tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36129821279911099062024-02-19T04:43:50.307-06:00The Mind of ~Ifer~Iferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14832422728405409763noreply@blogger.comBlogger84125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612982127991109906.post-31072225746815256342009-12-08T08:45:00.002-06:002009-12-08T08:47:27.683-06:00Guess What?!?Yep, I finally did it.<br /><br />I got my own website, got the blog imported in over there, and I am fine tuning some of the details. So please visit me at <a href="http://www.themindofifer.com/">The Mind of ~Ifer</a>. Please, please, if you are following me here, or you have me on a blogroll, please update the link. I don't want to lose readers in the transfer.<br /><br />Off to play with my new website!~Iferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14832422728405409763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612982127991109906.post-67381454861975451432009-12-07T08:26:00.006-06:002009-12-07T09:27:52.452-06:00VernAs the light breaks the night into pieces, he begins his day. Talking himself through the motions, he lays out his best suit.<br /><br />"Look Mama, I am wearing my suit today."<br /><br />She would be proud of him this morning. He remembers her smile as he slowly buttons up his starched white shirt. Remembers her gentle hands folding down his collar, making sure it was just so.<br /><br />"Should I wear my black tie or my brown one today, Mama?"<br /><br />He settles his mind on the black tie, and carefully ties the knot. Mama is there again, straightening his tie, demanding perfection. He reaches for his pants.<br /><br />"A sharp crease, just the way you like it, Mama."<br /><br />A matching waistcoat and suit jacket are next. He can feel her there with him still, slowly closing each button on his jacket. Imaginary hands brush the lint off his shoulder.<br /><br />"I can see my own reflection in my shined shoes. Are you proud of me, Mama?"<br /><br />His dressing complete, he prepares to set out on his journey. He will wander the streets of this town as he has every day for as long as anyone can remember.<br /><br />"I am all ready to go now, Mama. Did I forget anything?"<br /><br />For the briefest of moments, his mind wanders back to that hospital room. Mama is there. She smiles at him one last time as she gives him his charge, "Take care of the ones you love, my son".<br /><br />"I love this town, Mama. I will watch over them.".<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">This story is about Vern, a man that wanders the streets of our town. Nobody knows much about him, but on some days, he dresses in his Sunday finest and walks. This story is part of the </span><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://write-of-passage.ning.com/events/writing-well-challenge-1">Write of Passage</a><span style="font-style: italic;"> challenge. Please check it out.</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span><script type="text/javascript" src="http://www.simply-linked.com/listwidget.aspx?l=c879e919-a397-462f-9027-299f7de3bc7c"></script>~Iferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14832422728405409763noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612982127991109906.post-57589412111144061172009-12-06T19:40:00.002-06:002009-12-06T19:50:03.897-06:00Blog Award!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDVxZ0aL1PbJdd9SFucfdCcvPHSztLgR5uBsbOQ-B0Cqof0E_dpWv7i397-VFlw6mN4AHGxGgHGgLg8Fln-QxDJZQrkrjmF1Z4tEtOvxiR5sFSesz-1Qw4n8aYdmSPLT5TKf8L3nw6JmpT/s1600-h/Valued.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 224px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDVxZ0aL1PbJdd9SFucfdCcvPHSztLgR5uBsbOQ-B0Cqof0E_dpWv7i397-VFlw6mN4AHGxGgHGgLg8Fln-QxDJZQrkrjmF1Z4tEtOvxiR5sFSesz-1Qw4n8aYdmSPLT5TKf8L3nw6JmpT/s320/Valued.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412303126593124946" border="0" /></a><br />While I don't usually do the blog award thing, I just couldn't resist when I received such a wonderful award from my blog-friend, <a href="http://babybeanmom.blogspot.com/">Chelle</a>. So without further ado, the Valued Blogger award. The rules are pretty simple:<br /><ol><li>Tell your readers how your journey into blogging began. Be as verbose or shy as you like.</li><li>Pick 3-5 fellow bloggers whom you adore and write what exactly it is you value about that person or their blog. The more you write about them the better. This is a chance to really appreciate your blog friends who have been there with and for you through thick and thin.</li><li>Let the blessed winners know they have been awarded.</li></ol>How did my journey into blogging begin? Well, I have always been a writer, a poet, a lover of the written word, so I have had a journal or diary of some sort as far back as I can remember. What got me started on this current blogging adventure was reading the Pioneer Woman's blog. I fell in love with her story, and I thought to myself "I have something I want to say", so I started blogging. It has been more therapy for me than I ever imagined it would be when I started.<br /><br />Fellow bloggers that I adore?<br /><ol><li><a href="http://julia-myphotojourney.blogspot.com/">Julie's Photo Journey</a>. Her talent with a camera is something I love and I long for. I see the stories and the emotions behind the pictures she posts. They are truly works of art, and I love them.</li><li><a href="http://innocenceisnotlost.blogspot.com/">Return to Innocence</a>. I was orginally drawn to this blog because of the name, and the fact that it reminded me of a song I used to really love, many years ago. Since then, I have been really moved by the author's attempt to honestly deal with herself and her emotions. I love the fact that I feel, many times, that the author is talking herself through spots, and we have the privilege of peaking in the window.</li></ol>I know the rules say 3-5 blogs, but honestly, I flitter about between a lot of blogs, but feel deeply moved by only a few, so there you have it.<br /><br />And many thanks to Chelle for this award!~Iferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14832422728405409763noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612982127991109906.post-38514413141586884722009-12-05T12:20:00.003-06:002009-12-05T12:37:04.226-06:00Global Warming 101I was given a wonderful blog award that I will tell you about tomorrow, but for today...<br /><br />I mentioned the other day that last year it snowed here in Southeast Texas for the first time in thirty years. Well, yesterday, for the second year in a row, Southeast Texas said loud and clear<br /><br />"Take THAT Global Warming fanatics!"<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2536/4160913950_b209ac5b24.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 371px; height: 279px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2536/4160913950_b209ac5b24.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2633/4160917256_a974686633.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 380px; height: 285px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2633/4160917256_a974686633.