tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79142873197250086932024-02-07T03:55:33.815-08:00Life in the Slow Lane It's not quiet or dull here, just full and fascinating, with enough time to stop and study the world around us.barefootmommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488694483884903045noreply@blogger.comBlogger259125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7914287319725008693.post-90871865760625825842022-07-01T17:35:00.008-07:002022-07-01T17:57:33.341-07:00Love who is beside you.<p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="#"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEisu39lK-QN7hoEjGjOhchNMb0Kg-Mjh2r2W4_eGJzznxO8l5JlP0e8ofBpUFU4WM0bm0R6xWVhFQJ8s_r8SJoTlhVmQR2F7e2aO4IYhB3F0N56aG9-hMFk6t2sX4HI2azN-21Dsf863df0Hf8kEZrkZgGrazLm0TlTP_Kx3KsrhY6YcLJgnoALCWYL=w240-h320" /></a><br /><br /></div><span>As we dialogue today with one another about abortion, let us remember who is beside us.<br /><i><br />"For you were called to freedom, brothers. Only do not use your freedom as an opportunity for the flesh, but through love serve one another. For the whole law is fulfilled in one word: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” But if you bite and devour one another, watch out that you are not consumed by one another." Galatians 5:13-15<br /></i><br />Beside you are the mothers who lost babies through miscarriage before the date of viability. And yet the child was named and grieved.<br /><br />Beside you sits the woman making the payment for the medically coded "missed abortion" after hemorrhaging for 6 weeks due to an incomplete miscarriage... a woman wheeled into a D&C wondering if there could maybe be a heartbeat and terrified looking at the tools to be used on her as she fell asleep.<br /><br />Beside you are the women who faced an unplanned pregnancy at university and felt they had to choose between an education and motherhood, women whose own mothers and all around them felt the same quandary and made the same decision feeling they had no choice.<br /><br />Beside you sits the woman with an unfinished degree whose course was changed that day by her unplanned pregnancy, but was met with support upon announcing this child, and went on to make motherhood her vocation.<br /><br />Beside you sits the teen pregnancy, chosen with the boyfriend to keep, then bafflingly lost and grieved in quiet.<br /><br />Beside you sits the young woman violated by a man she should have been able to trust, terrified ever to bear a child.<br /><br />Beside you sits the mother who gladly carried her child and then was told late in pregnancy that termination was needed due to the child's incompatibility with life, and who grieves that child each day.<br /><br />Beside you sits another mother who was told while abroad to terminate due to a terminal fetal condition, but chose to carry and later lost that child, also beloved.<br /><br />Beside you sits the mother whose daughter and son were taken into foster care because of the addiction she could not break.<br /><br />And beside you sits the mother who adopted those children because she could not bear her own.<br /><br />Let us have compassion and love.</span><p></p>barefootmommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488694483884903045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7914287319725008693.post-14110844361566605952022-05-04T19:57:00.003-07:002022-05-04T21:46:40.250-07:005 Ways to Make Abortion Unnecessary or Obselete<p><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh5lHuKO-DKaM2PZEaDoYwJbjUhTzJtTZC5qXnVNZCGNvZ91XFhH69V82JTI4ti9rusobMwBjHANqns8rYC9cZTNklCoxKM0Z9UUfKS8o5hasTINy03vzQFTl3LryoWPPyfhy-XG8AHgvQZWF_voqiEfN4nYnldcEvI3mARS6o2S2YE3M_KDuiMYt0M" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh5lHuKO-DKaM2PZEaDoYwJbjUhTzJtTZC5qXnVNZCGNvZ91XFhH69V82JTI4ti9rusobMwBjHANqns8rYC9cZTNklCoxKM0Z9UUfKS8o5hasTINy03vzQFTl3LryoWPPyfhy-XG8AHgvQZWF_voqiEfN4nYnldcEvI3mARS6o2S2YE3M_KDuiMYt0M=w640-h426" width="640" /></a><br /> <br />There is controversy now more than ever over the issue of abortion and how it is handled by our government. Both those who support the right to abortion and those who do not, agree one one primary tenet. We all want to make abortion unnecessary or obsolete. </p><p>The following ideas seem expensive and they are. Being a human takes resources. We are the wealthiest nation in the world. When we support parents and families through our tax dollars, or through funding of private charitable non governmental organizations (NGOs), our economy grows and our standard of living increases. When we pretend that living does not cost money or take resources, and that a person in poverty or in crisis of some sort can simply make things work without support, we lie to one another and to ourselves. <br /><br />When we change our paradigm and accept care for our fellow men and women, we indeed can make abortion unnecessary and obsolete. What if we implemented change in our society in the following 5 areas? What might happen? </p><p><br />1) Normalize babies in the work place, whether through babywearing on the job by both parents, or through federally subsidized or NGO supported workplace childcare. Every human with a job was once a baby.<br /><br />2) Normalize babies, families and single parents in universities and yes, mainstream non-alternative high schools. Subsidize in-school child care. If we want people to learn at all costs, child care is worth the cost for the sake of future generations.</p><p>4) Normalize parenting as a viable vocation for both men and women, supporting single income family wages through tax incentives for both families and employers.<br /><br />5) For every federal dollar spent on STD testing and treatment, pregnancy testing and women's health screening at Planned Parenthood, earmark $10, or one dollar for each of the following services through a federally funded organization or NGO:<br /><span><br /></span></p><p><span>A. Mental health counseling and treatment</span></p><p>B. Food security for at risk people</p><p>C. Subsidized Adoption</p><p>D. In-patient and out patient substance abuse treatment and detox</p><p>E. Shelter, treatment, counsel and support for victims of sexual assault, domestic violence and trafficking </p><p>F. Free, easily obtained OB-GYN and pediatric care</p><p>G. Parenting education and support</p><p>H. Shelter and care for homeless or at risk teens,</p><p>I . Long term, easily obtained housing for young parents and their children. </p><p>J. Fully funded foster and respite care<br /><br />Instead of being divided and shouting over one another, what if we listen? What if we put our time, money, resources and hearts where our words are? What if we work together to end abortion in our own communities, beginning by supporting the people most at risk of turning toward it as a last resort? <br /><br />What if we worked together to make abortion largely irrelevant to modern life? <br /><br />What are some other ways humanity can work together toward this end?</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /> <p></p>barefootmommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488694483884903045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7914287319725008693.post-45196833442365297752022-03-08T22:33:00.007-08:002022-03-08T22:46:45.276-08:00A New Family Member<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjnlhAByUUBJWkno00gfV80a5QMQak2sq5AX8WGBCRNT8Fz15O8JPDZ5cyD8tyLUSHXF38oMBZPgERWkpu1LOYlFzUZUqCe55TCi81hAdBeuiWMtZuQm3KrMKd98LDRWHH-_xm7nn2mxy2wP7A-egYGwyGbxUqmsnyScikrNunYgHaXAyvc6hn3pTV7=s1440" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjnlhAByUUBJWkno00gfV80a5QMQak2sq5AX8WGBCRNT8Fz15O8JPDZ5cyD8tyLUSHXF38oMBZPgERWkpu1LOYlFzUZUqCe55TCi81hAdBeuiWMtZuQm3KrMKd98LDRWHH-_xm7nn2mxy2wP7A-egYGwyGbxUqmsnyScikrNunYgHaXAyvc6hn3pTV7=w400-h400" width="400" /></a></div> <br /><div><div class="MOdxS" style="-webkit-box-align: stretch; -webkit-box-direction: normal; -webkit-box-orient: vertical; align-items: stretch; border: 0px solid rgb(0, 0, 0); box-sizing: border-box; display: inline; flex-direction: column; flex-shrink: 0; font-stretch: inherit; font-variant-east-asian: inherit; font-variant-numeric: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; position: relative; vertical-align: baseline;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Yep! Alyssa is going to be a Donnelson and I am going to get an amazing daughter in law. Isaac, you picked the most kind-hearted, hard working, loving, tough, smart, faith-filled girl to be your future wife. We are so excited for the years ahead.<br /><br /><br />And I will always tell the story of how I threw an engagement announcement party without realizing it. Seriously. We were going to have a family dinner and we decided to make it extra fun by having pizza and ice cream, and Isaac showed up with a dollar store balloon and various assorted decor, Alyssa saying that they were throwing a random pointless party. Not until Isaac asked me if I wanted to know what they did on Sunday did I get a clue. No tuxedo favors or diamond studded congratulations balloon did it, it was my son suddenly getting that twinkle in his eye and I knew he wasn't going to be joking this time. "You got engaged?!!"<br />"YEP!"<br /><br />We love you both so much. Congratulations. Keep Jesus and a lot of prayer at the center of your marriage and you will make it through the hardest of times. <3<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhJnxaWj9RB8nFUbU7-NmxS8NzKquhr9QTM6Fjuw21RGCijOQFmWjUiCA3nys9sXBZ3gvXRWNMmGQaiUsEzJd-m3166XxZMCga7TvJgs4nvP-jqVAnK4fyMthWSUtsaERgsowcq2Jgn7fwazOYIP7k3SP7yaCfA0CoPVDWuYAvcYztaP5lz4kuyQL_v=s1440" style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, "system-ui", "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhJnxaWj9RB8nFUbU7-NmxS8NzKquhr9QTM6Fjuw21RGCijOQFmWjUiCA3nys9sXBZ3gvXRWNMmGQaiUsEzJd-m3166XxZMCga7TvJgs4nvP-jqVAnK4fyMthWSUtsaERgsowcq2Jgn7fwazOYIP7k3SP7yaCfA0CoPVDWuYAvcYztaP5lz4kuyQL_v=w640-h640" width="640" /></a></div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, "system-ui", "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgWWqv4AIMh9HQqv14k0th_pqK14yP_sN64FpPi-72vYTZV_vM3Wk4ALS5X7uDvuhu-jz47YFpLvleO-93iZygRUlrplRtqEKy5wAVdcunkt1V7G-eEZM3MvSjc4N4O4opudXieEIsbQRLNj8omtAG24ufqc4K8daxA6I8Z2UGOuOE4Q1BjH5YluID7=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgWWqv4AIMh9HQqv14k0th_pqK14yP_sN64FpPi-72vYTZV_vM3Wk4ALS5X7uDvuhu-jz47YFpLvleO-93iZygRUlrplRtqEKy5wAVdcunkt1V7G-eEZM3MvSjc4N4O4opudXieEIsbQRLNj8omtAG24ufqc4K8daxA6I8Z2UGOuOE4Q1BjH5YluID7=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, "system-ui", "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgfZV5o07_9iwcvWTvLwDSWAlzFjRePGSczFvmb0JHhx2FtnUDVgU8JeGbgfr0XpUuI7kCvhhtMi_nqoHbzGzTqqFOdYUc9VVLhQ6cDtPVzzwN_JvKqufhyF7DXz9zpZ8P5m3V2kLRaTKPPSjUgwAH0xIdbXnsrHCJSAv5DqURe4BpPZ1UOJkqCjTDD=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgfZV5o07_9iwcvWTvLwDSWAlzFjRePGSczFvmb0JHhx2FtnUDVgU8JeGbgfr0XpUuI7kCvhhtMi_nqoHbzGzTqqFOdYUc9VVLhQ6cDtPVzzwN_JvKqufhyF7DXz9zpZ8P5m3V2kLRaTKPPSjUgwAH0xIdbXnsrHCJSAv5DqURe4BpPZ1UOJkqCjTDD=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="background-color: white; clear: both; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, "system-ui", "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjFP3q3VMldF0-Ih7GUcKme9lkvBBJ2WSffs_prQ4ptxRut57LXLJNYYPIC1dUA2V2WGlexnkXia8A3dD3NDxGzLHwT-q-2SVOPkN1sq_M105JcZW0mOtXD6qPhT3rYVr2mQ3o6jVCsEAi1CF8CRR7sgLoUsBeZ8sZ0ZWozkdG4EC8N58Jb_yacUxHh=s4032" style="margin-left: 1em; 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clear: both; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, "system-ui", "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><span class="_7UhW9 xLCgt MMzan KV-D4 se6yk T0kll" color="rgba(var(--i1d,38,38,38),1)" face="-apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #262626; display: inline; font-family: -apple-system, "system-ui", "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-stretch: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: 18px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></div></div>barefootmommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488694483884903045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7914287319725008693.post-44656859934749906352022-03-03T00:00:00.013-08:002022-03-03T08:19:19.232-08:00Trusty Steed<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg9c1XaLUyk8Us3J0C8k1_RX4-rCINUdCehSCpmEXOKzYgIoH-OtR4lDFJLQDl6YX6b8jxpzbrf2-VEUDTptEPClqOZ5wlHgY1h9znQUYndpCXMIcJPCubiupyaP7U6hbhAUmDoiAY0rkTAyVn28OJB-KRyhpHt_yU0rE_S1xHv4CCwDrIr2ohiq14t=s4320" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2432" data-original-width="4320" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg9c1XaLUyk8Us3J0C8k1_RX4-rCINUdCehSCpmEXOKzYgIoH-OtR4lDFJLQDl6YX6b8jxpzbrf2-VEUDTptEPClqOZ5wlHgY1h9znQUYndpCXMIcJPCubiupyaP7U6hbhAUmDoiAY0rkTAyVn28OJB-KRyhpHt_yU0rE_S1xHv4CCwDrIr2ohiq14t=w640-h360" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">195,418 miles and almost 14 years. We bought our 2007 Toyota Sienna in 2008 with 28,596 miles on it. I was pregnant with our youngest when we bought it, and this is the only car that we have had that fit our family of 7. I'm not a person of numbers, but maybe saying goodbye to a really great car makes you nostalgic in ways you aren't normally. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Scrapping our minivan closes the formative years of our family. We bought it when our family was complete, and we say goodbye to it when our family is nearly all grown. Our 3 legged dog named Koa passed away this year, and as he passed, I realized he helped raise our kids, giving them comfort in sad times, helping them feel safe, making them laugh and teaching them about compassion, love and loss.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> 194,418 miles in a vehicle means our blue minivan was there for us in its own way, our trusty steed carrying us through each milestone, adventure, heart to heart conversation, and every mundane errand. It was there when our youngest was born, carrying her to her firsts of almost everything. It was there for countless homeschool field trips, first and last days of school, regular class days, band concerts, football, basketball and soccer games, track and cross country meets, proms, homecoming, graduations and trips to college. It drove us through Death Valley, Yellowstone, to many camping trips, Las Vegas, Los Angeles, Disneyland, San Francisco, the Redwoods, the Oregon and Washington Coast, Leavenworth, Lake Tahoe, Silverwood in Idaho, WSU and Eastern Washington University.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj7QSPQsjhrG6JMzjw8isG3Ta8X1VOfCNPtg9lQaGOXqWTLbcdv1j2KB6XPRUGQ--5_zTsPSZB_8KyfcxeYDtAUyKTrqM1jmAw3SMP_KQqqmwUhf0i0FjCcEczdp_TZ_4BE9NLaJ9s3eL9n-7nJJeIJ2thHAR-0035yddjaRDAZH2hDkyvX_hNzDIJb=s4288" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4288" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj7QSPQsjhrG6JMzjw8isG3Ta8X1VOfCNPtg9lQaGOXqWTLbcdv1j2KB6XPRUGQ--5_zTsPSZB_8KyfcxeYDtAUyKTrqM1jmAw3SMP_KQqqmwUhf0i0FjCcEczdp_TZ_4BE9NLaJ9s3eL9n-7nJJeIJ2thHAR-0035yddjaRDAZH2hDkyvX_hNzDIJb=w640-h426" width="640" /></a><br /><br />It took us to 4H meetings and fairs, hauling many tons of hay and feed, innumerable chickens, alpacas, fleeces and goats. It has taken us into town 7 times in a day and to Safeway and dozens of other stores thousands of times. It has taken us on hospital or nursing home visits and just down the street to see the grandparents. It has seen 4 brand new drivers grow in confidence and had run-ins with a community garden fence, our field fence, a ditch, the mechanic's car and my brother's car. (running into our field fence was the only one I did, haha). It has my son's name carved in it, a scrape across the side, bits of hay tucked into crevices and many missing interior parts. It endured many a kid temper tantrum, steely silent treatment, heated teenager discussion, and has carried many quiet tears. It has had its speakers nearly blown out with the volume of music and heard every type of song that can be sung at the top of one's lungs. It has carried joy and contagious laughs, hilarious jokes and so much happiness.<br /><br />It has taken kids to summer jobs, movie nights and sleepovers, volunteer opportunities and church. We have had many family "ussies" and kid selfies and the van has photobombed many a photo. Almost every friend has had a ride in it, with the final hurrah being a trip to the state championship cross country meet in Pasco. Maybe our minivan didn't raise us as a family, but it certainly helped to carry us. I am thankful for its faithful service. Goodbye Toyota Sienna with your pink peeling Hello Kitty sticker, doors you have to muscle open, musty smell and remarkable amount of interior square footage, We are thankful for you and love the years we spent with you rolling along with us. Much love to you, and may your parts keep many other trusty minivans running for years to come.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiSBgTcosyIrhEoKbjFQ1qLwO-zHaK0rO5Uy8RdVzitw76HjrXwyGqUkIw-BfzkC1aJq5kyccDLUl5MaTLd7FphcwPrLlUX9zHii7eNtf1sHqAOC44dm6WPPW44ca9dkr_eOYjeNah0YtpId7xMzsjx0mpdjhXeLhDl4o97bZFytZoDboU2LizPZLHE=s1600" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiSBgTcosyIrhEoKbjFQ1qLwO-zHaK0rO5Uy8RdVzitw76HjrXwyGqUkIw-BfzkC1aJq5kyccDLUl5MaTLd7FphcwPrLlUX9zHii7eNtf1sHqAOC44dm6WPPW44ca9dkr_eOYjeNah0YtpId7xMzsjx0mpdjhXeLhDl4o97bZFytZoDboU2LizPZLHE=w400-h300" width="400" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjx2KZ7ZZhHQ7bvgAta2mr_wX-OSXojaM-OoitzfBj-KQkBu2ClXPMrQb7ddEhPBycJwcLP2Z98qpLBx5lyZiqcRSGTzo7m6EDtTgTu6OuRd8P2rJkrFD09y4NRuCMLQwMX5YC1zxwcclERx1z6Dg61DXHx_igtUv9vgl_JNOldyJdhdrtNyVHDlOGJ=s4288" style="margin-left: 1em; 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text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh7iu8bPEhOsNHHneST17Ph720dzTL027reSxgjCEr37DjPpjPBV35aRoM9JYqIQCR_igvwNdDMsy2iRNWnfIn7e4aWb246sf4XQpVtqMZm5MzXBSUs3PRhaxlUf-NDo2kul3Zo1quaZMI42XK9fpa_NSesnJppCr9kAEolejlJBOF3vNAGvfqutpYG=s3065" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3065" data-original-width="1546" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh7iu8bPEhOsNHHneST17Ph720dzTL027reSxgjCEr37DjPpjPBV35aRoM9JYqIQCR_igvwNdDMsy2iRNWnfIn7e4aWb246sf4XQpVtqMZm5MzXBSUs3PRhaxlUf-NDo2kul3Zo1quaZMI42XK9fpa_NSesnJppCr9kAEolejlJBOF3vNAGvfqutpYG=w323-h640" width="323" /></a></div><p></p>barefootmommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488694483884903045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7914287319725008693.post-33734834089076775492020-08-11T00:09:00.000-07:002020-08-11T00:09:10.344-07:00Home<p><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmn-UFBvmtmntWNtWet7SFoBkLIhiRKyF6raB8eInAsqpnwQuyVqvKLJUKXFzxBEbMFB-9PSO3_mdxtOT3DyILScAmlpS9lOkJrQssFfQnC6ENDhQxkF7aBycjANtAW6c4dJnJhd7qQgw/s640/_D1A8203.jpg" width="640" /><br /><br />I am two versions of myself. I am the eager and curious learner, seeking new ways to know about God's great creation alongside of my kids, ready to consider new ways to discover and grow together. I am also the stalwart path keeper, fearful of leaving the trail I have traveled thus far, wary of missing the finish point, remembering failures and keeping them too closely.<br /><br />How do you raise a child? <br /><br />Who has taught anyone what the right way to go is except God, and even then it's confounding because I do what I do not want to do and so do they, and we all forget that there is a great Creator who has created these infinitely contradictory minds and souls that make us ourselves, and why can't we trust?<br /><br />It is easy to love. When they are born with their their fuzzy little ears, wrinkled foreheads and tiny toes, how can we not? When their tiny wail pierces our heart, we forget everything and they are just there and we are just theirs. <br /><br />And then it is night, and we are checking to see the rise and fall of their breath to be sure that we are doing that one thing right at least, even if we have been awoken by with the startling realization that we have no idea, no clue what is actually next.<br /><br />But then soon the morning daylight makes the breakfast table glow and they are there eating cereal with their halo of wild hair and joy makes the room radiant and we know this is what is next. We take hour long walks to go a fourth of a mile and find that angular chunks of gravel are some how the most mesmerizingly beautiful thing to a toddling person, and so we wonder with them about it all.<br /><br />And then it is night and there is the thought of letters and colors and are they speaking words or sentences yet? Did they chant too long while listening to the sound of their own voice or should they have crawled instead of scooted? And how did that one child read books at only 4? <br /><br />But the rooster crows at the dawn and a snuggly tiny person crawls right into the valley of pillows and it's clear that stories and endless works of art on copy paper are the way we will spend the waking hours ahead. Maybe it's time to gently teach sounds and there was that one workbook we were given.<br /><br />And then the sun sets and it is very dark indeed. Were those eyes crossing as a tiny hand gripped a crayon? Why did the shape of a sound on paper make no sense to this older one of mine? And who put me in charge anyway when all I feel is frustration and I sure wish my feelings could stay in a bubble so no one could sense them at all?<br /><br />But later comes another morning, and it is time to see the eye of that fly we picked off the window sill a hundred times larger, to cry with A Little Princess in England, and to learn the pain of children in our country's South treated far less than the fearfully, wonderfully made creation that they are. There are long division problems that are so miraculously correct that looking at answers twice is required. There is cursive learned in five different ways and somehow they learn to write down their stories. There are crochet projects for Japan, rubberband bracelets for Oso, and eventually young boys strong enough to lift the things I cannot budge, and prayers to have a good sleep, and "I love you, how much, all the world!" said probably said at least five thousand times each.</p><p><br />Years and decades ebb and flow with the tide of mornings and evenings and there are times that make me hold my breath, and others that make it hard to breathe. Sometimes my heart sinks, and sometimes I am sure it must not be working properly anymore, because how can a person live when their heart is walking around outside their body? <br /><br />But then comes the day when a pounding on the door brings a grown son home safe, a daughter chooses to keep company on even the dullest of errands, a son towering over you says "can you just hug me?", a no longer tiny girl sidles in for a rare snuggle during a special kindred moment shared, and a strong tall girl speaks up loud for a quiet one. <br /><br />Then, the words right there in my hallway, copied carefully from the Word in chalk come alive: <br /><br />"And Elisha prayed, “Open his eyes, Lord, so that he may see.” Then the Lord opened the servant’s eyes, and he looked and saw the hills full of horses and chariots of fire all around Elisha. <br /> <br />I was praying these words for my children when maybe they were for me.<br /><br />I do not know how you raise a child, but I know they do get raised, with the fierceness of the protection of a thousand fiery horses and chariots, and with the peace that defies understanding when our eyes are opened to see we are not alone. There will be another morning and even another night, and maybe if I can always remember to keep on looking for the hidden, fiery light, it's ok if the two versions of myself are one.<br /><br /></p>barefootmommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488694483884903045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7914287319725008693.post-11379244645594706462017-03-26T15:31:00.000-07:002017-03-26T15:36:40.660-07:00Growing in the Valley<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzX1j3zbztuBAjL3KClzoY46W6K90HqUoPdFEtP_S7X8XPaen3xvDYkyhu5yNIXKiSj6Idym7euZTtDh2YhS1iKoz6lsfDWjOES9cHf3uQI6K6HAzTU19YeeFLx_yzNX0r_mO_9Q5eKac/s1600/_D1A9192.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzX1j3zbztuBAjL3KClzoY46W6K90HqUoPdFEtP_S7X8XPaen3xvDYkyhu5yNIXKiSj6Idym7euZTtDh2YhS1iKoz6lsfDWjOES9cHf3uQI6K6HAzTU19YeeFLx_yzNX0r_mO_9Q5eKac/s640/_D1A9192.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>A paraglider jumps off Blanchard Mountain into the Skagit Valley in Washington State</i></td></tr>
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"It's in the valley where growth happens." This was part of today's message at church. It's interesting how accurate an illustration it really is when you think about the natural world. The point of saying this was to say that even though pinnacle, mountain top spiritual experiences are awesome, we really grow and can help others grow too in the hard and challenging times. <br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN-LKzFezpEjJW2aOWEBbAmOU0l4hNfzlIDHvqDqkCyZxn5RF3nL_9SOuX2LKFLM1HNF1WPHJwsXNTQ-DNKChq6ps44_yyZVByq5zVLOKvyUlVhmAav3tatIFAd0mMqm9ddCaqvzfsp0c/s1600/_D1A9182.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN-LKzFezpEjJW2aOWEBbAmOU0l4hNfzlIDHvqDqkCyZxn5RF3nL_9SOuX2LKFLM1HNF1WPHJwsXNTQ-DNKChq6ps44_yyZVByq5zVLOKvyUlVhmAav3tatIFAd0mMqm9ddCaqvzfsp0c/s640/_D1A9182.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Atop Oyster Dome on Blanchard Mountain </i></td></tr>
