">Like...Wow!</div><div style="text-align: center;">WOW!!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong>Just WOW!</strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I will celebrate my 55th birthday this year.</div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><em>Scary stuff.</em></div><br />
And this year, this mid-way-from 50-to-60 year, I am choosing to dare a bit more. Not to cling so tightly to the things that are certain and take a few risks. To be a bit more vulnerable. It makes my heart beat faster just to type those words.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><em>My blood pressure is going up by the moment.</em></div><br />
When I was in my 30s, I used to admire women who had attained the 50+ year status. I noticed that they seemed to have a secret. That they seemed more self assured. Sort of like they had already had so much of the rotten stuff of life thrown at them that they knew...they recognized...they were aware of what was really important. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><em>I was in awe.</em></div><br />
Now that I am there, firmly anchored in the middle of my 50s decade and I wonder how I missed having that sort of self assurance. Because I am still as full of self doubt and insecurity as I ever was. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><em>I thought it would just come to me. </em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>That it was in the vitamins I take now </em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>that I am a woman over 50.</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>It has not.</em></div><br />
When I was in college...back in my 30s (I can't seem to do <em>anything</em> the normal way), I had a professor who would write the scariest notes on my essays. He told me that my ideas and arguments were good and sound. He challenged me, however, to let go of whatever it was I was holding onto, to release my reserve. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><em>Ha! I wasn't about to let go. Life was dangerous then.</em></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><strong>I AM, however, going to try.</strong></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><em>I don't feel very big today.</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>I feel little and forlorn and afraid.</em></div><br />
I have a wonderful new blog space. The design is just beautiful and I think it suits me. It is pristine and waiting for words and pictures. And I'm sitting on it, because I'm afraid I will somehow manage to mess it up. That it won't soar and that it will be just one more place that I give most of what I have to offer, but leave a portion behind...safely held close behind a quickly flashed smile and a smart remark. Which is my favorite mask.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><em>I'm scared and I feel guilty </em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>for having such a beautiful design </em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>and not doing anything with it.</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>I feel unworthy.</em></div><br />
I'm still not sure when I'm going to sully the beautiful virtual home with my messy self, but it is going to be soon. Very soon. Well, sometime in the next month or so. Maybe. And I'm going to a blog conference in February. To see how to do it right. I want to do it right. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><em>Quite frankly, I am going to procrastinate a little longer.</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>I do that very well</em>.</div><br />
In the meantime, I'm going to put myself out there. <br />
<br />
I dabble in poetry. I seldom/never show anyone what I write. Really. When I die, my children will probably find all sorts of little odes and free verse and other nonsense scribbled on pieces of paper, stashed in books, drawers, boxes, etc. And they will roll their eyes.<br />
<br />
So, in a act that is for me, one of EXTREME courage, I'm going to share a poem with you. All 3 of you who read this. I'm not even going to preface it with negative stuff, like its probably not any good, etc. I'm not.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Here goes.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Eyes squinched shut, tightly...check!</div><div style="text-align: center;">Emergency numbers close by...check!</div><div style="text-align: center;">Paper bag to breathe in should I hyperventilate...check!</div><div style="text-align: center;">Poem copied and ready to paste...check!</div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><em>3....2....1....I think I'm gonna be sick!</em></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "SNF Party Script Bold"; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">The Dance</span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "SNF Party Script Bold"; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Like puzzle pieces, our limbs intertwine<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: "SNF Party Script Bold"; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Your knee fitting perfectly into the bend of my leg</span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "SNF Party Script Bold"; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Your long leg draped securely over mine which is short</span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "SNF Party Script Bold"; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Arms wrapped</span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "SNF Party Script Bold"; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Hands held</span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "SNF Party Script Bold"; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Gentle breath blowing across my neck</span></span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "SNF Party Script Bold"; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">My hair in your face, tickling your cheek</span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "SNF Party Script Bold"; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">A nighttime dance we perfect in our slumber</span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "SNF Party Script Bold"; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">An unconscious reaching