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2626/4160155493_464e785819.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 366px; height: 274px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2626/4160155493_464e785819.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2614/4160905448_a303e1a351.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 379px; height: 284px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2614/4160905448_a303e1a351.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>~Iferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14832422728405409763noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612982127991109906.post-8327822206370489832009-12-04T08:59:00.002-06:002009-12-04T09:25:16.783-06:00Book Fair!Across the street from our church office sits the day school. The only reason I need you to know that the school was there is that the periodic contact that I have with the preschoolers remind me of my childhood.<br /><br />This week they had a book fair. An honest to goodness, Berenstein-Bear-laden, Shel-Silverstein- loving, Scholastic Book Fair. Earlier this week I had to drop off some papers in the hall where they are having the Fair, and I was instantly transported back 20 years (ok, so maybe it was closer to 25!). <br /><br />For an instant, I am eight years old, standing in the library of my elementary school. Take a deep breath, inhale that smell of new books intertwined with the unique smell of the library. Look around at the glossy covers of all the new books, begging my little hands to softly caress them, to pick them up. Hear that crack of the spine when a new book is opened for the first time. Know that in my hands holds the ticket to another world. <br /><br />Books were of utmost importance to my parents. Book fairs were a time when I could always be certain that we would find the money to buy a book. And no, not the fun sticker books that all my classmates were drooling over. My eyes would light up when the teachers passed out the pamphlets a couple weeks before the fair. I would treasure that paper, I would pore over the selections time and time again, knowing that I could make just one choice. I could get just one book, but oh! which to pick?<br /><br />I realize as I type these words that the wonder has never gone away. I can walk into a Books a Million or Barnes and Noble today and feel the same wonder. The same overwhelming awe at the aisles and shelves of books. So many books to read, so many adventures that wait for me, how can I choose just one?<br /><br />As I stood there this week, transported in time for the briefest of seconds, I wanted to thank my parents for this love of the written word. I want them to know that I do believe that words can change lives, that words can take you to other worlds, other times, other lives. That words can mold the way I think, the way I view the world. <br /><br />And I wondered... was I the only child that was punch-drunk with love for the book fair?~Iferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14832422728405409763noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612982127991109906.post-47307134158548646932009-12-03T10:55:00.002-06:002009-12-03T11:23:44.137-06:00RecapI know it has been a full week since Thanksgiving, and I have neglected to share stories, but every time I sit down to write a blog entry, I forget that I meant to tell you all about it.<br /><br />A week late, the story of our Thanksgiving...<br /><br />Most Thanksgiving, Mike's extended family plans a get-together, and this year it was at his Aunt Cindy's house. Now, growing up in a military family, I can tell you that in my childhood we never had extended family holidays. Holidays for us were a more intimate time of my mom, dad, and us kids gathered around our table. I don't regret that for a minute, and I look back on those childhood holidays with a fond and warm heart. Those are treasured times that are not diminished in the least by the negative events that have taken place since then.<br /><br />But I never had a big family gathering at Thanksgiving, until I met Mike. The first couple years, I have to admit, were pretty awkward for me. I wasn't sure how to fit in exactly, and I so desperately wanted everyone to like me and to accept me. I had a good time each year, and I was silly to worry so much, but such is my nature.<br /><br />Slowly over the years, I have had the chance to get to know his family, and to feel at home with them, so I was really looking forward to this Thanksgiving gathering, and they did not disappoint.<br /><br />It was everything you read about a family Thanksgiving being. Two generations of kinfolk gathered around a long table (actually three tables put together), covered with more food than we could possibly eat (although we certainly tried). What I love most about it is the conversations that go on during dinner. The joking, the reminiscing, the funny stories they told, it was all part of a magical memory that I now have. <br /><br />It is another memory I will hold close in fondness and warmth. And someday, this is the kind of family environment that I hope to pass on to our children. Families are never perfect. There are always those issues that rub people the wrong way, the personalities that are never going to perfectly match, the hurts and the words that only families can understand.<br /><br />But this Thanksgiving, I counted myself blessed to be a part of a family that understands what being a family really means. That no matter what happens, no matter the family squabbles that may occur, that underneath it all, is family. That foundation remains strong and firm. That foundation is forever.<br /><br />And as we sat there on Thanksgiving, I looked around at the people that I used to think of as Mike's family, and I realized that they are MY family now too. And that in the future, should Mike and I be blessed with a child, they will have this family too. They will be surrounded with memories and relatives. Most of all, they will be (as we are now) surrounded with love.~Iferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14832422728405409763noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612982127991109906.post-49486403171351673752009-12-02T10:04:00.002-06:002009-12-02T10:29:39.269-06:00It's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas!Yesterday, December 1, it was almost like the weather was following a script designed to make it feel more like Christmas around here. We woke up to a chilly morning, and throughout the day, the temperatures dropped. Folks, it's COLD out there now (well, cold is a relative term and in this case refers to the temperature dropping below 50 in Southeast Texas).