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When you think about an actual mountain top and a valley ecologically, there isn't a lot of growth that happens high on the mountain. The winds and rains and snows wash away the topsoil and leach the nutrients. As a result, the things that grow there are slow-growing and stunted, resulting in a really beautiful view for anyone who visits up there. It's inspiring and even necessary in life to be able to go somewhere to be energized and to be able to look at things from afar, but after a while, there's not much you can do there. If you were a cedar tree, you couldn't grow tall and strong. If you were a garden, you wouldn't be able to grow. <br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZEx4NMetG-0Z5slvNUYS0s5N2UGnL8lQFygGb8savo9SuJPuIn6geGg8BUXrxmI7e86Kr-Ium4qA8mbB9FAg3xCq193-JgrKDfQFy5XmzDMRZzEw-1OVKKjgb0xheZHf8Qgba4i0CGQE/s1600/_D1A6249.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZEx4NMetG-0Z5slvNUYS0s5N2UGnL8lQFygGb8savo9SuJPuIn6geGg8BUXrxmI7e86Kr-Ium4qA8mbB9FAg3xCq193-JgrKDfQFy5XmzDMRZzEw-1OVKKjgb0xheZHf8Qgba4i0CGQE/s640/_D1A6249.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>In Makaha Valley, the place I grew up in Hawaii </i></td></tr>
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But back down in the valley is where the rains washed all the nutrients and where the silt has collected all the good fertility of the mountain. It's there that you can grow fields of corn or wheat and they will thrive. It might be harder work in the valley because not only will the crops grow, so will all the weeds, but you can remember when you stood on the mountaintop imagining what those fields could look like, and all they could produce, and you are able to carry on. <br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL0aM7QnvUG645ivXiLgOqIplhY41gno_E05L4CjL3kXgsivByVq8qbMOLHvfDy-QzNbbK-Fd1-MuanDid7HHskNWhFxuZHe5wrHmtVRoI62ipCQoZC9wPVNk0SMSI70LTlu6P91swXfY/s1600/OD1A8757.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL0aM7QnvUG645ivXiLgOqIplhY41gno_E05L4CjL3kXgsivByVq8qbMOLHvfDy-QzNbbK-Fd1-MuanDid7HHskNWhFxuZHe5wrHmtVRoI62ipCQoZC9wPVNk0SMSI70LTlu6P91swXfY/s640/OD1A8757.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Makaha Valley Stream </i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8OG8ubiP7KI9CN4wHnHdxunwxOXElGuBhdirxXEW7a78xvvYTFAHl3TkaE8jKiALytWHFuKUF0Ck9uv_ZzlvXhgbfcPBuSjeDQULzMk24B9nGp5SLgwxdBPCcbh-wSSvw2TpLMF7cCWE/s1600/_D1A6252wm.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><i><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8OG8ubiP7KI9CN4wHnHdxunwxOXElGuBhdirxXEW7a78xvvYTFAHl3TkaE8jKiALytWHFuKUF0Ck9uv_ZzlvXhgbfcPBuSjeDQULzMk24B9nGp5SLgwxdBPCcbh-wSSvw2TpLMF7cCWE/s640/_D1A6252wm.jpg" /></i></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small; text-align: start;">Makaha Valley </span></i></td></tr>
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In the same way, humpback whales give birth to their babies in the safe and clear water of the pacific ocean near Hawaii. It is warm and the weather is good. Mothers can easily nurture their babies, but if they remain there long enough, the mothers will starve to death because they need food and their babies are nursing and taking much from them. There are not rich amounts of plankton and krill to feed them in those clear waters. <br /><br />Mother and baby make the long, hard journey north to the waters off of Alaska where baby and mom can eat. It's colder and maybe not as beautiful as the clear blue ocean and skies of Hawaii, but it is where they can grow. The mother can teach her baby how to handle storms and avoid predators and they can look out for the other animals that live around them. And then the cycle can begin again with the next generation. <br /><br />I know I have had lovely times where I seem to visibly recognize the hand of God directing the symphony of my life, but most of the time, stuff seems really normal and hard. <br /><br />It is comforting to know that the ways God cares for us is directly reflected in the systems he has set in place in nature and that the more I learn about His creation, the more I will understand how he is working in my life. Let us all be reminded to draw on the inspiration gained on the mountaintop and keep up the hard mud-slogging work of living out life in the valley, because that can be really beautiful too. <br /><br /><br />.<br /><br /><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="3om5q" data-offset-key="bum85-0-0" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: pre-wrap; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
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barefootmommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488694483884903045noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7914287319725008693.post-59564396468313521042016-11-12T13:33:00.000-08:002016-11-12T13:33:29.153-08:00On being haoleI think each and every human being on earth has had a joke made at our expense, especially during childhood. Maybe some kid pulled out the chair from under you in second grade, and you fell flat on your tailbone in embarrassment. Maybe that kid you had a crush on in the fifth grade took a look at your teeth and declared you to be buck toothed. (yes, these examples are loosely based on my own experiences.) Maybe your kids have experienced the same. That's the meanness of kids, and we work hard as parents to teach our kids to take the high road and never want to be the parent of the bully. <br />
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Have you ever had someone take a look at you, and not see just you, but an entire group of people.... not just that group, but a caricature of that group, or a generalization based on their personal idea of that group? Again, I'm sure most of us have. As a Christian, I have had many people deride conservative Christians, and look point blank at me and say, "but not you." But that's not the generalization that struck deepest.<br />
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I was born in American Samoa, the tow-headed daughter of Indiana born and raised caucasian parents. We moved to Hawaii when I was still a baby, so it has always been my other home, even though I've now lived in the mainland just as long as I lived there. I was so blonde that tourists from Japan asked to take my picture and my parents saved a copy of National Geographic with a nordic girl on the cover who looked just like me. I'm as white as it gets. <br />
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I was raised in a nurturing family on the West Side of O'ahu. My dad was an elementary school teacher on the Waianae coast and my mom worked in Honolulu as a legal secretary. I was also very dorky. I had bunny rabbit teeth and most of the kids at school called me teacher's pet because I liked to get my work done, and sometimes the teacher used it as an example. I was also very shy. Kids regularly called me buck tooth, and haole, and many wanted to know when I was going back to the mainland. I ended up gravitating toward mainland kids, because they were nice to me, but they always moved away. And there I was. <br />
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I had the honor of having a part in the annual May day pageant showing the prince and princesses of each the Hawaiian Islands. I was cast as a missionary. I only began to wonder recently if people looked at me in a negative light as walked up beaming with one of the few other white kids in the school. Hawaii was united in 1795 under a Hawaiian king--Kamehameha, shortly after the first Europeans happened upon the islands. In the meanwhile, the Hawaiian population was decimated by foreign diseases they had no immunity to. American missionaries came to share the Christian faith with the people of Hawaii. Tragically, their children turned from their mission of service and became involved in an overthrow of the monarchy in 1893. Native Hawaiians were relegated to areas that were less profitable and foreigners took the other land for plantations and business areas. In 1959, after much fear of invasion by various countries, Hawaii became the 50th state of the Union. <br />
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So when one looks back objectively, one can see that of course there would be mistrust of white people. Even today, the wealthiest areas of the islands tend to be dominated by non-native people. But you cannot explain this to a shy young child, that a tumultuous and tragic 200 year history with people of European descent may be the reason she feels ostracized. In fact, the very kids who made the flippant remarks to me based upon my skin most likely did not think much about why they had a disdain for people who looked like me. It was likely something they overheard that may have been based in very real and painful experiences endured by their family members and friends. "Haole" is a Hawaiian word that merely refers to the fact that someone is different than you and may come from another land. Over time, it became a negative, a way to bottle up the anger at injustices endured, and was perpetuated. I don't think it was ok that people use the word in this way, but I do completely understand it. <br />
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The difference between the word "haole" and the kinds of language tossed around by people in the mainland in reference to African Americans, Hispanics, Native Americans, Asians, people who are gay, etc, is that it refers to a person in the position of power. Although our country was founded on premises of freedom, the undercurrent of imperialism and domination over other cultures and peoples has in recent years again risen to the surface and must be acknowledged, whether we personally perpetuate it or not. Indeed, if we do not acknowledge it, we take part in its continuing. <br /><br />I'm reminded of a 1997 song by the Indigo Girls:<br /><br />"Let's go road block trippin in the<br />middle of the night up in Gainesville town<br />There'll be blue lights flashing down the long dirt road when they ask me to step out<br />They say we be looking for illegal immigrants can we check your car<br />I say you know it's funny I think we were on the same boat back in 1694<br />I said oo la la<br />shame on you"<br /><br />The original european settlers who came to the americas were looking for freedom and a fresh start. Many came as indentured servants who worked their way to freedom. Eventually, the human penchant for greed overtook many people in power and the millions of Native Americans who were already here were treated as less than human in order that the kind of treatment they endured could be justified. The same occurred when slaves were brought from Africa. The same happened as manifest destiny was carried out and the USA pushed its way across the continent and into surrounding oceans. The USA was populated with immigrants, some of whom in turn proceeded to suppress for others the very freedoms they were seeking. Even though the USA no longer continues to expand, we can see in our trade policy, that corporations do not have qualms about taking advantage of impoverished peoples in order to make products for the least cost possible to consumers. In the same way, undocumented workers and other migrants do the labor jobs that we do not want to do in the farm and service industries, and they are often treated as an annoyance.<br />
<br />How did this happen? How can you look at a young mother and tell her that she must give up her son for sale? How do you tell another young mother that she must leave her home walk with her children 1,200 miles on foot to territory you have allocated for her? How can we ask people to work 18 hours in a factory to build something that is made to break the first day we use it? How can we be so concerned about healthy living and then ask farm workers to be subject to toxic levels of pesticides?<br />
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It happens when we remove ourselves from the consequences of our actions by allowing politicians and corporations to do the dirty work. It happens when in passing, a comment is made about "those immigrants who just want to live on welfare" and no one taking a moment to check that argument. It happens when people say they are offended by the gay agenda or black lives matter movement. It happens when we look at a mass exodus of human beings from repressive government and do not take them into the safety of our land. It happens when we look at a woman seeking a position of leadership and see her as weak or out of place, and instead choose a man, and it likewise happens when in popular culture we portray men as bumbling and hormone driven.<br /><br />So if that's how it happens, how does it end? It ends when we become involved in local politics, from the school district, to the city, the state and beyond. It happens when we do not understand a group of people and take the time to research the history of that group, and why they may feel so angry, fearful or misunderstood. It happens when we choose to end the cycle of history by remembering things that happened in times before our great grandparents and vow to fight against them happening again. It happens when we vote with our dollars, by being aware of what kind of working conditions they support. It happens when we remember that our children go to school with immigrants and we have family members and friends who are part of the LGBTQ community and when we demand kind and understanding treatment of those people around us. It happens when women and men partner in leadership, honoring one another in their strengths, and complementing one another in their weaknesses.<br />