out for each other</span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "SNF Party Script Bold"; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Waking to the warm comfort of love that creates the blissful dance</span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "SNF Party Script Bold"; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">My first thought a calculation of the hours</span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "SNF Party Script Bold"; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">Until the dance will begin again<o:p></o:p></span></span></div><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "SNF Party Script Bold"; font-size: 22pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>~Mollianne </span><span style="font-size: xx-small;">12/11<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>Mollianne Masseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088163941917634506noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343923516369296360.post-29272523432324283362011-12-26T00:01:00.000-06:002011-12-26T00:01:00.168-06:00Only the Beginning<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My favorite part of Christmas is the afterglow.</span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I know folks who are anxious to take down their tree and put all the decorations away as soon as the last gift is unwrapped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I prefer to linger among the ornaments and manger scenes as long as I can.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once the hurry and scurry of the season are gone I often find myself sitting quietly with a cup of coffee and a leftover Christmas morsel in the glow of twinkle lights on a tree, listening to the familiar and beloved hymns of adoration.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I pick up a treasured choir child figurine that belonged to my Grandmother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She has rhinestone eyes, a perfectly shaped ‘oh’ mouth and a head that was glued back on 50 years ago. I cherish that figurine and the memories of Christmas cookies at Neenie’s table.</span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">My eyes fall on the various ornaments that my children, stepchildren and grandchildren made and I stop to pray for them, asking God’s blessings upon them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I see a stray piece of wrapping paper that has not yet made it to the trash, and I am thankful for our abundance and the many gifts we receive that are not wrapped prettily with paper and ribbon. The intangible things of our lives.</span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I hold cards from friends and family who are scattered far and wide and I am in awe of such a wide range of people who are part of our lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">All these things and many more catch my attention.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the one thing that I come back to again and again is the manger with the Babe of Bethlehem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Placed intentionally where the shadow of a cross falls across it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To remind me that the joy of His birth is only the beginning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lent is just around the corner…and Easter is coming!</span></div>Mollianne Masseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088163941917634506noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343923516369296360.post-30823514142702105592011-12-20T15:46:00.003-06:002011-12-21T10:11:08.214-06:00A Tale of Twenty<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A twenty dollar bill.</span></div><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Not a lot.</span></div><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Not insignificant, but in the grand scheme of things it isn’t a lot of money.</span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">That twenty dollar bill in my pocket was for my manicurist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have resolved several times this year to stop indulging in that particular luxury.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The money could be spent more effectively somewhere else, etc. etc. etc.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I keep going back because over the course of the year, Lindsey has started talking to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For months, I could barely get her to look me in the eye.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is painfully shy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is from Viet Nam and I occasionally have a difficult time understanding what she says to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The last time I thought I just was going to quit going back, she smiled at me and thanked me for being so nice to her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So I continue to go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Really, it isn’t a huge sacrifice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I enjoy the quiet conversation and getting to know her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her shy smile brightens my day and we have formed an odd friendship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Many of the other clients are loud and boisterous when I’m in there, but Lindsey and I talk quietly and sometimes she will even stop her task and look me straight in the eye as she talks about something.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The shop was very slow and quiet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked if she’d been busy and she sighed and shook her head no.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not busy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She supposed that people were busy shopping for Christmas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We carefully discussed a color choice and she said she was going to make sure my nails were extra pretty for Christmas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She takes such care in her work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I asked if she was ready for Christmas and she said no.