<br /><br />The weather people are prediciting possible snow on Friday. SNOW! In Southeast Texas! It snowed here last year too, for the first time in 30 years. I remember Mike got up in the middle of the night to get a drink or something, and he woke up me saying "baby... it's SNOWing!" The wonder and excitement in his voice was a beautiful thing, and like children on Christmas morning, we got up and got dressed and went out to take pictures in the snow at 3am. The next morning we woke up to find a beautiful white town, and until about noon that day we got to enjoy the postcard effect on our town. <br /><br />I hope it snows again this year. Even if it doesn't, the cold weather outside is getting me in the mood for Christmas. It's cold outside, warm in my office, I have instrumental Christmas music playing on the pandora, and the office tree is set up and cozy warm, decorated in shades of red and gold. <br /><br />Is it really only December 2? I love this season for so many reasons. I love the warmth that I feel each year. I am ready to welcome Christmas.<br /><br />In the eternal words of the Whoville song...<br /><br /><em>Welcome Christmas</em><br /><em>While we stand </em><br /><em>Heart to heart </em><br /><em>And hand in hand</em><br /><em>Welcome welcome </em><br /><em>Christmas </em><br /><em>Christmas Day</em>~Iferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14832422728405409763noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612982127991109906.post-9409923939316433982009-12-01T08:25:00.002-06:002009-12-01T08:46:36.416-06:00Have you lost your mind, child?I mentioned last month that I signed up for the NaBloPoMo, where you write a blog entry every day for an entire month. Since I signed up in the middle of November, I didn't get the chance to really get into it last month, so I decided to wait until today, the first day of December, to get started. So this is my official first post for the month :)<br /><br />I woke up this morning thinking about writing in my blog, and it occurred to me just what I am getting myself into. Not only am I going to try to write every day for a month, but I picked the month of December. I seriously think I have lost my mind in attempting this. December is not only busy for me because of the usual holiday stuff that people have, the shopping, the parties, the town Christmas parade, but as a church secretary, it is even more so. I think I have mentioned before, but this month is our Superbowl. There is constantly something going on at the church during December, even if it isn't something I am directly involved in. There are Sunday School class parties, and get togethers, and programs, and events, all of which I am in some way a part of. <br /><br />So, can I do it? Can I write a blog entry every day for this month? Honestly, I don't know, but I am sure going to give it a try. In some ways, I think it will be easier in December, because at least then I will have stuff to talk about each day, right?<br /><br />Since this entry is already random and has no theme, I figure I might as well continue with my spew of thoughts this morning. I had such a good time yesterday reading all the blog entries for Mrs. Flinger's writing challenge. In retrospect, I wish I had a more interesting story to tell yesterday (not saying I wanted to be embarrassed, but I do like to appear interesting when people ask us to share a story). I am looking forward to each week and seeing if I can improve my writing. I am looking forward to going back to the entries I most liked yesterday, and adding some people to my blog roll.<br /><br />I like events like that because, #1, they give me a topic to write about at least once a week, and that certainly gets my mind to working, and #2, they give me a sense of community, a chance to belong. I think that is what I envy the most about the bloggers that have a large following, that feeling that people care about the words you are writing, the feelings you are sharing. Don't get me wrong, there ARE people in my personal life that read my blog and care very much about what I write, and I don't take that for granted. But I think deep down inside each of us is the desire to feel popular, to be accepted. I think we blog because we want our story to be heard.<br /><br />I don't really know where I am going with this post anymore, so I guess I will go now. Goodness knows, there is plenty to be done around the office.~Iferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14832422728405409763noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612982127991109906.post-45833244177818540762009-11-30T09:36:00.003-06:002009-11-30T09:57:46.966-06:00So far, so goodI have been following Mrs. Flinger's blog for quite a while now, because I love the style in which she writes, and the stories are fascinating to me. This morning, when I was catching up on posts from the weekend, I ran across a recent post of hers that intrigues me. She is starting a writing group that once a week, will be given an idea to write a blog post about. The first one was for today, so let's see if I can give this a whirl.<br /><br />Today's topic was to post about your most embarrasing moment. This is actually quite a difficult topic for me, because I have spent my entire life in a carefully orchestrated attempt to not stand out in a crowd. I don't embarrass easily, or rather, I DO embarrass quite easily, but I do everything in my power to avoid those situations to begin with. I attempt to fade into the woodwork when possible, I overplan events to make sure every tiny detail is in place, I try not to talk about a topic unless I know that my information is correct, etc.<br /><br />Sure, I have embarrassing moments, like the rest of the world. I have tripped up stairs in high school, I have spilled food or drink on clothes at an important time. There was the time that I fell asleep in the chair in my boss' office while I waited for him to get off the phone. Life is full of small moments that make me blush, but I have been sitting here for almost an hour trying to come up with a "most" embarrassing moment, and the truth is, I just don't have one. So far, I have been successful in my ongoing crusade to avoid that kind of notice, I guess.<br /><br />I just hope I can keep up the trend.<br /><br /><em>This post is part of the <a href="http://write-of-passage.ning.com/events/over-achiever-challenge-the">Write of Passage</a> challenge. Please stop by and join the fun!</em><br /><script type="text/javascript" src="http://www.simply-linked.com/listwidget.aspx?l=ba6d7578-4016-4a44-89c4-f85a150886f7"></script>~Iferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14832422728405409763noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612982127991109906.post-12178149111721632652009-11-24T10:53:00.002-06:002009-11-24T11:25:15.213-06:00My NaomiSo who is your Naomi?<br /><br />Mike and I are currently studying the book of Ruth in our nightly Bible study. For those of you not familiar with the beginning of the story, it goes something like this.<br /><br />Naomi moved to a foreign country with her husband and two sons. The two sons marry foreign wives. The husband and both sons die. Naomi prepares to go back to her home country, and she tells her daughter-in-laws that since they are young and in good health, they should return to their families and find themselves other husbands. One daughter-in-law goes back to her family. The other one, Ruth, refuses to leave Naomi, and insists on traveling with Naomi back to Israel. Her words to Naomi are commonly used in wedding ceremonies all the time now, the famous quote about "whereever you go, I will go, your people will be my people, and your God my God".