Saturday, June 22, 2013

White Knuckles

This is something I have always ALWAYS struggled with: letting go. My entire life I've equated letting go and giving up/moving on as the same thing, but really they're not. The hardest thing for me is letting go WITHOUT giving up or just throwing out the entire situation. Letting go, yet staying in the situation, without knowing what the outcome will be - and not being able to control it - is extremely difficult. I honestly don't know if I've ever truly done it. But I hope to become proficient at it because, newsflash, Katie can't control everything in her life! And she can't run away from it either! Maddening and freeing at the same time.

To "let go" does not mean to stop caring; it means I can't do it for someone else.

To "let go" is not to cut myself off; it's a realization that I can't control another.

To "let go" is not to enable, but to allow learning from natural consequences.

To "let go" is to admit powerlessness, which means the outcome is not in my hands.

To "let go" is not to try to change or blame another, it's to make the most of myself.

To "let go" is not to fix, but to be supportive.

To "let go" is not to be in the middle arranging all the outcomes, but to allow others to affect their own destinies.

To "let go" is not to deny, but to accept.

To "let go" is not to nag, scold, or argue, but instead to search out my own shortcomings and correct them.

To "let go" is to fear less and love more.

Every one of these lines is like taking a hammer to my solid brick wall of everything I am. Or at least thought myself to be. But it's truth. And I want it in my life.

"And you shall know the truth, and the truth shall set you free." 

Monday, May 13, 2013

Me vs God - Really?

We laugh to ourselves when we think of those Bible stories where mere human beings actually had the nerve to stand up to God. I mean, come on - there's a reason he's called GOD with a capitol G! And anyone who knows anything knows that a true God is not going to let mortals tell him what to do.

So why do I try and tell God what to do almost every day? Every time I question WHY, choose to ignore something obvious from him in my life, succumb to worry and fear about the future, and feel discontented, I am essentially telling God I don't trust him enough to work things out for my good. As he promises he will. It's me vs God - and just take a wild guess who wins every time. Oh I put up a good fight; one of my primary traits has always been stubbornness. But I mean really, this is GOD we're talking about, not just a grandfather in the sky or an apathetic old man wringing his hands over the state of the world. He is active. And he will see his will done on earth as it is in heaven.

The pastor at the church we visited yesterday preached a sermon that cut into me like a knife... His question was, what are you filled with? Is it Jesus? Or is it this job, that opportunity, this person, that event? And I was bashed between the eyes by the fact that I, Katie, care more about what I, Katie, think of myself, than what God thinks of me. My eyes actually filled with tears as I considered how I've knocked myself out pretty much my whole life to ACHIEVE something, to be someone - not for accolades from others, but so I could close my eyes every night thinking I accomplished something. I've never been much of a people pleaser, but I LOVE to please myself. What confronted me yesterday was the simple question: do you want to please GOD? Of course any true Christian would immediately answer YES to that question! But talk is cheap, and the real test will come in how you live your life, make your choices, spend your time.

The earth-shattering truth is that God is a god like none other. He loved his children before they were born (Ephesians 1) and nothing we can do will make him love us more. And by pursuing what I think is important, regardless of what God thinks is important, I am basically telling him his love is not enough. That I need something more than his love. Don't get me wrong - planning for the future and considering the talents and passions God has given you will help you decide how to spend your life. But there is a fine line that can be so easily crossed, we may look back at it, shocked how long ago we crossed it.

"Commit your way unto the Lord. Trust him and he will act."
-Psalm 37:5

Tuesday, April 9, 2013

Don't let *it* define you

We all have history. We all have things in our past we wish he hadn't done. We all have those people in our lives that just seem to always be rubbing us the wrong way. We all feel the depth of certain failures in our lives...

And it's so easy to let these things come to define who we are. To let our failures rule us from their graves. To let what people think of us or how people choose to treat us define how we feel that day. What we've been through DOES make us into who we are, but I believe we have the power to choose what DEFINES us.