<br />It happens when we really see our African American friends, who are likely descended from people who only 150 years ago were traded as property, and fight our hardest so that not one of their grandchildren is ordered to "go back to Africa." It happens when we set aside fears and allow refugees to live among us, and when we smile into the eyes of a person wearing middle eastern dress. It happens when we stand with the first peoples of the lands our country represents and say that we see them, that we hear them and we support them when they say they want to look after the land we live in. It happens when we live what Genesis 2:15 says: "The LORD God took the man and put him in the Garden of Eden to work it and take care of it. <br /><br /> For those who are Christians, the command is clear, but the ideas extends to people of all religious or non-religious persuasions:<br /><br />“Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?” 37 And Jesus replied to him, “ ‘You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.’ 38 This is the first and greatest commandment. 39 The second is like it, ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself [that is, unselfishly seek the best or higher good for others].’ 40 The whole Law and the [writings of the] Prophets depend on these two commandments.”<br /><br />Every year, our local schools do an anonymous "healthy youth survey." It attempts to understand how our youth make the the choice between healthy and unhealthy living. One of the most profound things I learned by looking through the statistics was that children are more likely to engage in destructive behaviors if they believe society condones them, and most especially if they believe their parents approve of them. So this is how we change society: by how we ourselves live and interact with one another. Our children are watching. There's a reason for that Bible verse that says "Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old, he will not depart from it." Our kids aren't going to be little clones of us, but their lives will in many ways reflect the many every day interactions they witness. <br /><br />On the eve of the election, I was talking with a friend, and she was wrestling with how we live in the fallout of this toxic election cycle. She mentioned that simple little reminder that many of us churchy types learned as kids: What would Jesus do? Jesus related to people in stories and questions. He was stern and clear in His words, and rarely became physically angry, except in the case of the money changers in the temple. He helped everyone he could and lived by example. He ate with those others considered deplorable. He touched those others considered to be dirty. He pointed out hypocrisy but lived in humility. <br /><br />As I have been wrestling over the past week with how I personally as a mom, a wife and a citizen should respond to the current political situation, I am reminded, as many others are too, that I must begin in my own home. In my home, my children should be above reproach in the way they speak of others. They should treat their family and extended family with honor. I should treat them in turn with respect and take time to listen to their fears, frustrations and concerns, and I should also take the time to explain why certain levels of respect and honor are due to others. In the ways I speak of my neighbors and even those I am frustrated with, I should be careful to avoid assumption and generalization, and instead I should extend grace, forgiveness and love. I should live by example in my community and circle of friends, and I should step out of those areas to understand others better. <br /><br />Mostly, I want to, as a haole, use my position of power I did not earn as a force for good. I want to work toward a world in which white is not synonymous with all kinds of pejoratives but instead with love and kindness. I want to work toward a world where no child is asked to go home or called a racial slur. I am thankful for the painful experiences I had in the early elementary school years, because they helped me to see the pain that exists when people are treated as less than equal.<br />I am thankful for all the love and Aloha I felt in Hawaii as I headed into my upper elementary and middle school years. As I grew older, it was very rare to encounter racial generalization and mainly all I experienced was love. It is this kind of love that I want to extend in my life, and it is this kind of love that I hopes spreads contagiously through my home, our town, our country and the world. Let's live in love. barefootmommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488694483884903045noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7914287319725008693.post-17730645600620470112015-10-25T22:45:00.000-07:002015-10-25T23:28:43.549-07:00What if we don't all need to be elite? <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq7COw5omJgc6SBAfzUKNt0m1ydhFP67xbP3IlffTuzl3TVKi64-e9pl2a1C2LELHflC7Of730HDwTzf5G0bm33aiy3JYHx-S9-dIVMe2W5A-vPi_8LdmLDfqFPOM1EhKGpu0wiwSLLe8/s1600/_D1A7318wm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="412" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq7COw5omJgc6SBAfzUKNt0m1ydhFP67xbP3IlffTuzl3TVKi64-e9pl2a1C2LELHflC7Of730HDwTzf5G0bm33aiy3JYHx-S9-dIVMe2W5A-vPi_8LdmLDfqFPOM1EhKGpu0wiwSLLe8/s640/_D1A7318wm.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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I'm entering the frustrating and exhilarating world of youth sports rather reluctantly and a bit late in the game it seems. I've got two boys; middle school and early high school aged. We live in a small town where sports are big. Kids start playing tackle football in their early elementary years and are doing all the other sports from kindergarten on. If sports is not what you do from the cradle, it seems, whenever you decide to jump in, you already feel behind, especially if your parents are like me. My entire experience in the athletics world consists of 2 seasons of middle school volleyball on the C team and being mildly obsessed with running 6 years ago.<br />
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My boys are hard wired for athletics. Their grandpa and dad and cousins were all avid athletes in school, and it turns out that when they hit their middle school years, sports became all they could talk about too. No longer could I play the "I don't want to be cold" mama card. I had to let them play some sports: yes, even if they were out of doors and I had to plan appropriate clothing, I had to dive in right alongside them and learn what a girdle was, and whether a jock strap was actually necessary. <br />
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Thankfully, a dear friend of mine has some kids who are equally sport obsessed, and she has been my sports doula of sorts. A doula is a person who helps a woman in childbirth. It's a bit like that entering the sports and teen parenting world, and she and a few other core moms in my life have helped me to retain my sanity while allowing me to grill them on what's normal and what's expected. I even have texted directly with her son, a senior in high school, and then bragged to some acquaintances that I was "texting all the senior athletes" for advice. I neglected to say that I was actually texting <i>all the senior athletes I actually knew</i>, which was one, and my daughter, who's a junior, called my bluff on that one. <br />
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I remember my eldest boy decided to play basketball for a boys and girls club team back in 4th or 5th grade, and I thought that was pretty awesome, having come from a Hoosier family and all, and him being tall, that it would be a fun and exciting experience all around. I was in for a shock: somehow all the children were supposed to be NBA level, and if they were not, well, they just wouldn't ever get the ball. It was an odd experience, especially since only a small minority of the children had even hit puberty, and last I remembered, you needed to be an adult to be a professional basketball player. There were parents filming and yelling at kids and the meanest kid on the team was the star player and therefore was the one who carried the ball. We didn't do basketball again for a while. <br />
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We had a brief stint with baseball, but found the games too boring and cold (well, I did), and then we left the sports scene all together and did some Taekwondo. Positive attitude, respect for self and others, hard work and athleticism were core to it, and though the kids didn't ever go knock down some bad guys attacking them in the alley, I did see their stature rise a bit. They looked people in the eye and made new friends, listened with respect to their instructor and had fun. So what was the difference? <br />
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As I emerge from my first season of tackle football for my boys, I am beginning to understand. If instead of worrying about being the best, we notice what we have learned, how much we have improved, and how much fun we had, we will find so much more joy in athletics, and really any other aspect of life. <br />
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Being highly skilled in athletics, academics, music, or any other vocation is worthy of high esteem. When I mastered the manual settings on my camera, I was proud, and it took hard work to get there. Likewise, if my boy makes a good tackle after practicing hard for hours on end, he should be well satisfied in his good work. <br />
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There's a word for the select sports teams called "elite" and it's not my favorite, because it tacitly implies that there is another class to the sports world, and that you may never be able to break through that glass ceiling. Kids start to believe that somehow it is an embarrassment to play sports if you do not play on an elite team or a high school JV or Varsity team, or if you have not played a sport your entire life. Thankfully, my kids have debunked this myth and have experienced some of the same joys in conventional sports (especially this football season) that they enjoyed in their Taekwondo class, but they have not done it without some reservations.<br />
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This is where we need to encourage change in the culture of childhood: instead of pushing our children to be elite, let us encourage them to enjoy what they do, to work hard at it, and to take great satisfaction in that work. I think we'll have fewer sports "dropouts," higher caliber sports teams, and much happier kids.barefootmommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488694483884903045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7914287319725008693.post-44764809109280885252015-10-23T15:37:00.002-07:002015-10-25T23:04:12.736-07:00A Freshly Mopped Floor<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiQ_hO_Ku5dCIda9bYHnXyHiCcGcUYDOVSHkKkEOpLbMyicavJjjZscVHoN3BgxUTtXzdGSUh8DZBUTk-30OVzqZrvy5kKjLuotv0ooI5g1boNxfIsoubI2ja_7gxuXLyuWyLP4idfQ3w/s1600/_D1A7411wm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiQ_hO_Ku5dCIda9bYHnXyHiCcGcUYDOVSHkKkEOpLbMyicavJjjZscVHoN3BgxUTtXzdGSUh8DZBUTk-30OVzqZrvy5kKjLuotv0ooI5g1boNxfIsoubI2ja_7gxuXLyuWyLP4idfQ3w/s640/_D1A7411wm.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Here's a poem I wrote a while ago about the joys of a freshly mopped floor. </span><br /><br /><br />
<i><b>A freshly mopped floor</b></i><br />
<br />
Pearl finish<br />
like<br />
new sheets;<br />
a warm eggshell.<br />
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Infinite nerve ends<br />
rest.<br />
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New beginnings;<br />
peace and clarity.<br />
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Optimism and plans;<br />
satisfaction.<br />
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Cool refreshment;<br />
a gentle embrace.<br />
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Grounding.<br />