<br /><br />At the end of the study on the first night, it asked us the question "who is someone you can call your Naomi".<br /><br />Who in your life can you make that kind of committment to? <br /><br />Well obviously, my husband, first and foremost.<br /><br />I have written volumes and volumes about how much I love my husband, and our marriage, but this post is actually about someone else.<br /><br />This post is about my mother-in-law, Dee, my Naomi.<br /><br />She is amazing in so many ways that I cannot even begin to explain to you.<br /><br />My Naomi listens to what I say. Not just polite conversation, nodding her head to pretend that she is listening. She LISTENS. The first year that Mike and I were together, long before we were married, Thanksgiving was approaching and I was telling her about a funny story from my childhood. My mother made "Thanksgiving out of a box", as the kids called it. She made instant mashed potatoes, a turkey that had a pop up timer to tell you when it was done, cranberry sauce still shaped like a can, pumpkin pie that has "libby's, libby's, libby's, on the label, label, label", and Stove Top dressing. I was telling Dee about this, and about how the first year I was in college, I went to Thanksgiving with a friend, because I could not afford to fly home. My friend's mother made homemade stuffing, and I felt let down because I missed the Stove Top dressing from my childhood. It was a story that was meant to be funny, a brief poking fun at myself for being so tied to a box mix that I didn't appreciate the work that went into the homemade stuffing.<br /><br />We all laughed and went about our business. Thanksgiving day arrived, and we went to the big family dinner. They bring out all the food, Dee brings out the big pan of homemade stuffing that she makes every year. And then (and I still get teared up at this memory), she brings out a little saucepan of Stove Top dressing that she made for me. She made that just for me. She heard what I said in my story, she remembered somehow that it mattered to me, and she went out of her way to make a dish that only I wanted. That is how much she cared.<br /><br />My Naomi thinks about us. She is constantly coming home from Wal-Mart with some piece of clothing that was on sale and in my size that she picks up for me. She cuts out recipes that she thinks I might want to try. She calls our house to let us know when a tv show is on that she thinks Mike or I might want to watch. <br /><br />My Naomi takes care of us. If one of us is sick, she brings food over to the house. We live in an apartment next door to their house, and share a laundry room with them. If she happens into the laundry room when we have clothes that need to be moved through the process, she takes care of them for us. I can't count the number of times I have gone to go put clothes in the dryer and instead found a folded stack of clean clothes waiting to be taken home. <br /><br />Like I said, I could go on for hours about all the wonderful ways that Dee has taken me in and made me one of her own. It was actually strange for me to type her name out during this post, and I only did it for clarification, because from the time I arrived here to be with Mike, she has made me a daughter. She is Mom to me. She took me under her wing, loved me, and been everything that a mother is supposed to be to me and Mike.<br /><br />She is my Naomi.<br /><br /><em>But Ruth said,‘Do not press me to leave you or to turn back from following you! Where you go, I will go; where you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God my God. Where you die, I will die— there will I be buried. May the Lord do thus and so to me, and more as well,if even death parts me from you!’ Ruth 1:16-17</em>~Iferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14832422728405409763noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612982127991109906.post-69678128663663972532009-11-23T11:12:00.003-06:002009-11-23T11:22:18.510-06:00Fed UpYou know what I am sick of? Liars. And the world is full of them.<br /><br />I am so tired of being told what people think I want to hear in a grand effort to either be politically correct, or to avoid what they perceive as an upset person.<br /><br />Case in point, the Doctor's Eye Clinic here in our town. We are waiting on the results of some tests that were taken last week. At the time of the testing, we were told by two different people that the doctor would review the results and would get them out in the mail by the end of the week. As today is Monday and we still have no results, we call them to find out what the deal is. Mike's first call is answered by woman #1 who tells him that "oh no, it can take the doctor two or three weeks to get those results back".<br /><br />After Mike tells me about this, I decide that is an unacceptable response, and for probably one of the first times in my life, I call a doctor's office to file a formal complaint. The lady that I filed the complaint with (and believe me, we know her name) tells me that she saw the doctor working on the results Friday, and that he will be in the office tomorrow and she will make sure that he gets them out in the mail tomorrow if they aren't already.<br /><br />So who is lying?<br /><br />You know what? It doesn't matter. I am sick of it all.<br /><br />And it isn't just this clinic that does it. People in our world lie all the time now. You call the phone company for repairs on your DSL line (another incident from this weekend) and for the six times I called, I got the same story only twice.<br /><br />Twice.<br /><br />I called six times, and was told 5 different stories about when it would be fixed and we would be back online.<br /><br />Why? I just don't understand it. I try to be honest with people. I try to deal in the truth, even if I KNOW it isn't what that person wants to hear.<br /><br />I just don't understand the need that people feel to lie. Are they trying not to upset me by telling me what they think I want to hear? Are they making crap up so that they don't have to check their facts? Do they really not know, and are just too lazy to find out? Or are they just pathologically lying to me for no reason at all?<br /><br />I cannot tell you the frustration that I am feeling right now.~Iferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14832422728405409763noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612982127991109906.post-63169689696918625682009-11-16T13:08:00.003-06:002009-11-16T13:12:26.896-06:00Where does it all go?The time, that is.<br /><br />I love this time of year, because I love the holiday season. I live all year for this season, anticipating, planning, deciding on gifts for family and friends, and getting ready in my heart. But here is the secret that nobody tells you about...<br /><br />The holiday season, when you are working in a church office, is mass chaos! Well, not so much chaos, because I can't function like that, but constantly on the go, constantly moving, planning the next special service, the next Christmas event. <br /><br />Who is taking care of the live Nativity, and do they have it ready?