Define: to state the precise meaning of

What is your precise meaning? Where have you found purpose? Some people seriously do find their meaning through their failures and through basically looking at themselves through victimized eyes. Life is too short to live that way! And we serve too big a God to ever succumb to looking at ourselves with apathy, discouragement, and even self-loathing.

Don't let the negative things in life define you. Break free and decide that each day is brand new, and deserves a fresh start. Guilt will creep in, it always does. Take a good look at guilt in the face and say "I am bought with a price. I am loved by the creator of the world. I am sorry for what I've done, but it's not who I am. I am chosen by God and I am loved. I am accepted. And I will never allow you to run my life again."

"The Lord is my strength and my shield; my heart trusts in him, and he helps me. My heart leaps for joy, and with my song I praise him."  -Psalm 28:7

Sunday, April 7, 2013

What's the GOAL Anyway?

A week ago was my birthday. I turned the wonderful age of 24! And no, this post isn't so that I will get more birthday wishes than I already got :) We celebrated together yesterday as a family, and my brother (surprisingly, haha) was thoughtful enough to ask me what my personal goals were.

He made a joke that I always have new goals (which is true), and proceeded to wait expectantly for my newest list of aspirations. And I was struck again, as I sat there with my wonderful family, how IMPORTANT it is to have goals.

Without goals you can have the sad experience of looking around yourself and wondering what in the world you've done with your life. God has given us the precious gift of EXISTENCE here on earth! And what we decide to do with the time given to us is of utmost importance. One day when you look back on your life, what sensations do you want to feel? Those of accomplishment and peace? Of a job well done? Or will you wrestle with feelings of regret and the emptiness of a wasted life.

Don't put it off. Sit down and write out a list of goals you have. Start small if you want. But write SOMETHING. Push yourself. Don't settle for just getting by. Look at all the heroes and great people in history - none of them were content with their lot in life. All of them fought against the human tendency to become apathetic and complacent. Let's not just look for heroes - let's become the heroes that our peers and younger generations can look to.

Don't be fooled by the calendar  There are only as many days in the year as you make use of. One man gets only a week's value out of a year while another man gets a full year's value out of a week."
-Charles Richards

PS: One of my goals is to actually BLOG more! No kidding :) So stay tuned!

Thursday, September 20, 2012

Upside Down

Check out this article I just stumbled across.... Let's stay awake and keep thinking.

The government’s demonic strategy against parents of autistic children

by Jon Rappoport
September 13, 2012

Let me start with this controversial statement: The worst thing parents can do is obtain a diagnosis of autism for their vaccine-damaged child.

The primary fact to keep in mind is: the government must deny any link between vaccines and autism, because to admit the connection would force it to pay out gigantic sums of money to parents, under its Vaccine Injury Compensation Program (VICP).

VICP was created in 1988, through an agreement between the US government and pharmaceutical companies, to funnel all law suits for damage away from those companies, and into a bureaucratic maze of government madness, where the parents’ chances of compensation are minimal, where the deck is most assuredly stacked against them.

National Vaccine Injury Compensation Program

Vaccine Adverse Event Reporting System (VAERS)

Once parents enter the maze, hoping to gain funds to care for their children, they are immediately confronted with a list of disorders and diseases. This list essentially tells them:

“If your vaccine-damaged child has been diagnosed with any of the following medical conditions, you may be able to win financial support. If not, you’re out of luck.”

Autism isn’t on the list. Here is the list:

Vaccine Injury Table

Can things be any clearer than that? A diagnosis of autism is a trap.

One: a young child receives a vaccine.

Two: he suddenly withdraws from life.

Three: a doctor makes a diagnosis of autism.

Four: the parents want to sue the company that makes the vaccine, but they can’t; they must apply to the VICP for funds to care for their child for the rest of his life.

Five: as soon as they enter the VICP system, they learn that the label “autism” is the very thing that will keep them from the funds they desperately need.