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The kindness of a<br />
stone<br />
removed from a shoe.<br />
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The relief of<br />
standing<br />
in the rush<br />
of a cool stream.<br />
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barefootmommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488694483884903045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7914287319725008693.post-62055809573299399082014-11-17T22:28:00.000-08:002014-11-17T22:30:44.801-08:00Advocate for your bereaved loved ones: #Verizonfail<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKJEgwz1qbAm8iWzapGjAnZ01TUGU23ZXeT-kTdw7Fryh7ZpAPQQHPy-frdVs3J5ZyqwnPAaW_E0GKCUyXjhPKv07sH-L1OTgFwn4pMhhnmI6fawBKlP5ofsRDuOawaiCwZPLhTI3uXnM/s1600/CCI10112014+(1).jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKJEgwz1qbAm8iWzapGjAnZ01TUGU23ZXeT-kTdw7Fryh7ZpAPQQHPy-frdVs3J5ZyqwnPAaW_E0GKCUyXjhPKv07sH-L1OTgFwn4pMhhnmI6fawBKlP5ofsRDuOawaiCwZPLhTI3uXnM/s1600/CCI10112014+(1).jpg&container=blogger&gadget=a&rewriteMime=image%2F*" width="428" /></a></div>
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For all of you with recently bereaved family members, please be aware that they may need a really stubborn advocate when cancelling their loved one's cell phone bill, or even any other recurring bills they may have. <br />
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My husband's grandpa passed away and his uncle went into the Verizon store to change grandma's plan into his name. Uncle pays grandma's bills and because she is encountering memory loss, it's very important that he have full access to all of her accounts in order to better advocate for her. Verizon said they could add him to the plan, but told him that their plan was outdated and could not be continued. <br />
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The monthly bill PER PHONE skyrocketed from $16 to $60 per month. They then told him that they could not remove grandpa's phone because it wasn't due to expire until next year, and that there would be a cancellation fee, should he wish to remove the phone earlier. He didn't do anything further. After all, he was in the midst of grieving his own father's passing.<br />
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I happened to be at grandma's house so my little girls could enjoy her "how to draw" books, and saw Uncle poring over the Verizon bill, trying to figure out a way out. We decided that all three of us would call Verizon on speaker phone. <br />
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After 40 minutes, and much questioning as to whether people really do pay the cell phone bill for a deceased person, Verizon finally waived the cancellation fee. They took grandpa's phone off and gave Uncle and grandma back their old plan rate. Of course not before asking if there was any way they could get them to keep grandpa's phone active. Uncle didn't miss a beat and said: "Not unless you have a direct line to heaven!" <br />
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Bad form Verizon Wireless. Bad form.<br />
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So please be sure, especially if you're a little on the outskirts of the grieving, to check in with family members and see if they need help with any of their bills and loose ends. You just might help them avoid a first hand experience as to why some businesses just shouldn't get so big. The customer should ALWAYS be regarded as a human: a real human with pain and grief and family members who pass away and therefore cannot pay their bills.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoF-KDjJz9ueFzdBpVL7qKa8a6guw57IpoWBYSCpGPLvEwWnB1lffkatu1caURZmTuSMS6hoaStpPKCVgoBB2h1KV-askk6Rlxk5zHOsbZFrFSRFV6cfqCZFg-h_fKHB_pQz6HgKHoVKw/s1600/_D1A9567wm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoF-KDjJz9ueFzdBpVL7qKa8a6guw57IpoWBYSCpGPLvEwWnB1lffkatu1caURZmTuSMS6hoaStpPKCVgoBB2h1KV-askk6Rlxk5zHOsbZFrFSRFV6cfqCZFg-h_fKHB_pQz6HgKHoVKw/s1600/_D1A9567wm.jpg" height="640" width="426" /></a></div>
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<i>"Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch, marry 'tis enough." --Mercutio, in </i>Romeo and Juliet<br />
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Friday afternoon the weekend loomed glorious in my mind. I had finished my day's work and was outside doing a little weeding before heading inside to make dinner and launch into the sunny days ahead. Distracted by the billions of forget-me-nots that had sprung up like weeds, I didn't see a very sharp twig of my lilac bush, which proceeded to jab me in the eye, as if to poke fun at all the plans I had ahead. I had actually done this to myself before, and thought I could breathe through it, sort of like going through childbirth or something. <br />
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An hour later there was still the same excrutiating pain and I realized maybe I should try to fix it, because, after all, I'm a photographer, and I had a maternity session scheduled for the next day, and a newborn session to finish editing and to deliver. I was shocked by the gravity with which the doctors took my statement that I had a scratched cornea (the cornea is that clear, jelly like part in front of the iris of your eye), and realized that it probably wasn't an easy fix with a little ibuprofen and ointment. <br />
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When the ophthamologist saw me, he gave me some numbing drops as he examined the two scratches to my cornea. They made me feel completely normal, but he told me that when they wore off in fifteen minutes, I'd have to tough out the pain. <br />
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Numbing the pain, he said, hinders the healing. <br />
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How accurate, and how painfully true I found this to be over the next 24 hours. I agreed with a friend who had experienced the same that going through labor a million times would be infinitely more pleasant than a scratched cornea. I began to realize how weak and needy I really am when my vision and connection to light was warped and became physically painful. <br />
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As I tossed and turned for the rest of the afternoon, all night, and into the next day, miserably trying to conjur up ways to relieve the pain, I began to consider all of my friends and family who live in chronic pain, whether physically or mentally. I thought of the friend who rode to school with me each day as a teen, the most cheerful and positive person I knew, who later told me that every single day she lived with migraines. I thought of my husband's good friend, who after unsuccessful surgery to his sinuses, lives in daily pain, and yet is probably one of the most peaceful and easy going people you will ever meet. I thought of my friends, two sisters, who live daily with gastrointestinal issues that would defeat me. I thought of my dad and a friend, both of whom wake each morning, not knowing whether their emotional state is secure enough to stand the rigors of the day ahead. <br />
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I thought of the panic I felt, unable to fix the pain I was in, and knowing I had to endure. I thought of the fear of losing the sharpness to my vision and thereby losing my photography. And I realized that these friends of mine experience these same feelings each day. I can understand now more deeply how so many in our culture are driven to the drink or to other means of numbing pain. There is the feeling that one would do anything to escape the frantic scrambling and clawing around in the darkness of pain or loneliness and the shocking exposure to light and truth.<br />
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I can understand this, but what mystifies me and drives me to the throne of God is the way my friends in all their anguish, have rejected that tempation. Even as they accept the necessary medications for their conditions, there is the day to day struggle they must fight.<br />
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They could choose to numb all of their pain, but they know inside that it will not help them heal.<br />
Instead, in their desperation, even weary as they must be, they carry a faith and a hope that gives them strength to survive, to endure and to press on. <br />
<br />
Because my eye was allowed to run its natural course of healing, the nerve endings of my eye are once again cushioned by new cells, and by the time 24 hours had passed, I could blink without wincing. The pain is now greatly eased, though the shock of contrast between brightness and dark hurts. As I leave this small trial behind, I do not want to forget this small glimpse into the wonder of the strength of humanity bolstered by the unwavering strength of God. I want to be reminded that all around me are people enduring the kind of frantic anguish I felt, and that there is hope to be shared, and I want to help others to notice those around them enduring daily trials just like my friends. <br /><br />As you go about your life this week, take extra time with me to think about and consider the quiet strength or even desperation that lies just below the surface of what may seem to be just a scratch. Will you remember with me to embrace those people with compassion and love? By caring for someone in the midst of their struggles and walking beside them as they endure, we might get to be a part of the beautiful process of growing and healing.barefootmommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488694483884903045noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7914287319725008693.post-2153758220432052014-03-28T10:06:00.001-07:002014-03-28T10:08:14.815-07:00For Oso<br /> <br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgUuVKpMb6RNeBde6FaIF2ovPeblKAtBZgemmkwKdideC4Le27XaW6aYP0H3iAeMGhniv_2tAOnAqc6ecN8YsfYBckq4mUZ8pTbzNmJWjQ-h2rxQ3YjGiC7SrnB2b2gxIIlO0IJCuAIKI/s1600/_D1A7905wm.jpg"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgUuVKpMb6RNeBde6FaIF2ovPeblKAtBZgemmkwKdideC4Le27XaW6aYP0H3iAeMGhniv_2tAOnAqc6ecN8YsfYBckq4mUZ8pTbzNmJWjQ-h2rxQ3YjGiC7SrnB2b2gxIIlO0IJCuAIKI/s1600/_D1A7905wm.jpg" width="640" /></a> <i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />Osoberry is one of the very first wild plants to leaf out and bloom here in the Maritime Northwest. It's in full bloom right now. The flowers are an important early nectar source for hummingbirds and native bees when nothing else is in bloom. It produces a bitter fruit that feeds wild mammals, including the bear, (thus the name Osoberry) Seeing and smelling the blossoms of this plant everywhere right now is a constant reminder to me to pray for Oso, to pray for hope and new life where there seems only to be devastation. </span></i><br /><br /><br /> I'm not even one of the people directly affected by the tragic landslide in Oso, but still there is nothing that can prepare you for the sight of FEMA and emergency shelters at local schools, crossing paths with a red cross truck on the morning drop off, seeing a truck with "department of homeland security" emblazoned upon it in your City Hall, knowing people who are searching out there, seeing six news trucks with satellite dishes like vultures along the river, seeing another news truck at a horse barn nearby, seeing flags at half mast and knowing it's for your community, hearing ages of children who died and being slammed with the reality that you have children the same age, seeing the detour sign for Darrington, watching your town fire chief get into his car in town and realize you know him from the news briefings, realizing that the place you go to buy jojos for your son is a main shopping store for the people of Oso, remembering living out that way and how beautiful it is out there, hearing heartbreaking stories from dear friends and realizing that everyone you know is affected in one way or another by the tragedy of it all. <br /><br /><br /> There is no reason or sense to be made of any of it, but there is this hope we hold inside that won't leave us. There can never be a good reason that babies and grandmas and daddies die suddenly, but we can be sure that God is walking with each person in our community and we can have the hope that there will be small bits of beauty to emerge from the ashes of this devastation. <br /><br /><br /> We already see it in the community and the way teens stand in the rain selling stickers that say "4 Oso, " the way a child wants to contribute what little they have to provide comfort for others, the way every where you turn someone is helping and the way when someone is crying for what feels like no reason, that someone, no matter whether you've never hugged before, you are hugging them now.