<br />Do we have the labels to put on the stuff we are selling at the Christmas bazaar?<br />Have we ordered the books for advent?<br />Have we ordered the advent candles?<br /><br />And the list goes on.<br /><br />Now, don't get me wrong, I THRIVE on this kind of busyness, so I am not complaining. I just wanted to let you all know that if I am not commenting on your blogs, if my blogging gets a bit more sporadic, it is probably because I am somewhere in the church hanging up decorations or printing bulletins, or one of the myriad of other tasks that this season brings. <br /><br />I am still here, I promise :)~Iferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14832422728405409763noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612982127991109906.post-43599479472879688972009-11-11T08:08:00.003-06:002009-11-11T08:34:59.441-06:00A Letter to My Father on Veterans DayDad,<br /><br />I realized this week that for all my eloquent words about our military, for all my noble thoughts about how great and heroic those men and women are, for all that I respect them and honor them for what they have done and are doing for our country, for all the times that I have thanked a veteran, there is one veteran that I have never thanked. I have never told you, Dad. I am here today to change that.<br /><br />Dad, thank you.<br /><br />Thank you for teaching me to love our country. Thank you for instilling the knowledge in me that our country, sometimes in spite of its flaws and sometimes because of them, deserves my respect and my gratitude.<br /><br />Thank you, Dad, for teaching me that freedom is worth the price that people are willing to pay. Thank you for teaching me to respect our military, to salute our flag, to place my hand over my heart during the anthem.<br /><br />Thank you for living out an example of a man dedicated to the protection of his country, and all its citizens. Thank you for taking our family with you as you traveled around the globe. Thank you for allowing me the chance to live other cultures, and to arrive at the conclusion that America is this great nation.<br /><br />Dad, thank you for your example of service. For getting up each morning, putting on your uniform, and heading out our doors to protect our country, to protect our family, to protect me.<br /><br />I thank you for the fact that I get choked up every time I hear Taps being played. I thank you for the fact that I outright cry when I see the missing man formation being flown overhead. I thank you for every moment that I realized how incredibly blessed we are to live in this wonderful land.<br /><br />I thank you for me knowing all the words to the patriotic songs. I thank you for making the 4th of July so much more to me than a day for fireworks. I thank you for teaching me the history of our country, for pointing out our strengths and our weaknesses.<br /><br />There is so much you have taught me in life, Dad, but on this Veterans Day, I want to thank you for all you have done for me, for our family, and for our country.<br /><br />I remember watching the movie "Man Without a Country" with you when I was young. The story was about a man who, during a court marshall in the Civil War years, wished that he had "never heard of America". The judge granted his wish, and placed him on a boat that was never allowed to land, and the people on board were never allowed to speak of America to him. At the end of the movie, he meets a young man who is disillusioned with America, and he speaks these words to him<br /><br />..."For your country, boy," and the words rattled in his throat, "and for that flag," and he pointed to the ship, "never dream a dream but of serving her as she bids you, though the service carry you through a thousand hells. No matter what happens to you, no matter who flatters you or abuses you, never look at another flag, never let a night pass but you pray God to bless that flag. Remember, boy, that behind all these men..., behind officers and government, and people even, there is the Country Herself, your Country, and that you belong to her as you belong to your own mother. Stand by her, boy, as you would stand by your mother...! Oh, if anybody had said so to me when I was your age!"<br /><br />After the movie was over you turned to me and told me not to forget those words. To remember that our country is worth everything in life. It is worth living for, fighting for, even dying for.<br /><br />Dad, don't worry. I won't forget those words. I won't forget them, because I saw them lived out every day of our lives. I saw them in the flesh, in the most important veteran in my life...<br /><br />My father.<br /><br />Happy Veterans Day, Daddy<br /><br />~Jennifer~Iferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14832422728405409763noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612982127991109906.post-74279198665783383032009-11-10T09:57:00.002-06:002009-11-10T10:16:45.062-06:00True StrengthMy heart is very heavy today. Not for anything of mine, personally, but for the struggle that I see in another.<br /><br />There is a lady here at the church that I work at. She is a wonderful lady, a strong woman of God, an example to the rest of us. She is, in so many ways, what I long to be in life. I have truly come to love this woman.<br /><br />She has seen so much in her life. She has so much wisdom and truth that she has shared with the people of our church, and especially with the young adults in our church.<br /><br />And she is struggling now. Her husband is not doing well, health wise.<br /><br />She puts a brave face on it, she has so much strength in this situation. But I see the sadness, I see the struggle.<br /><br />Please keep this lovely lady and her husband in your thoughts and prayers right now.~Iferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14832422728405409763noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612982127991109906.post-42249112698100427072009-11-09T08:24:00.006-06:002009-11-09T09:00:53.008-06:00The Day the Wall Fell<div align="left">Twenty years ago....</div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left">Twenty years ago, I was the awkward, geeky 9th grade girl in this yearbook picture<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 92px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 116px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402118070111153906" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB1AKFb1Sg9Ddit9rbUv8HWkmpkTlJJJJRfM1o_0MAW_xFESSZey3kXoNDeeVVzjHLrOc2MWEFrjL8LbV-rUIRQXj_q7gDI4xx-LlNuuIJE9h-TngdDTedRaabQAGUVbV9drDEqBJC_-f6/s320/Page_097_Image_0001.jpg" /></div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpFyLoqaOV6e2w8DDO698Ni5XFqTT2yesjh0sjN85iJNWkSqWgNWobI9_8lwF3YKlFmiJFRxHZ7iAWA4mKL1QwuTtiZPJeFm9Oz_8GX6O6Aiib3h3Paz9LRRVS9BBpDzYSmMPO-nC8rLHY/s1600-h/Page_097_Image_0001.jpg"></a></div><br /><div align="left">Twenty years ago, my dad was stationed in Berlin, Germany, and we had been living there for about a year.