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She said she was glad that Christmas was on Sunday this year, because she didn’t have to miss a day of work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m sure she only gets paid for days that she is at work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She had a worried, wistful look on her face. </span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">She told me that she would go to Midnight Mass and how much she loved that service.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And that her family would all come to her apartment for Christmas dinner, but not a traditional American dinner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her eyes glowed as she told me how they celebrated ‘in my country’. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She said she misses her family back in Viet Nam during the holidays.</span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">And so she finished the task and before I paid for the service, I slipped the $20 from my pocket to her hand. She burst into tears.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She hugged me and thanked me for being her friend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She said I had no idea what that meant to her.</span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I paid my bill, wished her a Merry Christmas and slipped out into the parking lot that is full of evidence of the affluence that marks our side of town.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tears ran down my cheek as I recalled a time…not so very long ago…when an unexpected $20 meant the world to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A time when I was a single mom, living paycheck to paycheck and not sure how I was going to afford Christmas for my children.</span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Oh, yes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember. I don’t ever want to forget, because it is from that place that I grew empathy and learned to be mindful of those around me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was those days of nearly desperate need when I received such generous gifts that I learned what it truly meant to be grateful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No, I don’t ever want to forget those times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This past year has been one of uncertainty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My Rocket Man lives and works in an industry that is quickly going out of business.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We stopped counting the number of friends who have been laid off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hear that 400 more jobs in our city will be cut after the first of the year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The possibility of unemployment in today’s economy and in his line of work is like an uninvited guest in our home. My job at the Church House is dependent upon the economy and the level at which people will continue to give.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is always there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Always considered in our decisions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A fairly regular topic of conversation.</span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Through it all, we have been abundantly blessed. However, I know that this Christmas may be the last that we are able to give at our current level.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So while I’m able, I’m enjoying every minute of giving away those bills.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mindful of the cutting back we are going to be doing in the coming year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Staring down uncertainty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am not going to let that uncertainty take away the joy we have in sharing today, this month and this season.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We aren’t going to hoard what we have…just in case. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rather we are holding our riches in open hands, sharing from our abundance and grateful for the opportunity to share.</span></div><br />
~MollianneMollianne Masseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088163941917634506noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343923516369296360.post-75439325118518662292011-12-14T07:24:00.001-06:002011-12-14T13:18:55.803-06:00Thinking about Valentine's Day<div style="text-align: center;">I know, I know. Don't skip one holiday and hurry on to the next, right?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">But I'm already thinking about Valentine's Day.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Hearts and L-O-V-E and such.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NCGVi9d7ELI/Tuigo9qwfEI/AAAAAAAADFc/4N-su3O3PwE/s1600/HEart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="184" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NCGVi9d7ELI/Tuigo9qwfEI/AAAAAAAADFc/4N-su3O3PwE/s200/HEart.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">It all stems from rushing The Rocket Man to the ER with chest pains recently.</div><div style="text-align: center;">And getting the very good news that while we don't know exactly what caused those chest pains, we have ruled out any heart disease. Which is good, because his family history of heart disease is simply dismal.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I saw the film from the heart cath.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I talked at length to the doctors and nurses who all concurred that this man of mine has a pretty strong and good lookin' heart.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1x19uVz7xw8/TuigrKIaSGI/AAAAAAAADFk/bApW3JIalRY/s1600/heart+1.jpg" /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">All of which I already knew. <br />
Only I was thinking of the other heart.</div><div style="text-align: center;">The one that I fell in love with.</div><div style="text-align: center;">That heart that </div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>offers grace</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>gives freely</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>loves joyfully</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">The heart that risked hurt by loving again after being quite battered and wounded.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">It is a heart of faith.<br />