That is the long and short of it.

Forget about the fact that the parents never wanted to involve themselves with a federal government program. They wanted to sue the vaccine maker. They wanted a court award. But they were barred from suing.

At this point, you might say, “But if their child really does have autism and it was obviously caused by a vaccine, then they should be able to find justice somehow.”

You don’t understand how deep this deception goes. You don’t understand how criminally insane it is.

Because, you see, the label of “autism,” the very label that keeps parents from getting help for their children, is an arbitrary word that means nothing.

A deviously designed word that means nothing is keeping parents in a lifelong state of desperation, as they go bankrupt trying to care for their vaccine-damaged child.

We begin here: all 297 official mental disorders, listed in the (DSM) publication of the American Psychiatric Association, are defined and approved by committees of psychiatrists. Whether it is schizophrenia or autism or ADHD or clinical depression or bipolar disease, the definitions consist wholly of described behaviors. That’s all.

Psychiatrists will tell you these symptomatic behaviors are signs of underlying chemical imbalances or genetic aberrations, but they have no tests to back up this assertion. Therefore, all they are left with are the behaviors, their own menu-like clusters of those behaviors, and the “mental disorder” label they place on each cluster.

If they had more, if they had blood tests or brain scans or genetic assays, they would publish those tests and claim they are definitive for diagnoses of mental disorders. But they don’t.

Here is an exchange between a respected psychiatrist and a PBS interviewer, which occurred during a Frontline report titled, “Does ADHD Exist?”

PBS FRONTLINE INTERVIEWER: Skeptics say that there’s no biological marker—that it [ADHD] is the one condition out there where there is no blood test, and that no one knows what causes it.

BARKLEY (Dr. Russell Barkley, professor of psychiatry and neurology at the University of Massachusetts Medical Center): That’s tremendously na├»ve, and it shows a great deal of illiteracy about science and about the mental health professions. A disorder doesn’t have to have a blood test to be valid. If that were the case, all mental disorders would be invalid…There is no lab test for any mental disorder right now in our science. That doesn’t make them invalid. [Emphasis added]

Yes, it actually DOES make all those disorders invalid, unless “science” suddenly means “the opinions of psychiatrists sitting in a room, collecting together various human behaviors, and labeling them.”

Here is a link to the official psychiatric definition of autism disorder. It’s worth reading:

Notice that all the criteria for an autism diagnosis are behavioral. There is no mention of laboratory tests or test results. There is no mention of chemical imbalance or genetic factors.

Despite public-relations statements issued by doctors and researchers, they have no laboratory findings to establish or confirm an autism diagnosis.

But, people say, this makes no sense, because children do, in fact, withdraw from the world, stop speaking, throw sudden tantrums. Common sense dictates that these behaviors stem from serious neurological problems.

What could cause the behaviors listed in the official definition of autism disorder?

Vaccine injury; a toxic medical drug; a head injury; ingestion of a poison; an environmental chemical; a severe nutritional deficit; oxygen deprivation at birth; perhaps the emotional devastation accompanying the death of a parent…

There are many possible causes of the behaviors arbitrarily called autism.

However, then, why bother to say “autism?” Why not just say vaccine injury or head injury? Why not try to find the crucial event that brought on a specific child’s sudden and unique withdrawal from the world?

The answer should be clear. By establishing a label like autism, medical drugs can be sold. Studies can be funded. An industry can be created.

Something more can be done, too. The government can reject vaccine injury as a defining event in a child’s life, and reject the need to pay out compensation for it.

The government can say, “Since we know that some children who are diagnosed with autism have not received vaccines, or have not received vaccines containing a neurological poison (mercury), we do not compensate parents whose children are vaccine-injured on the basis that they have autism.”

Poof. It all goes away. Did you catch the sleight-of-hand trick?

Let me expose it. A child is given a vaccine. The child goes into a massive withdrawal from life and communication. A doctor, assessing the child’s behaviors, connects them with the official menu of behaviors labeled “autism.” The doctor then says, “This child has autism.”