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Today I thought I'd try to check out other plans on <a class="ot-hashtag aaTEdf" href="https://plus.google.com/s/%23WaHealthplanfinder" rel="nofollow" style="-webkit-transition: color 0.218s; color: #427fed; cursor: pointer; font-weight: bold; text-decoration: none; transition: color 0.218s;">#WaHealthplanfinder</a>.com because I talked to my current health insurance company and found the new plan I'll have to go on to be unsatisfactory. They told me I might want to check out the government website to see if something else might work better for us. The pictures above are screen shots of what I got when i tried to log into their website.</div>
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I called my insurance plan and asked for comparisons between the new government mandated plan and the old plan I had. I had and HSA Catastrophic 4000 plan with Group Health at $691 per month and will be required to buy the ACA Bronze plan at $802.58 per month. My family deductible under the new plan has doubled from $4000 to $8000. My out of pocket limit has gone up from 12,100 to 12,700. We have 5 children.</div>
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For the additional $111.58 per month, and $4000 per year in deductible and $600 in out of pocket expenses, here's what I get.</div>
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1) Maternity care. No more babies here. Sorry. </div>
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2) Prescription drug coverage...yay! Wait, no, only after you pay the $8000 deductible</div>
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3) Annual Pediatric dental exams.--this is actually nice. We pay for a separate plan through Washington Dental Service, which means we can bill this plan for the annual exams and "save" a little bit....if they cover our dentist.</div>
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4) Annual Pediatric vision exams and one pair of glasses....this is very awesome because I have one kid who wears glasses. Not sure if it covers contacts. We can transfer that cost over to what we pay for this plan. </div>
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<span style="color: #404040; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: start;">That's about it. What are you getting out of the ACA?</span><br />
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barefootmommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488694483884903045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7914287319725008693.post-77998819961216153042013-12-13T20:47:00.003-08:002013-12-13T20:47:28.522-08:00Microchip Jungle<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Through the strange phenomenon of noise canceling headphones, earbuds and pbskids.org, I sometimes find myself in a house filled with both people and silence at the same time. I wrote this after reading some Wendell Berry poetry from his Timbered Choir seried of poems. He says at the beginning of the book that it is good to read the series of poems in a quiet place, like the woods where they were written. And yet tonight I stood in the center of my kitchen surrounded, but very much in solitude.<br />
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***<br />
<br />
I am<br />
immersed in<br />
the quiet noise,<br />
the microchip<br />
jungle.<br />
<br />
My cabinets,<br />
the trees.<br />
kitchen view,<br />
my escape.<br />
<br />
yet there...<br />
<br />
peaceful,<br />
standing<br />
at the center<br />
of my hearth.<br />
<br />
I find<br />
stillness of<br />
thought--<br />
a beginning of<br />
understanding.barefootmommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488694483884903045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7914287319725008693.post-71850336005087693582013-10-17T22:05:00.002-07:002013-10-17T22:08:08.101-07:00Glass gems.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My friend began our visit together today by reading me this poem. I think any visit with a friend that is prefaced by poetry reading is bound to be good. And it was. <br />
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THE PEACE OF WILD THINGS<br />
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When despair for the world grows in me<br />
and I wake in the night at the least sound<br />
in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,<br />
I go and lie down where the wood drake<br />
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.<br />
I come into the peace of wild things <br />
who do not tax their lives with forethought<br />
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.<br />
And I feel above me the day-blind stars<br />
waiting with their light. For a time<br />
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.<br />
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— Wendell Berry<br />
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This poem...I had never heard it before, and yet it resonated with the chord my heart was playing just last night. I could feel the despair setting in...had I released my children into this world too soon? We home-schooled exclusively for nine years. Last year, the two eldest children went off to middle school, and this year our ten year old is in a local elementary school. Just the youngest girls remain at home for the day with me.</div>
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The past two years have been punctuated by times of deep mourning for the times we had all together. It feels like my family is split into tiny pieces throughout the day. Sometimes my heart can't bear the feeling of being in so many places at once and I crumble inside. </div>
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And yet this time has also been permeated by a deep sense of peace; an understanding that only comes from resting in the truth that my children are cared for and loved... not just by me, but by God, family, friends, neighbors, teachers, 4H leaders, sunday school teachers, mentors. The ripples just keep going wider and wider. I was not given these children to clutch tightly to me like a baby's blanket. I am not meant to hide them in a fortress or stubbornly cling to my need to provide, even as I am depleted and weary. </div>
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Have I prepared them well enough? Can one ever really be prepared enough for anything? Maybe equipped is a better word. A bird does not prepare himself for the day ahead, worrying about where he will find this worm or whether the raindrops will hinder his flight. Instead, he is diligent as he searches for food he does not doubt he will find and is confident in the downy fluff that keeps him dry and warm. This kind of confidence is what I have seen growing inside my children as they move out of the comforts of our home into the unpredictability of life. </div>
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And so today, as I sat with my friends, drank coffee, talked about children and homeschooling and our youth and the state of the world in general... as I stood with them and husked the most beautiful corn I have ever seen...I rested.</div>
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I rested in the same grace that Wendell Berry must have felt as he lay there near the water. We marveled together at each individual kernel of this rare heirloom variety of corn known as "Glass Gem." We noticed the spot on each kernel where the silk had been. It reminded me a bit of a child's belly button! </div>
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There were ears as blue as a pair of Levi jeans, and others more beautiful than the most brilliant rocks found along the shores of the Sound. Each kernel glowed with a potential and hope that inspired thankfulness in my heart for a Creator who cares enough to make light and color, texture and taste, and a capacity within us all to love all of it. </div>
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And I knew that my heart might not feel any different. It will occasionally feel defeated, lonely and despairing as life changes around me and my children walk their various paths in life. More often though, it will beat steadily within as I move forward in the faith it takes daily to get out of bed and do the day's duties. And sometimes it will occasionally skip a beat with the kind of joy, wonder and anticipation a beautiful little glass gem seed can inspire as I see them reach the potential I saw gleaming in their eyes as toddlers. This means that I can sit beside my husband, nestling my head into his shoulder at the end of each day and have true peace. </div>
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barefootmommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488694483884903045noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7914287319725008693.post-73486960934850863192013-06-15T22:00:00.001-07:002013-06-15T22:00:07.309-07:00Daddios<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It had been thirteen years since my last trip to see family in Indiana. At that time, I had only one child. Four children later, and with my grandpa around 87 years old, I realized it was about time I got out there and reconnected with everyone. Thankfully, my parents were going too, so we ended up having two family reunions. <br />
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We stayed with my grandpa and his sweet wife, Fran. They were so gracious to let us invade their peaceful lives with our intensely chaotic visiting and touring around. That couch grandpa and Dad are sitting on was my bed! It was an emotional time for me too, because my grandma had passed away suddenly just a few months after my last visit. <br />
<br />
To see my grandpa's face... to hear his voice as he talked with my dad about just anything that came to their minds...this made my heart very happy, and the sadness at grandma's absence lessened some. I had been so frantic to soak up every bit of family history that was in that place, but soon I realized that I simply needed to relax in the joyful reality of this father and son reunion I was witnessing. <br />
<br />
It was in this moment that I remembered the deep blessing it is to have a dad and grandpa who have a special connection with one another, and in turn with me. Thank you dad and grandpa, and happy father's day. Your example of faithfulness to your families reminds me in turn of God's faithfulness to all of us. barefootmommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488694483884903045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7914287319725008693.post-16009533967854577902013-05-25T19:19:00.000-07:002013-05-25T19:21:39.080-07:00Small joys<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikCpHJGoEJzVWXX4uC9Y_NohCsm3pGALbjKPCw57RsN51dfxRqZY8XcZ7aHgaMdGlCYgBGJI6sEyqDNC4lVCfWzVkFjh4X1wkDiV2yXhfOMDIDnOdfR_tlOqcMZvAjbAYudIFcgJlWvy8/s1600/2013.05.24.7904wm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="422" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikCpHJGoEJzVWXX4uC9Y_NohCsm3pGALbjKPCw57RsN51dfxRqZY8XcZ7aHgaMdGlCYgBGJI6sEyqDNC4lVCfWzVkFjh4X1wkDiV2yXhfOMDIDnOdfR_tlOqcMZvAjbAYudIFcgJlWvy8/s640/2013.05.24.7904wm.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
This is one of the small joys in life: sitting in the passenger seat. My husband was driving us into town on a road I always drive, but this time I finally was able to take a picture of the cottonwood tree I always admire. It is beautiful without leaves in the winter, and when the salmon are running we have seen countless eagles in it. I have seen its silhouette against many sunsets. Yesterday it was just these beautiful clouds that caught my attention. Right now, the fluffy cotton like seeds of the cottonwood are blowing everywhere, and it's like snow in spring time and every place around them looks a little bit magical. Of course, if you're a child, you must gather big handfuls up, take a deep breath send them back into the breeze. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Z5JZDti3BEc3XceRscXWg_ljG4WpE8s0ycCizgfTWjF4gJPVNOtSCQ41wXDFUuYQ_9PDPmG9HUs5Kjeq3QOikjrMWlfm44MRyRVzKjYYC53puifQkauKgQ0nAr6EsE7rGNeiyYSFQsA/s1600/2013.05.24.7894wm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Z5JZDti3BEc3XceRscXWg_ljG4WpE8s0ycCizgfTWjF4gJPVNOtSCQ41wXDFUuYQ_9PDPmG9HUs5Kjeq3QOikjrMWlfm44MRyRVzKjYYC53puifQkauKgQ0nAr6EsE7rGNeiyYSFQsA/s640/2013.05.24.7894wm.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
barefootmommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488694483884903045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7914287319725008693.post-14539029416272950802013-05-19T09:17:00.001-07:002013-05-19T09:17:39.696-07:00The biggest bigleaf maple<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IbpfxtdWn-I/UZc4fWiKw_I/AAAAAAAB4DU/q5I16DfIDXg/s1600/_D1A5193wm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IbpfxtdWn-I/UZc4fWiKw_I/AAAAAAAB4DU/q5I16DfIDXg/s640/_D1A5193wm.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
We recently visited a farm that happens to be the home of the <a href="http://www.americanforests.org/bigtree/acer-macrophyllum/">biggest Bigleaf Maple in the nation</a>. This tree is 433 feet in circumference, 90 feet high and has a crown spread of 109 feet and is completely impressive. I am thankful that we got to see it in all its living glory. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UcU0zYsm5Mo/UZc4dGr6mKI/AAAAAAAB4DQ/-_CW_oBWn-M/s1600/_D1A5188wm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UcU0zYsm5Mo/UZc4dGr6mKI/AAAAAAAB4DQ/-_CW_oBWn-M/s640/_D1A5188wm.jpg" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">My little lamb visiting the lambs at the farm.</span></i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VW2cnx7NuQo/UZc4k9dcjWI/AAAAAAAB4Dc/TGeP4gh3198/s1600/_D1A5189wm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VW2cnx7NuQo/UZc4k9dcjWI/AAAAAAAB4Dc/TGeP4gh3198/s640/_D1A5189wm.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">For scale. That's my 9 year old on the right.</span></i></td></tr>
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<br />barefootmommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488694483884903045noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7914287319725008693.post-51633635688394286252013-05-16T23:57:00.001-07:002013-05-17T01:24:21.692-07:00What I love<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJpAeDvnmPpESrNRGWGIE2En1qS7qPeCg9-SgyiUfcfDGRwZz4HDaBgDUMs5Ky1CBrxTjcU3Zn6OAwVbk59pp_CFwP79-CpRTL74f1W-M0toRS2Bi1A16PWFtSzSh2CLTYVqPb0ODR2sg/s1600/OD1A2154wm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJpAeDvnmPpESrNRGWGIE2En1qS7qPeCg9-SgyiUfcfDGRwZz4HDaBgDUMs5Ky1CBrxTjcU3Zn6OAwVbk59pp_CFwP79-CpRTL74f1W-M0toRS2Bi1A16PWFtSzSh2CLTYVqPb0ODR2sg/s640/OD1A2154wm.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">This is how I want to remind myself to be: looking up and all around me. It's easy to forget to do this simple act of noticing, but it is so renewing.</span></i></td></tr>
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Spring: it's a time of frenzied work and preparations. Everything ends and begins all at once; responsibilities and opportunities overlap. School is drawing to a close, baby animals are being born, baby plants are growing deep roots, weeds are rising exponentially taller each day. <br />
<br />
Always, at this time of year, I find that the things I love can begin to wear me thin. There are so many commitments, experiments, people and experiences to immerse ourselves in, that I find myself frozen in the midst of them, standing immobile next to a several-foot-high pile of laundry. <br />
<br />
How can I say no to the opportunity to have small animals for my children to care for, making them friendly through twice daily bottle feeding? Can the garden go unplanted? And what of the budding photography business? It is not easy to turn people away when photography is so dear to my heart. <br />
<br />