A champion's heart.<br />
The heart of my hero.</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;">And THAT heart-</div><div style="text-align: center;">the one that I fell in love with-</div><div style="text-align: center;">well, there's nothing wrong with it.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">The other one, the heart that is defined by its arteries and muscles,</div><div style="text-align: center;">that one is doing just fine, too.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">It beats a lovely lullaby to me at night as I fall asleep with my head on his chest.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Drumming a rhythm that offers comfort and security and shelter.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Both hearts combine make one giant of a man.<br />
<em>My Rocket Man</em></div><div style="text-align: center;">He's my gift.</div><div style="text-align: center;">And I am thankful.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">So I'm really looking forward to Valentine's Day with the emphasis on hearts.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I am going to love the stuffin' out of some hearts in my house!</div><div style="text-align: center;">Both hearts, the anatomical heart and the heart/soul of my Rocket Man.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I'm going to celebrate those hearts in February</div><div style="text-align: center;">and I can't wait!!<br />
<br />
Think I'll go ahead and get started.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Sd_PQQQiHEk/TuigtcJvILI/AAAAAAAADFs/a4H_pjMpQvQ/s1600/heart+hug.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Sd_PQQQiHEk/TuigtcJvILI/AAAAAAAADFs/a4H_pjMpQvQ/s320/heart+hug.gif" width="158" /></a></div></div><div style="text-align: left;"><em>~Mollianne</em></div>Mollianne Masseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088163941917634506noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343923516369296360.post-19342564170326063392011-12-08T11:55:00.005-06:002011-12-08T18:25:10.174-06:00Is this place even on the map? {and do you know how to get there?}I must make a confession. You know when you are driving and you realize that you might be off course. Perhaps even lost? And typically the male of the species is the one who will refuse to stop and ask for directions? <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">That isn't quite how things play out in MolliWorld. Odd as it may seem, Rocket Man <span style="font-size: x-small;">{the uber-male who isn't in touch with his feminine side unless he's touching me, because I AM his feminine side}</span> is the one who is most eager to stop and ask for directions. I am the one who thinks she can figure it out and get where we are going with no help from anyone. Give me a map and a landmark and by golly! I think I can get anywhere. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I don't know why I am that way. I will say on my behalf that I am pretty good with a map. I have a good sense of direction and it has served me well. I learned quickly in heavy traffic in Germany when I was a young bride and a map was thrust in my lap with the loud command to <em>'figure out where we are and how to get where we are going!</em>' And all the roadsigns were in Deutsch, which was not a language I knew well enough in which to be even considered illiterate. What a pickle to be in while going 100 mph down the autobahn. In heavy traffic. At night. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Anyway, I learned then and there to read a map-regardless of the traffic, light source or ability to read the roadsigns. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Back to the requesting directions thing. I don't even like to find a store clerk and ask which aisle the popcorn is on. I'll spend many minutes walking up and down aisles looking for a thing before I'll find a clerk to ask for help. Muttering to myself if the popcorn isn't where it seems to me to be the logical place to put it. The Rocket Man, on the other hand, will ask before he looks. He says it is more efficient. Efficient-schmefficient sez me! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">That would be one of the differences in us. He's always looking for a more efficient way and I'm often just out there for the ride. I'm pretty certain I can figure it out and find where I'm going on my own. Which sounds mighty independent for someone who for years considered herself to be fairly dependent and has to work hard occasionally not to be co-dependent. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">For the past 12 days or so, I've sort of felt like I'm without a map, a flashlight or directions. In uncharted waters. Wandering. There isn't a trail of breadcrumbs. And it is somewhat scary. But I'm not scared, if that makes any sense.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">You see, the Saturday night after Thanksgiving, Rocket Man looked at me and said he wasn't feeling well and he thought he might need to go to the ER to get it checked out. He had his right hand sort of held where his heart is and we headed out to the emergency room with chest pains. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I blathered on and on for the entire drive, trying to be careful in traffic, but driving as fast as I could. <em>Do you have shooting pains down your left arm? Are you nauseous? On a scale of 1-10 how bad does it hurt? Do you feel pressure? What sort of pain? </em>Even that unspeakable phrase<em>, Do you think you could be having a heart attack?</em> All questions that I probably heard on Marcus Welby, M.D. as a child. Because I surely am not a medical professional and while I know a little bit about heart disease, certainly not enough to diagnose a heart attack. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><em>And I hadn't stayed at a Holiday Inn Express in quite some time, so that couldn't be it.