Then the parents try to obtain government compensation through the VICP, the Vaccine Injury Compensation Program.

The parents, who now have alarmingly high expenses for ongoing care of their vaccine-damaged child, go to the VICP and say, “Our child has been diagnosed with autism, and we want to collect funds for the vaccine-injury he sustained.”

The government replies, “This is impossible. You see, we know that autism isn’t caused by vaccine injury. We know it because many children who are diagnosed with autism have never been injured by vaccines. Some autistic children have never had vaccines.”

Do you see what is going on here? The parents stepped into a fatal trap. They said “autism” and the government said “vaccine injury does not cause autism.”

You might think the parents could back up and regroup. They could say, “We don’t care what you call it, we just know our child was severely damaged by a vaccine, and we need funds.”

But it’s not as easy as that. The government has no category called “vaccine damage.” The government demands some disease or disorder that is diagnosed and officially attributed to a vaccine injury. As I established earlier, the government has a specific list of diseases or disorders that it will allow—to even begin thinking about financial compensation.

But, you say, this is an evil word game. Of course it’s a word game. The whole notion of “autism” based on no definitive tests was a word game to begin with.

What is called autism (merely a label) is not one condition caused by one factor. It is a loose collection of behaviors that can be caused by various traumas.

Parents say, “My child’s life was stolen away from him. He must have autism.”

A label provides some measure of relief for the parents. It doesn’t prove that the label actually means something. In fact, the label can be a diversion from knowledge that would actually help the child. Suppose, for example, after receiving the DPT vaccine, the child went into a screaming fit and then withdrew from the world. Calling that autism tends to put the parents and the child in the medical system, where there is no definitive effective treatment. Outside that system, there might be some hope with, say, hyperbaric oxygen treatments, or other strategies.

If all this creates a sense of outrage in you, you are not alone.

If a hundred thousand parents of children who have been devastated by vaccines traveled to the headquarters of the Vaccine Injury Compensation Program, at the Parklawn Building, 5600 Fishers Lane, Rockville, Maryland, and if they stayed there and Occupied the area, and if they had a unified position that cut through the word game and the purposeful official delusion, perhaps this criminal insanity would end.

A doctor’s diagnosis of autism most assuredly does not end the insanity. It adds to it.

I once had a conversation with a parent whose child was vaccine-injured and then diagnosed with autism. She spent years trying to obtain compensation from the VICP and failed. Here is a paraphrase of how our conversation went:

“I found out my child wasn’t the point of the VICP proceeding at all. The government’s attorney was doing everything possible to deny us compensation. I felt I was up against a monster.”

“They denied you benefits because your son had been diagnosed with autism?”

“Yes. They said there was no established connection between the vaccine-damage and autism, so they rejected my claim.”

“So you see that the the label ‘autism’ was the very thing they used to reject your claim.”

“I know it now. I didn’t know it then.”

“You also know there is no reason to use the ‘autism’ label. It’s an arbitrary word.”

“It’s a word that is ruining us.”

“Do you realize that, if your doctor had diagnosed your son with a different catch-all label, you would have stood a better chance of gaining compensation?”

“What label?”

“Encephalopathy, for example.”

“So you’re telling me it was all a game, and if I could have gotten the doctor to understand that, he might have written a different diagnosis in my son’s chart, and my chances [of compensation] might have improved.”

“That’s right. A different word.”

In a just world, a parent whose child is damaged by a vaccine would be permitted to sue the vaccine maker. In a less just world, the parent would be able to enter the VICP system and claim a right to compensation based on the simple stand-alone fact that her child was damaged by a vaccine.

In the world we live in, that parent has to prove her child was diagnosed with a condition that the government admits could be caused by a vaccine.

And if the doctor wrote down the word “autism,” the chances of compensation are suddenly very, very remote. They’re zero, unless the parent was able to obtain an accompanying word like “encephalopathy.”