And so dinner is ready at 8:30 and I pray with friends in the midst of a living room sprinkled with dog hair. Is your life like this? I know I am not alone, and that is what helps me to persevere. I know in one friend's house, there is an artist-child like mine, who leaves trails of paper and un-capped markers in her wake. In a different friend's home, there is another preteen boy saying the same words that make a mom's heart tired. Still another friend has 4 more baby goats to feed than I and another has a garden that beckons to her as she walks away to do other work that must be done.<br />
<br />
I cannot see how to remove myself from many of the commitments I have made, though I will remind myself from time to time, that indeed, I am not "every woman." Thus, I do not need to do every thing. Instead of being stuck in the icy world of self doubt and pity though, I am learning to be sure to notice the things around me that I love. These are things that are intertwined with my busy life and commitments, and are reminders that I do not have to be fully exhausted and tired. There are moments I can linger in for just a bit, taking a bit of time to treasure them and to be renewed and thankful.<br />
<br />
I am sure you have a running list like this, though you may not realize it. It is my intention to notice not just things that would make beautiful photography, but moments, and the way things are at the very moment I am in. <br />
<br />
I love....<br />
... the way tiny droplets of water gather evenly all around the edges of a baby cabbage plant in the cool of the dusk.<br />
...how raindrops puddle on the leaf of a lupine.<br />
...the sound of geese flying by in the evening<br />
...milking a goat by the light of the stars<br />
...the way clouds pile up higher than the mountains they sit upon<br />
...seeing my children peacefully playing together<br />
...having my oldest kids sit next to me just to talk<br />
...being given flowers all day long<br />
...the way a lupine flower curves when resting in a plastic cup<br />
...smelling lilacs in gardens everywhere and especially in my kitchen<br />
...finding worms busily working as i plant a pepper plant<br />
...the way a baby goat will use a person as their own personal playground<br />
...how the crescent moon shines through the willow and cottonwood trees at dusk<br />
...the feeling of the breeze sweeping around the corner of my house, trying to push my hat off<br />
...the swing of my 7 year old's pony tail as she walks a horse into a barn<br />
...finding my son has climbed to the top of an outbuilding or the middle of a tree<br />
...watching my daughter sit on the swing with a baby goat<br />
...the click of the shutter of a camera<br />
...the green glow of a light on a tomato plant start at ten o clock at night<br />
...my husband's dimples and five o'clock shadow<br />
...holding a tiny hand in mine when walking down the steps to the garden<br />
...the glow of the sunset on the clouds to the east<br />
...the cottonwood tree on the way into town that I always think I should take a picture of and which will probably cause me to crash one day if I am not careful.<br />
<br />
These are some things I love today. <br />
<br />
What things do you love? <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiETug9T6gZqnaO9wkZ1ufYYqUAQZHMohFy6gboED50jk7IYhaXlbm5fznOGdqMXL3QT2294x87lWZgW18K2WdS7XCpoK7IX0SuB4l4BPTeN5Ds3RMOTR2z2HxRSC4MQH89GIcWdqq3ZOk/s1600/OD1A2136wm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiETug9T6gZqnaO9wkZ1ufYYqUAQZHMohFy6gboED50jk7IYhaXlbm5fznOGdqMXL3QT2294x87lWZgW18K2WdS7XCpoK7IX0SuB4l4BPTeN5Ds3RMOTR2z2HxRSC4MQH89GIcWdqq3ZOk/s640/OD1A2136wm.jpg" width="640" /></a>barefootmommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488694483884903045noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7914287319725008693.post-35144875647553847322013-05-04T23:57:00.002-07:002013-05-05T00:00:29.164-07:00The significance of a life<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTz0xDRDLDl9aGyrxHxpArzlxRNJc5dsmZ0z5eNYPaULICg6c-V2YCQADAuuFf5cVXJu7DtVxAOo1GryqSURjdMTRCH1JkzQo49_LcOPu32tw0G8pwPKW3xSacdE7qL9N-PHjfRLaXAug/s1600/tree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTz0xDRDLDl9aGyrxHxpArzlxRNJc5dsmZ0z5eNYPaULICg6c-V2YCQADAuuFf5cVXJu7DtVxAOo1GryqSURjdMTRCH1JkzQo49_LcOPu32tw0G8pwPKW3xSacdE7qL9N-PHjfRLaXAug/s640/tree.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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I love this place. It is near the water and there are hills. When I lived nearby, I ran here weekly. It was the place that I could always count on for God to show me something new. Sometimes it was a thought or idea. Other times it was some beautiful bit of nature, like a great blue heron or an eagle. Still other times it was an overwhelming sense of calm and peace. <br />
<br />
Today, I attended a women's retreat here as I do every year, and did my annual run on the dike. I had read in the Bible the story of Jacob's dream when he dreamed of a stairway to heaven. God told him that through him all the nations of the world would be blessed, and that He would always watch over Jacob. Jacob awakes and declares that this spot is holy and is the very gate of heaven. He sets up a pillar in that spot to show the sacredness of that place.<br />
<br />
Genesis 28:20, "Then Jacob made a vow, saying "if God will be with me and will watch over me on the journey I am taking and will give me food to eat and clothes to wear so that I return safely to my father's house, then the Lord will be my God and this stone that I have set up as a pillar will be God's house and of all that you give me, I will give you a tenth."<br />
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I'm not great at analyzing the Bible, but what struck me here is that Jacob is not only thankful and acknowledges the blessing that is coming to him; he is also honoring God in obedience by giving back to God 1/10th of what He has entrusted Jacob with. Jacob erects a pillar, like an outward sign of recognition of the holiness of God and the blessings He gives. <br />
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I began to think about my life. If I am to set up a pillar in my own life, thanking God for the places He has met me and my family, what might it look like? Would it be a prayer out loud? Or outright exclamation at the beauty of God's creation? Maybe the pillar can look like humbleness and a hand that points toward God and all He has done. I can give 1/10th of my monetary earnings, but what else can I give? It sounds so small. Why should I be allowed to keep 9/10ths all to myself? What will I do with that remainder?<br />
<br />
What places are like pillars in your life? Where are your gateways to heaven and God's great blessing and presence in your life? <br />
<br />
My run on the dike mingled with my thoughts about Jacob's story. I sat out on the roots of this massive, fallen tree and thought of it just as that...a tree that still had much life to give, and I was inspired to write. So I scribbled out a poem about these thoughts, and I share it below.<br />
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*****<br />
<br />
Do you see this<br />
tree?<br />
this log<br />
this tree?<br />
<br />
When a human is dead<br />
it is a body buried in the ground, rotten and gone,<br />
soul with Christ,<br />
a rock as a memory.<br />
<br />
When a tree dies,<br />
and remains,<br />
somehow that shell<br />
lives.<br />
It points to the majesty<br />
and heights it once<br />
touched.<br />
<br />
It feeds and<br />
shelters<br />
new creatures.<br />
Just as when my<br />
soul moves on<br />
my words<br />
my deeds<br />
this pillar of<br />
my life<br />
will lead eyes somewhere.<br />
<br />
Was my life a shelter,<br />
a home,<br />
a way of nourishing?<br />
Did it<br />
say Yes!<br />
there is more?<br />
There is an<br />
infinite God<br />
who cares about<br />
ants and<br />
ferns<br />
and small<br />
very loud birds.<br />
<br />
Did this pillar stand<br />
humbly in the<br />
holy place<br />
of God's creation<br />
in gratitude<br />
and<br />
solemn<br />
joy,<br />
Holding very dearly<br />
the responsibility<br />
that comes<br />
when one<br />
has been<br />
trusted with<br />
Nine-tenths?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />barefootmommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488694483884903045noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7914287319725008693.post-72757482203778998302013-04-11T22:49:00.002-07:002013-04-28T22:25:29.175-07:00How I make White and Whole Wheat Sourdough Bread<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM5HKLEaqlC7WjGFWr1BjnIuFpzrsa4pn6vcF79PUqFW50lC2cwSGTJn-ae3WkzVTlDxru6tDXXFIIOiGzqDfLJ28GVOpdeznXJZLqE-f0ubnxLvlnXhgLGRuL6NcKzkrvS8WMQXXN9II/s1600/554194_10151342978301851_1989349920_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM5HKLEaqlC7WjGFWr1BjnIuFpzrsa4pn6vcF79PUqFW50lC2cwSGTJn-ae3WkzVTlDxru6tDXXFIIOiGzqDfLJ28GVOpdeznXJZLqE-f0ubnxLvlnXhgLGRuL6NcKzkrvS8WMQXXN9II/s640/554194_10151342978301851_1989349920_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Whole wheat bread, ready to go into the oven. I said I'd never use Instagram pics on my blog, but I just don't have time at this time of year to do anything else!</span></i></td></tr>
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People have asked how I make sourdough bread, specifically how I make a wheat version of <a href="http://www.northwestsourdough.com%20/">Northwest Sourdough</a>'s basic white sourdough <a href="http://www.northwestsourdough.com/techniques/baking/">recipe</a>. I have simplified it for my distracted brain and incorporated some of what I learned when I used the <a href="http://www.artisanbreadinfive.com/">Artisan Bread in 5 minutes a Day</a> method of baking. I use the Northwest Sourdough recipe, and for wheat bread I change the amount of flour to about 6 cups. I use only white flour for my starter because I don't know how wheat will do.<br />
<br />
I keep my starter in my refrigerator in a loosely covered container. I didn't feed or use it for several months over the winter and when I wanted to use it this spring it was a bit lazy, but after feeding one time, it worked beautifully. Ask around to see if anyone you know has a starter. Otherwise, you can buy some at the Northwest sourdough website, or you can make your own.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtl7U-b6RLjAKFoVRE8-TK3hhz3nZe5Tz2sFEDsqwB6Yqi3eWFwt7PMTL2lCkSzjnRjd3uxdJjimnq0vebNstzQWYhKiaHUpoEi5eq3xFNdxkHX5lYcjD3G9jf0kuktZx03iuURHMvc6Q/s1600/47035_10151343993276851_1929497191_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtl7U-b6RLjAKFoVRE8-TK3hhz3nZe5Tz2sFEDsqwB6Yqi3eWFwt7PMTL2lCkSzjnRjd3uxdJjimnq0vebNstzQWYhKiaHUpoEi5eq3xFNdxkHX5lYcjD3G9jf0kuktZx03iuURHMvc6Q/s640/47035_10151343993276851_1929497191_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">A finished whole wheat loaf of sourdough bread.</span></i></td></tr>
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<br />
<i>So here's how I make: <b>White or Whole Wheat Sourdough Bread</b></i><br />
<i><b><br /></b></i>
I activate the starter the night before by adding flour and water each in double the amount of the starter. I usually activate 1 cup of starter so I have extra. This means that I always mix together 1 cup starter with 2 c. water and 2 c. white flour. It will immediately get bubbly. Cover it and let it do its thing overnight. Every time I bake, I store what is left after I use my activated starter back in the fridge. <br />
<br />
The next day, mix 2 c. activated starter, 1 3/4 water, 1 T oil and 7 c. (or 6c. if you are doing whole wheat) flour together. Put it in your mixer bowl, with the kneading hook, cover with a damp cloth and go away. Walk by it 2 or three times in the day, uncover and run the mixer a few rounds. At the 2nd mixing, I add in about 1-2 tsp. salt. <br />
<br />
*** Today I actually let my starter get all foamy and didn't use it until about 1:30 or something, and made a delicious pair of loaves late this evening. They were white flour loaves. This is just to say that you don't have to throw your dough or starter out if you forget it. Try it out and see what happens!<br />
<br />
After the third rising, dust your cutting board with cornmeal. Shape the dough into boule loaves. (These are the round or oval loaves, shaped by tucking the dough underneath until it looks all cute and puffy) Dust with flour and set on the cutting board. Cover with some sort of vapor barrier (plastic, a pan, whatever) Let them rise a bit. Northwest Sourdough talks about how to tell if they've risen enough.<br />
<br />
Heat the oven to 450 with your baking stones and broiler pan in there. Uncover the loaves. Slice the top of the loaves 4 times, the center cut being deepest so the loaves don't get gooey inside. <br />
<br />
Open the oven. Plop the loaves on the baking stones. Grab about a cup of water, pour it quickly into your hot broiler pan, which is on the rack below the baking stones. It will steam the loaves. Close the oven door quickly. Bake the loaves 20-25 minutes at 450, then turn down to 425 and bake about 15-20 minutes more. The bread should be golden brown and sound hollow when you tap it. I am not a bread expert, so I sometimes turn the bread upside down and cut into the center to see that it has cooked all the way through! <br />
<br />
<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />
Eat it when it's hot and really hard to slice, but especially delicious.<br />
<br />
The End. <br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Some white sourdough that I let rise maybe a bit too much, but it was so crusty and light and good, I think it was ok.</span></i></td></tr>
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barefootmommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488694483884903045noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7914287319725008693.post-41893304067088715552013-03-01T18:49:00.000-08:002013-03-01T19:06:54.954-08:00Make Felt Acorns!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wfAhWoIGy48/UTFT0j5h5hI/AAAAAAABu1Q/otDOf-0KBGI/s1600/%253Cuntitled%253E+6.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-wfAhWoIGy48/UTFT0j5h5hI/AAAAAAABu1Q/otDOf-0KBGI/s640/%253Cuntitled%253E+6.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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My kids were eager to do some weeding for grandma and grandpa so they could earn a few dollars. They happened to be weeding beneath an oak tree, which is not a common tree around here. I noticed little acorn caps sprinkled around and collected as many as I could find. It's just the right season I guess, because the seeds have disconnected from them or been munched on by one critter or another. If you know of any oak trees in your area, just try browsing around beneath them to see what you might find!<br />
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These little acorns are easy to make. You clean and dry the little caps on a windowsill for a bit. Then you card some colored wool. Roll it into a tight little ball/cylinder type shape, and needle felt away. The size of your cap will determine the size of your little ball. I felted the top rather flat and a bit rounded on the edges so it could be stuffed inside the cap. <br />
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Then needle felt the bottom into a little point just like the real acorns have. Fire up the hot glue gun and put about a pea or raisin sized blob of glue in there, depending on the size of the cap. Voila! You've got an aesthetically pleasing acorn that a squirrel will go nuts over! <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">She thought it was a better plan to fill the acorn caps with water like a tiny cup.</span></i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Yes, these are little acorns on an oak table. At least I think it's oak.</span></i></td></tr>