</em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I mostly wanted to keep him talking to me. Which was a good thing, it turns out, because when we got to the ER and they begin asking him all the same questions...he passed out. The nurse immediatly hit him in the chest because he wasn't responding and she saw something on the EKG that was abnormal.. He opened his eyes and said <span style="font-size: x-small;">{with attitude}</span> 'What?' Somebody called for a cardic alert and brought a stretcher and people in scrubs were scurrying around me. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I felt like they were moving at warp speed while I had slowed down to 33 rpm. Someone said that his heart had stopped. He was taken back to a room and outfitted with all sorts of wires, IVs in both hands, had blood drawn,was asked questions, monitors were read. Sort of like you see on TV, only without any commercial breaks. And with my Rocket Man as the star. I didn't like it so much. I didn't like it at all.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I was right outside the room in the hallway, trying not to get in the way, with a clipboard full of papers they wanted filled out I was feeling very, very alone. And small. Quite small.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I had already called my parents and asked them to pray. I called my Annie to come get the Boys Fantastic who were at my house. I texted my niece, <a href="http://www.terilynneu.com/">Teri Lynne</a> asking her to pray. My phone rang immediately and it was Teri Lynne asking what was going on and about that time someone said to me, "he's having a heart attack" and Teri Lynne asked if I wanted her to come <span style="font-size: x-small;">{she lives 85 miles away}</span> and I said yes! Come! I called Rev. Boss and he said he was on the way.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">All of the sudden, I was asking for directions to someplace I'd never been before. It was like the part of my brain that thinks I'm big and I can do anything I want to do was in neutral and all that was engaged was my heart. Let me assure you, my heart wanted directions and comfort and people who love us.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Within 40 minutes of the time he told me he wanted to go to the ER, Rocket Man was headed to the heart cath lab to find out what was going on under the capable hands of the cardiologist on-call. And I was in the waiting room with Rev. Boss <span style="font-size: x-small;">{who arrived just as they were </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">rolling the bed out of Rocket Man's room. He asked if he could pray and the nurse said if he could pray and walk, because they weren't stopping!}.</span> Family and friends began to gather after they took him back and shortly the doctor came and got me to view the film. The Rocket Man had NOT had a heart attack <span style="font-size: x-small;">{Thanks be to God}</span>but they were going to keep him overnight after the procedure. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">By the time we could see the Rocket Man, the nurse commented that he must be very popular, there were so many people there. He kept saying, 'that nurse punched me in the chest' until I told him he'd passed out. He didn't quite remember that part. He was perfectly willing to take my word for it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We still don't know what happened. We are in the process of seeing doctors and gathering information and taking it just a little bit easy. You see, his father had his first heart attack before the age of 40 and died of heart disease at 62. His grandfather died in his 40s of a heart attack. So we take chest pains seriously. Thus far, we are finding out that the man is as healthy as can be. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As I sat beside his bed that night in the hospital, after everyone had left, I realized that I was in a place I always knew I could be...<em>someplace I always knew I might have to go</em>...I just didn't think I would be there <strong>that</strong> night. And I looked at that face I love so dearly as he breathed in oxygen through the tube in his nostrils and was overcome with gratitude. I knew grace in that moment. Grace so real I could almost touch it and gratitude flowed from my heart.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I am so thankful that he recognized that something was wrong and was willing to ask for directions. Thankful that we got to the ER before he passed out. Thankful that my heart-yearning to <span style="background-color: white;">suround</span> myself with people who loved and cared for us overcame my head's bent toward figuring it out myself.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Thankful that even though the circumstances were scary, I wasn't afraid. I knew that this little lamb and my amazing Rocket Man were safe in the arms of the Good Shepard. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I've faced my own mortality and stared down some scary things in my life. I live being 'off' and with whole systems in my body that continually stump the medical community. I'm okay with that. That's me. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I haven't been quite so okay with the events of the past few weeks. I'm getting there. I understand that this is part of the journey of our lives. This comes with being middle-aged <em>and</em> needing to know about heart disease <em>and</em> having affairs in order <em>and</em> asking people to make decisions for us if we are ever rendered incompetent to make them ourselves. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><strong>All of that </strong>reeks of stopping at a gas station and asking for directions to me. And I'm just not so good at that. But I'm learning. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So if you see me standing alone, looking lost and trying to figure something out...I might be getting ready to ask you for help. And I'm getting more and more okay with that. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Doesn't mean I'm going to give up my love of maps and figuring out which way to go. Just means that I'm learning to have a head that matches up a little better with my heart. Because it is just more effiecient and you might know how to get where I'm going.