</div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left">Twenty years ago, I was at home watching a movie with my family when the phone rang. It was Brandy, a friend of mine in high school. She was calling to say they were going to tear down the Berlin Wall. </div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left">Twenty years ago, I told Brandy she was full of it, and ended the phone conversation. I went back into our living room to tell my parents the crazy story that she had cooked up this time. (Brandy was famous for outlandish tales of how she was going to be in the Olympics, about the time she swam with the killer whales, about how rich her parents were, etc). We turned off the movie so my parents could check the news, and we saw the most amazing night of our lives begin to unfold.</div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left">I don't know if everyone was as surprised that night as I was, but as a 9th grader, I had no idea that the events were unfolding in that direction. As a military brat, you are pretty aware of world situations and things that can affect your family, your friends, and your country. I don't know if the whole world was as taken by surprise as I was. Sure, freedom was spreading in Eastern Europe at the time, but the Berlin Wall? That was a forever thing.</div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left">See, we had lived in Berlin for a year before this came about. We had learned to abide by the rules and regulations that living in those circumstances requires. West Berlin was called the Island of Freedom, because the city of Berlin sat smack dab in the middle of East Germany. To get to the next piece of "free land", we had to drive a 3 hour road called the Corridor. We had to sign out with the army in Berlin and drive one road until we reached West Germany, where we had to sign in again. You had a set amount of time to make the journey. If you took too long, they sent military troops in to find you. If you arrived too quickly, they would ticket you for speeding. If your car broke down, if you got a flat tire, if for some reason, you could go on no further, our instructions were to stay in our car with the doors locked and wait for the military to come get us.</div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left">I had seen first hand the difference between East and West Berlin. As Americans, we could receive special passes to go shopping and site seeing in East Berlin. "East Passes" as they were nicknamed, were a piece of paper with your picture, your vital information. When you drove through Checkpoint Charlie to get into East Berlin, you were to hold that pass up to the window of your car. Under no circumstances were you to give that paper to the Russian guards that were allowing you in. That paper was your proof that you were an American, that you were there with the permission and support of the American Military. I remember driving through the checkpoints and being amazed that two so different worlds could exist in the same city. </div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left">East Berlin was gray. That is what I remember most. That, and the fact that people didn't smile on the streets. It was gray. It was somber. The buildings all looked the same, there were no advertisements anywhere. The Berlin Wall itself was gray. There was no graffiti on the East side of the Wall. To even approach the Wall from the East side was forbidden, and was a death warrant, carried out by the guards in the towers that were constantly overlooking.</div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left">Walking around in East Berlin was a lesson in world politics. East German and Russian military were all over the place, both in professional capacity and on their leisure time. The East Germans and the Russians were required by their own militarys to salute American soldiers that they saw in East Berlin. My father always wore his uniform when we went to the East, as a sign of who we were. At the same time, our government didn't acknowledge the validity of the Russians being in East Berlin. We didn't recognize the East German government as valid either. So my father's instructions? Ignore the salutes received from these soldiers. A salute is a sign of respect, and we don't respect their right to be here, so American soldiers did not salute in return.</div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left">There is so much history of the Wall itself that I won't go into here today, although I encourage everyone to read the stories of how people escaped over, under, and through the Wall over the years.</div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left">What I will tell you is that in my world, the Wall was a permanent structure. Did you know that the Wall itself surrounded West Berlin only? Did you know that it was built not to keep East Germans in East Berlin, but to keep them out of West Berlin? Did you know that WE were the ones that lived enclosed in a Wall? It was solid, it was menacing, it was forever.</div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left">Except.... it wasn't. In one stroke of a pen, in one night, in one official declaration, the Wall lost all its power. </div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left">We watched TV for hours that night. The flood of people didn't stop. The East Germans weren't really sure that the open borders would last, so they were pouring across into West Berlin, just in case. There were families that hadn't seen each other in almost 30 years that were reunited that night. There were children and teenagers that had never seen the flash and color of the Free West that learned that night. </div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left">I remember that we cried that night. We cried in joy for the people that were now free. We cried in relief that their struggle was coming to an end. We cried in pride that we had done our job.</div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left">We had held on. The Island of Freedom had stood strong for so many years. So many men and women from the US, British, and French military had been stationed over the years, each doing their part to stand strong and hold fast to that patch of land, that symbol of freedom surrounded by oppression. I remember the next day, or maybe the day after that, the West Berlin Newspaper ran a full page ad on the back of the paper. In English, French, and German, all it said was "Thank You".</div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left">I write these memories so that I may never forget the wonder that I saw that night. I write so that I may always keep that awkward 9th grade girl in my heart, and she may never let me forget. I write so that we can tell our kids what it was like before. I write so that people can know the struggle, the fight, the victory that took place in that city. I write because 20 years ago, I was privileged to sit in my living room, in Berlin, Germany, and watch history unfold before my very eyes. I write because I lived a piece of history. </div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left">I felt it, I saw it, I held it in my hands, 20 years ago.</div><br /><div align="left"></div><br /><div align="left">20 years ago, today.