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<br />barefootmommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488694483884903045noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7914287319725008693.post-60002307951660191162013-02-24T15:32:00.002-08:002013-02-24T15:32:33.375-08:00Faith's Colt<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />The day before her due date, Faith, my in-laws' mare foaled. She had lots of people watching over her on a web-casted video feed, and thank goodness! My sister in law was the one who noticed she was laying down and acting more peculiar than normal. Thank goodness our kids happened to be staying over at grandma and grandpa's, because my husband and I were able to zoom down when we saw the camera feed, and everyone, kids included, was able to watch the miracle of birth. Faith is a very big quarter horse and was bred to and even larger overo stallion, but the colt is a solid sorrel colt. This isn't the first choice for people breeding horses, but he's beautiful. They'll get a second chance, as faith will be bred back to the same stallion within the week. The colt is tall...his back way past my father in law's waist. I remember another foal born on their farm several years ago was so teeny, she could run right under her mommy. Not so with this boy! <br /><br />Here are pictures of his first few moments. I didn't want to get too much in momma's face, so the pictures aren't prime photography, but they convey the beauty and emotion of the moment, I think. <br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">First moments</span></i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Laying down and laboring.</span></i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Just born</span></i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MdJ1Ra0Ahuo/USpomLTSvXI/AAAAAAABuDw/ziVSjl73Nmk/s1600/%253Cuntitled%253E+4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-MdJ1Ra0Ahuo/USpomLTSvXI/AAAAAAABuDw/ziVSjl73Nmk/s640/%253Cuntitled%253E+4.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Checking to see what sort of little guy this is... a solid sorrel colt.</span></i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Learning to stand</span></i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Mom supported him as he tried to stand.</span></i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Petting the soft new baby.</td></tr>
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barefootmommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488694483884903045noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7914287319725008693.post-79495318220523870222013-02-17T03:33:00.002-08:002013-02-17T12:25:48.693-08:00People pruning<i>I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful. John 15:1-2</i><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">The unruly, very old and abandoned apple tree in a neighbor's pasture. I have chopped branches, but never pruned it. It always produces apples in profusion, but they are very scabby. I wonder if proper care could improve the apples. </span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I grew up in a second floor condominium in Hawaii, and so therefore had no first hand experience with pruning. I knew that the gardeners came around every few years and cut back the big shower trees so that they wouldn't overtake the parking lot and our porches. What I did not understand was the very careful way that cultivated trees must be cared for in order to foster good health, growth and abundance, whether in fruit or beauty. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Two years ago, my parents in law gave us many fruit trees so that we might start a small orchard. I had been growing a vegetable garden for about 12 years, but had never grown any kind of fruit. We live in the maritime Pacific Northwest on five acres, so we have room for this. We planted the trees in 2 straight lines, facing north to south, maybe fertilizing, and left it at that. There was no fruit that summer except for maybe a cherry or three. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I decided last year that I needed to learn to prune. I asked friends for resources and watched lots of youtube videos, since I learn best by watching someone else do what I'd like to try. I learned about central leader style pruning, in which there is one center growth area with branches coming off of it. This is used mainly for apples, pears and cherries. Peach and plum trees must be pruned in the shape of a vase. This was fine, and I did what it asked, but still I did not get much fruit. In fact, we had just one peach on our peach tree, which I kept forgetting to share with the family, but finally did. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">This year, I took a class from a professional pruner and learned even more about my trees, and how I could help them to produce. More importantly, I began to understand why the pruning and cultivation of fruit trees is likened to character and spiritual growth of people. I had always understood it to be a sort of cliche that was old fashioned, that a person is being pruned (ouch!) when undergoing a hardship, but that hey, in the end, it's good for you and you'll do better. But <i>how it worked</i> is what I still had not grasped. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The day after my class, I was sitting in church and the pastor had made reference to a scripture likening people to cultivated fruit trees. I can't find that passage, but something came through very clearly to me: we as humans are not meant to be wild trees, like an alder or cottonwood, all created to do exactly like every other tree in their species. Every alder fixes nitrogen in the ground and changes its pH, providing good habitat for longer lived plants that may follow it. Each cottonwood becomes a habitat and helps to prevent erosion near streams. When it falls, its branches and wood become new soil. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">A cultivated tree is different. It is a tree that has not grown easily, but instead has been transplanted to where it is desired to fulfill a specific purpose. In the case of fruit trees, it is grafted with good scions onto a hardy and well developed rootstocks so that it will produce the kind of fruit the gardener desires. The ground must be prepared carefully for a cultivated tree: a large roomy hole dug in a well drained place, good compost put in with the roots and then filled just below the graft point. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">We, as people, are each created with unique talents and gifts we can bring to the world we inhabit. Our formative years, like the hardy rootstock my apple tree is grafted to, create a strong foundation for our abilities to build upon. Like the tree whose roots sit in boggy, rocky, and dense ground, choked by weeds, a person who has not had emotional or spiritual nurturing as they grow might feel hindered and unable to thrive. Like the tree whose shoots can be removed and grafted onto healthy rootstock, there is always hope for a person with this background. They can be connected with a person or community that can be a nurturing and nondestructive force. In my life, I have seen many lives changed when people with a painful past become connected with positive influences, and most especially, I have seen redemption when people are grafted into Christ and His healing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Before my pruning class, I did not know that the grafting bump must be kept above the soil, or it will continue to want to grow into its own little tree, draining energy from the tree grafted into it. In the same way, we as people need to be free to move on from the people and places who have mentored us, and so that we do not always ask them to decide for us, draining the life from our choices and actions. Instead, our experiences and mentors are meant to bolster and support us, just as a good healthy rootstock does. We are always grafted into them and draw much strength from them, but they do not fully define us. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">As we grow, like the grafted fruit tree, we begin to develop into the kind of mature person who can contribute to the world around us. My teacher said that a healthy tree will grow 18 inches a year. If it grows too much, the soil is too rich and should not be amended. The plant will put too much energy into growth instead of setting fruit. The plant's growth should be throttled by heading of the central leader branch each year. I remember when I was new to homeschooling my children. I was so eager to take advantage of all the resources available to us that I burnt the children out running from one activity to another. It has become a discipline over the years for me to pare down our family experiences to the most meaningful, and as a result, growth has been more positive and we have become more relaxed. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"> If it a tree grows too little in a year, something is lacking or hindering growth. A gardener will cut back grass and shoots, checks to see the root stock is above the ground, will check soil pH to see if lime should be added. The gardener will also do annual pruning, being sure that air and light can get to each branch. He is sure to remove weak water sprouts shooting up from main branches. He uses heading cuts where he would like to see the tree branch out a little. He uses thinning cuts so that energy is shunted to just a few main branches. When I think of the word shunt, I remember my friend's sister, who had hydrocephalus. The extra fluid that accumulated on her brain was removed through a shunt. When a tree is pruned in order to shunt growth, it is directing all that extra energy where it should be. My teacher likend a tree to a river...however a river would naturally flow is how a tree should grow. It flows strong through main channels and doesn't turn awkward or sharp corners. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Like the concerned gardener, we should check our lives regularly to see that what we are doing is productive or if we are being hindered by certain things. I think God, the greatest of Gardeners, does this for us regularly as well, if we take the time to notice. He can help us to recognize the areas in our lives that need change. I have found many activities that I have perceived as important to me may have actually been detrimental to my family life. When I was suddenly unable to run due to a running injury, then damage from cortisone injections, I was forced to look at running, and what it actually was to me. To me, it was something I was good at, and I had been pouring more and more time into it. This running activity is like the weak watersprouts on the tree...it was somewhat beneficial, but mainly brought weakness into my life by taking time away from my family. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I found new joy in photography and writing when I could no longer run, and poured much energy into blogging and sharing the joy I found in the world in this way. This actually became beneficial to my family because as I consider the world through my writing and photography, I am able to better explain and share what I discover with my family. It too, however, can become like the choking grasses and suck my time away. When I take on too many photography jobs or spend too many evenings managing my blogs on social media, my family withers and my house falls apart. This is a thinning cut I must constantly be making. I must constantly reevaluate my dedication to these things to see that they do not become like little branches crisscrossing wildly throughout a tree, hindering production. I am at this place, even tonight, as I stay up far too late typing out the ideas that have been swimming in my mind. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">There is a great part of pruning and cultivating trees that I do not understand. Professionals and more experienced gardeners have a better handle on this realm. I liken this to the happenings in my life that cannot be made sense of. I am sure that, like the time and energy draining things, you too have these sorts of cuts that are being made into you that cannot be understood. It is then that we must trust that there is a Master Pruner who knows better than we do and is guiding our growth, even if the cuts are unintended, or a result of external injury or uncontrollable circumstances.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Over the past month, I have had 6 skin lesions cut and tested, biopsied and removed. And I have been told that 2 of them are basal cell carcinoma, a sort of skin cancer that does not danger your life, but must be taken care of to prevent further damage to the surrounding tissue. I have been told that 3 spots I have are irregular, that must be removed, and are markers for people susceptible to melanoma, which is a very dangerous sort of skin cancer. I have been told that from now on, any bump I have must be carefully examined and regarded as potentially dangerous, and have been told that I am rather young to be having these kinds of things. These lesions, like disease on a fruit tree, must be something that is constantly watched and removed when found to be hazardous. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I cannot understand why, at 34, I should already be so concerned with matters linked closely to damage from age and to my own mortality, but I know that the master Gardener can use even this. There is the basal cell cancer on my eyelid, and I'm afraid my eye will be damaged as the doctors carve it out, so that I cannot properly use my camera. I realize this is irrational worry, but it is there. I'm worried that my already plain appearance will be marred by scars on my eye and back, or even worse, that I my scars will distract people from just seeing me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Whatever happens, I know even then that my growth will continue to be guided so that my life will produce good fruit. I think now I am learning trust, even as I am pruned most literally. What sorts of pruning and maintenance are being done in the tree of your life? How can you be an apprentice gardener in the cultivation of that tree? It is beautiful to be aware of these things in our lives, because doing so guides us in fruitful growing. </span><br />
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barefootmommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488694483884903045noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7914287319725008693.post-61421504976169831862013-02-12T14:36:00.001-08:002013-02-12T14:36:24.308-08:00DIY Wool Pocket Valentine Hearts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />My kids will be at a local homeschool co op the day before Valentine's day this year, and they keep wanting to make valentines, so I decided to pitch in and help the cause. These needle felted wool hearts are super simple to make and are sort of fast. I think it took maybe 5 minutes to make each one. If you have a class of 30 students, you might want another idea, but if you're just making them for a few friends, this is a fun idea. I let the kids make the valentine cards they were making, and they can give these either with them or on their own. <br /><br />Wool is such a lovely feeling material...very textured and warm. Over the years, I have made a few pairs of matching wool hearts for people I wanted to remain in prayer for, giving them one and keeping the other for myself as a reminder to think of and pray for them. I hope these hearts will be happily carried around in pockets long after Valentine's day this year as a reminder of the friends who give them.<br /><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kTAh8_pcKYY/URrATNCr6XI/AAAAAAABsFg/SzsUTPkjuIw/s1600/%253Cuntitled%253E+1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kTAh8_pcKYY/URrATNCr6XI/AAAAAAABsFg/SzsUTPkjuIw/s640/%253Cuntitled%253E+1.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Here's from wool to heart: get a lock of dyed wool (we used Jacquard acid dyes). Card it..you can use hand carders or 2 dog brushes, or even tease it with your hands. Shape it into a trangular shaped wad. Keep poking with a felting needle over a cushion, turning all the while so that it doesn't stick and form the shape of a heart!</span></i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">My 4 year old insisted that this plastic bead is a horse, and that it needed to be in the center of the hearts, so here it is, just for her.</span></i></td></tr>
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<br />barefootmommyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12488694483884903045noreply@blogger.com0