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">~Mollianne</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Did I mention that my niece, Teri Lynne, dropped everything and drove 170 miles to be with me because I said, 'Yes! Come!' which I would NEVER have said if I'd thought about it for 2 mintues. Becaue her husband is a pastor and they have an 11 year old daughter and it was Saturday night for-goodness-sakes and I know how crazy Sundays can be. If you aren't already subscribed to her amazing blog </span><a href="http://www.terilynneu.com/"><span style="font-size: x-small;">www.terilynneu.com</span></a><span style="font-size: x-small;"> you should go there RIGHT NOW and check her out. She has a precious heart and she puts her money where her mouth is concerning her faith and love! I may or may not be somewhat biased.</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-size: x-small;">Huge thanks, as well, to my daughter...Annie-with-the-million-watt-smile. She made a bazillion trips back and forth from the hospital to the house to get important things like comfy clothes, makeup, iPad, phone charger, etc. etc. etc. How wonderful to have grown-up children!!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span></div>Mollianne Masseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088163941917634506noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3343923516369296360.post-31467859313340673822011-12-02T09:03:00.005-06:002011-12-02T09:36:05.638-06:00Oh Yeah! I'm Tired {5 Minute Friday}<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jgmYghaelWU/TgTeP2ZlMCI/AAAAAAAAC5I/nBOu2-ddTvE/s1600/5_minute_friday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jgmYghaelWU/TgTeP2ZlMCI/AAAAAAAAC5I/nBOu2-ddTvE/s1600/5_minute_friday.jpg" /></a></div><br />
Its Friday, and while I haven't done it in awhile, I think if I don't write today I might burst at the seams and all of my insides might come out. It wouldn't be pretty. So, I'm going to jump on and set my timer for 5 minutes and write for the pure joy of writing along with Lisa-Jo at <a href="http://thegypsymama.com/2011/12/five-minute-friday-tired/">The Gypsy Mama.</a> We write with no edits, from our hearts. The prompt today is: Tired:<br />
<br />
Go:<br />
<br />
I am so tired. Weary. Dog tired. To my bones. Burdened. Tired.<br />
<br />
I remember when my daughter was a baby and her Dad was on a remote tour of duty in the<span style="background-color: white;"> Phillipines</span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span>with the Air Force and she didn't sleep. Ever. AT ALL. I'mnotkidding. In her baby book, I marked at 8 months when she slept 3 hours straight. That was the <span style="background-color: yellow;"><span style="background-color: white;">first time she had <strong>ever</strong> slept 3 hours straight</span></span><span style="background-color: white;">. It was</span> during the day and her 2 year old brother was wide awake and a handful. {Her brother was sleeping 8-12 hours with one feeding when he was 10 days old. She was quite a surprise. In fact, she's 31 and still doesn't sleep well.} That year, I thought I knew what tired was.<br />
<br />
I was wrong.<br />
<br />
Tired is having grown up children who live on the west coast while you are in the southeast and who need you...and all you can do is listen and cry with them and pray. Because you know they were never yours to begin with. Those preschool boo-boos and predicaments that I thought were nearly insurmountable...HA! Those were the easy days.<br />
<br />
Tired is deadlines looming on reports about numbers in the church that have nothing to do with the real work of the church. <span style="font-size: x-small;">(I am the Clergy Admnistrator in a large church and its time for annual reports)</span> But the bureaucracy of the church and its hierarchy seem to be very concerned with the number of bottoms in the pew and the dollars in the plate...not how we ministered to those people. How do you account for sitting and singing 'Jesus Loves Me' with a drug addict, wracked with pain and needing a fix, who came in looking for help? How do you put a number or value to helping someone plan the funeral service of the one they love most dearly in all the earth? What place in the database form asks for the hours you have knelt in prayer for and with people in need? The tissues handed across my desk. The joy shared in good news? The sharing of the Gospel of Christ? There isn't a spot for that on the form. But I better report carefully the name of the person who did the last audit on the property. Oh, yes. I'm tired. <span style="font-size: x-small;"><em>{and maybe have a less than sterling attitude}</em></span><br />
<br />
Tired is sitting up all night long in a hospital room, watching the man to whom you have pledged your heart and life as he breaths in and out...IV tubes running out of both hands, oxygen going into his nostrils and a monitor by his side charting his heart. Watching that precious man with whom I have built a life while he sleeps, wondering if this is what life will be now? Being a place I thought would probably happen someday, but not today.<span style="font-size: x-small;"> {inserted note...my Rocket Man did NOT have a heart attack, but we were in the ER on Saturday night with chest pains and he had a heart cath run. We aren't sure yet what happened, and I solicit your prayers as we go down this path of finding out. He is back at work today and we have follow up appointments to try to figure out what happened and how to prevent it in the future}</span><br />
<br />
Oh, yeah. I'm tired. But I am also resting in the arms of God that held me long before I was even aware that He was holding me. I know that I can't do any of this in my own strength, but that I can do ALL things through Him. And I have peace. And the coffee is still good. And the sun is still shining. And the deadlines will be met. And sometime next week, I'll take the Autumn decorations down and drag out the Christmas decorations. But today...right now...I'm really, really tired.<br />
<br />
STOP.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">That was more than 5 minutes and I didn't mean to color outside of the lines. But writing all of that certainly made me feel a bit better and my phone rang 4 times while I was trying to write. Guess that is what I get for writing at work. I did come in an hour early and will be here late, if that counts for anything. Did I mention that I'm tired?</span><br />
<br />
~MollianneMollianne Masseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18088163941917634506noreply@blogger.com1