</div><br /><div align="left"><br /></div><br /><div align="left"></div>~Iferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14832422728405409763noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612982127991109906.post-25138556499168898792009-11-07T12:25:00.002-06:002009-11-07T12:33:48.663-06:00My StoryI was reading over my blog list today, and catching up on new posts and entries, and it struck me for a moment how much more interesting all these stories are than the way that I perceive my own life. Do we each view our own story as the most mundane? Is this simply because we lived it, are living it, and we don't see the spectacular in the day to day?<br /><br />I was thinking to myself as I read these blogs that I don't see what I have to offer that others would like to read about. I don't live on a farm, I don't have kids to post pictures of, I don't have a theme that people can universally relate to. For a moment, I sat there in self pity, wondering why I should blog, and then I remembered two very important facts.<br /><br />1. I blog for me first and foremost. I blog because I have things to say. I blog because I need to sort my thoughts, I need to tell the story, I need to capture so that I can remember. <br /><br />2. Nobody else has my story. That is what makes the world of blogs so fascinating to me. I can read about a journey to adoption, yet that is not my story. I can read about life on a ranch, yet that is not my story. I can read about your children, your families, your world, and yet, none of those are my story. But you know what? I can write MY story, and nobody else can.<br /><br />~I can write about the life of a church secretary<br />~I can write about the perspective of an Army brat<br />~I can write about the life I have chosen<br />~I can write about the thoughts I have<br /><br />And although each of those factors may be shared by other blogs, nobody has the story that I can share. <br /><br />And nobody has the story that you share.<br /><br />Blogging to me takes this huge world of nameless people and faces and gives them names. It fleshes out the people that walk down the street next to you each day. It shows how wonderfully unique each and every one of us are.<br /><br />So tell me your story, and I will tell you mine.~Iferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14832422728405409763noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612982127991109906.post-11481031259006328842009-11-06T08:21:00.002-06:002009-11-06T08:56:51.155-06:00Fort HoodI don't know that I have words to explain what I am feeling about the incident at Fort Hood yesterday, but I have to try.<br /><br />~Regarding the shooter. I KNOW I don't have words to describe this waste of a human being. It is a matter of taking the already horrific event of turning a gun on innocent people, compounded by the fact that those innocent people are the very ones that will give their lives to defend this country, and exponentially increased by the fact that the shooting was done in a place that these brave defenders are supposed to be able to relax and feel safe. He didn't just kill people. He killed people that had devoted their lives to protecting HIS freedom. He killed people that were in that room either getting ready to go serve their country abroad, or returning from a tour of service. He killed people that had families at home that were relaxed in their worry. The families didn't have to worry, their loved ones were on US soil, in a safe place, the time for worry had not yet arrived. The shooter is among the lowest form of human life. I am a kind person for the most part, but I have to admit that I was really disappointed to hear that he had survived and was still alive. I honestly, truly, deeply, wish that they would have killed him at the scene.<br /><br />~Regarding the victims. There are not enough words in this world to explain how I feel about the men and women that serve in our military. As a child of a career Army man, I saw firsthand the love that these people have for their country. They don't enlist to get good healthcare, or free college, those are just the perks. They enlist because they believe with their whole being that our country is a place worth fighting for, that our freedom is a thing worth dying for. The ultimate goal is to serve honorably, faithfully, steadfastly, and for them to know that because of their actions, their families back home go to bed each night in safety and freedom. The men and women in that room yesterday were no less of heroes in my eyes. They were men and women who were prepared to give their life for the country, and instead had it stolen away by a mad gunman. They have all my respect, all my honor, all my love. My hand is over my heart for them. I salute the flag for them. I tear up at Taps for them. They are my heroes.<br /><br />~Regarding the families. There are no words that can comfort. Please know that your country is behind you. Your country grieves with you.<br /><br />~Regarding Fort Hood. The odd thing is that we used to live there. When I was in middle school, my family lived on Fort Hood for about 18 months. I know the buildings they were talking about. I drove by that main gate. I know that place. It was a place of security. I never had to worry about my dad going to work there because we were in the States. We were on American soil, we were safe. My heart goes out to all the families there now that can no longer live with that sense of security.<br /><br />I don't have any witty way to wrap this post up. I will just close by saying that my thoughts and prayers are with the families and loved ones of those hurt and killed yesterday at Fort Hood.~Iferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14832422728405409763noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612982127991109906.post-63799324666551850912009-11-05T08:31:00.002-06:002009-11-05T08:35:56.608-06:00Tis the SeasonI saw the first Christmas decoration up in town yesterday, and it made me smile. I love love LOVE Christmas and all that it brings with it. The chance to buy the perfect present for the people you care about, the family, the times of togetherness, the songs, the decorations, the food, the warmth. Everything about the season is warm to me. Even living here in Southeast Texas, where the weather is NOT cold outside, the time of Christmas is still a time of "emotional snuggling under the blanket".<br /><br />I am also really looking forward to Thanksgiving this year again. Mike's side of the family is having a family get together, and I always love those. I don't know the people there really well, even after the years that we have been together, but it is always a time of family that I love to be a part of. Even the ones that don't know me really well are always so nice to me, or they pick on me and tease me, as the occasion calls for. And the food... oh my, the food.<br /><br />So what is your favorite part of the upcoming holidays? What makes your heart smile?~Iferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14832422728405409763noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612982127991109906.post-49127069202531824162009-11-04T16:12:00.002-06:002009-11-04T16:16:48.300-06:00NaBloPoMo<embed height="104" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" width="206" src="http://c2.static.ning.com/socialnetworkmain/widgets/index/swf/badge.swf?v=" wmode="opaque" flashvars="backgroundColor=0xF4F4F4&textColor=0x990000&config=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.nablopomo.com%2Fmain%2Fbadge%2FshowPlayerConfig%3F%26size%3Dsmall%26username%3D1de3yqx46e7m9" bgcolor="#F4F4F4" scale="noscale" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true"></embed><br /><small><a href="http://www.nablopomo.com/">Visit <em>NaBloPoMo</em></a></small><br /><small></small><br /><small>So I joined up for NaBloPoMo, otherwise known as National Blog Posting Month. It is an ongoing challenge to post once (at least) each day for a full calendar month. Now, I missed out on November, but I signed up anyhow, and I plan to try to fulfill this challenge in December. </small><br /><small></small><br /><small>The difference from IComLeavWe is that this one holds no obligation to posting comments on other blogs. This committment is to myself, a challenge to me to see if I can discipline myself into writing something EVERY day, even on weekends. So I look forward to this challenge.</small><br /><small></small><br /><small>And yes, it does add the blog to a blogroll so that people can visit and read if they choose to, but there are no obligations, and I like that.</small><br /><small></small><br /><small>This made me smile</small>~Iferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14832422728405409763noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612982127991109906.post-4728398543706835952009-11-04T15:13:00.003-06:002009-11-05T08:19:40.772-06:00NeglectedI will freely admit that I have neglected my blog for a while now. There have been reasons, and one reason has merged smoothly into the next, and then the next, and so it goes.<br /><br />I was sick for a few days, I fought demons of lethargy and apathy for a day, I took time away to be with the man I love.<br /><br />I have things building up inside my head that need to be said, and I will write about them soon. They are building up like water behind a very shaky dam, and they will be released as soon as I can line them up in a steady stream. I have to hold on to the dam of my thoughts for a bit longer, or you will be lost in the flood of thoughts and observations that will gush out.<br /><br />All that to say: I am sorry I have been away, I will be back soon, I have things to say.<br /><br />Thanks for sticking in there, my friends!~Iferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14832422728405409763noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612982127991109906.post-76218367157042312952009-10-29T08:22:00.002-05:002009-10-29T08:25:18.277-05:00Sum UpIt hasn't been a good week, and I am ready for the weekend.<br /><br />Actually, I have been ready for the weekend since Sunday morning. This week has been one of those that kicks you in the ass and leaves you lying in the puddle by the side of the road. <br /><br />And poor Mike has had to be the sounding board for my frustrations this week. He has been the support that has kept me going.<br /><br />No, not any one thing is wrong, I promise. Just one of those overall rough times, ya know?<br /><br />Someone wake me up when it's Friday afternoon, please :)~Iferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14832422728405409763noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612982127991109906.post-24186661249080059232009-10-27T08:19:00.002-05:002009-10-27T08:24:15.314-05:00A Little Bit of Blue October on a Tuesday<p>I wanted to share this video with you... it is from a few years ago, and it is the way that Blue October used to close their concerts. The honesty and "lay it all out there" attitude is what drew me to them in the first place. This video is composed of two songs, "Amazing", and "Weight of the World". "Weight of the World" is still my absolute all time favorite Blue October song, because of the raw emotion that I can hear... I hope you enjoy this...</p><p> </p><p>Note: There is a little bit of cussing in parts</p><p><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/vWwz9JTusiw&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/vWwz9JTusiw&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></p>~Iferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14832422728405409763noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612982127991109906.post-29957423301341299852009-10-23T11:34:00.002-05:002009-10-23T11:36:10.675-05:00PeaceI was reminded today of how much I love Snow Patrol's song "Chasing Cars"... especially the quiet peacefulness of the lyrics..<br /><br />"If I lay here, if I just lay here...would you lie with me and just forget the world"<br /><br />Off to forget the world with my sweetheart for a while...~Iferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14832422728405409763noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612982127991109906.post-8987089237185193482009-10-22T09:34:00.002-05:002009-10-22T10:03:49.462-05:00RandominityYes, I know that isn't a real word. But it is the made-up word that I use to describe that feeling of a million thoughts racing around inside my head. That state of not being able to pin a thought down. That frustration of wanting to write an entry for my blog, but having flittering, random thoughts buzzing around like a hive of bees. The state of randominity.<br /><br />When I am in Randominity, the only cure is to spew the thoughts out in one messy conglomerated entry that has no direction, no focus, no theme, it just IS.<br /><br />So here you go...<br /><br />~it is really raining today, and while I love the rain, it is so dark outside, and that is making it tough to wake up.<br />~I just made eye appointments for tomorrow afternoon, and I find those annoying<br />~I need to remember to put the new flea collar on the cat today.<br />~I feel like baking something this weekend, but I am not sure what I want to make<br />~I really want to be home right now, curled up under a blanket with Mike.<br />~Daylight savings is coming on Nov 1, and I am glad. I am tired of heading out to work when it is still semi-dark outside.<br />~I am hungry<br /><br />So what about you? For your comments today, share some of your randominity with me.~Iferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14832422728405409763noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3612982127991109906.post-47916007147698083452009-10-21T08:31:00.002-05:002009-10-21T08:33:48.315-05:00Try, Try AgainI have started three different entries so far this morning, with three different themes, and three different titles... but I can't focus.<br /><br />I took a sleeping pill last night to help me get some solid rest, and although it certainly did its job, I can't shake the groggies this morning.<br /><br />I decided not to do the product review. I don't know... if it was something I really wanted to do, I would not have been so conflicted about it.<br /><br />I hate the fog in my mind right now...~Iferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14832422728405409763noreply@blogger.com6