Finally, people will insist that researchers are getting closer to discovering the true and basic cause of autism. This is just more arbitrary verbiage. The “symptoms” listed as definitive for autism are just a collection of behaviors. I could put together a list, and so could you:

“Fatigue, eye flutters, sadness, lack of desire to participate in school, loss of appetite, halting communication…” I could give these behaviors a name, “Remoteness Syndrome,” and call it a disorder, and then I could raise a few billion dollars to search for the underlying cause…but there would be no underlying single cause, because the list was a non-starter. It was just an arbitrary collection of behaviors.

“Autism” is nothing more than a catch-all phrase that indicates a variety of possible unconnected neurological insults. Each patient should be examined by a health practitioner who can really find the cause in that case. Then, perhaps, a treatment plan can be devised for that child.

Meanwhile, the government and its VICP program embroils parents and works them over and tortures them for years, and dumps most of them out on the street with no compensation.

Jon Rappoport

The author of an explosive collection, THE MATRIX REVEALED, Jon was a candidate for a US Congressional seat in the 29th District of California. Nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, he has worked as an investigative reporter for 30 years, writing articles on politics, medicine, and health for CBS Healthwatch, LA Weekly, Spin Magazine, Stern, and other newspapers and magazines in the US and Europe. Jon has delivered lectures and seminars on global politics, health, logic, and creative power to audiences around the world.

Friday, September 14, 2012

One Day at a Time....

A friend gave me a print-out of this section from a book.... I honestly don't even know the book, much less the author etc. It was a long time ago... But it was so beautiful I have been meaning and meaning to post it on my blog, so here it is. Be encouraged :)


       I like to think of each day's occupation as a journey. Something to be prepared for and undertaken in a spirit of adventure, and not as a dreary trudge merely traversed as a duty because it happens to be Hobson's choice.
       Although this is the day of the automobile and the aeroplane, I know that a vast number of women, including the writer, still make the day's journey on foot. And without even a tinge of envy, I believe that for those who want to see things and to understand them, Shanks' pony is still the ideal means of locomotion.
       Of course, the thought of a day's journey will not appeal to those who can take world tours; and yet, whether our bodies journey far afield or only a stone's throw from home, the life of the spirit is made up of morning-till-night excursions, and therefore the little turns and bends in the road, the unlooked-for encounters and ordinary landscapes, are of importance, because they form our experience; our means of learning and excelling in the lessons God has to teach us.
       We are travelling for our education, and day's journeys are not to be despised, because, as an old friend of mine said when we called on her unexpectedly: "You never know when you get up in the morning what strange thing's going to happen before you go to bed!"
       I like to think that as the body wakens in the morning, throws off lethargy, tightens muscles, and feels her senses growing alert for the needs of the new day, so the Soul who inhabits that body arises, shaking herself loose from sloth, and goes first foot down the secret stairway of the being to prepare for the emergencies of the road.
       But there is something the Soul must do before that. She must array herself in garments, choosing them with care, to make her comely in the eyes of all beholders, but very specially in the eyes of one Beholder. The idea that we must wear our oldest clothes when going on a journey was exploded long ago.
       Nowadays we like to look our very best at all times, but I think especially when we are journeying. No one knows with whom we may meet, what we may do, or where we may go. And clothes do make a difference.
       The mood we choose to get up in undoubtedly affects the tenor of the whole day. The Soul has many garments ready for wearing, and no one but herself can decide which she shall select. The Soul has this advantage over the body. She need never feel obliged to wear any ill-fitting unbecoming dress because she gave more than she meant to give for it, and it still has a lot of wear in it.
       The Soul need never tell herself that the gown in which she is her comeliest, and which she would most enjoy wearing, must be kept for special occasions.
       None of these wise housewifely thoughts apply to the Soul's wardrobe. In regard to this she has a distinct command and her pleasure is also her duty.
       Put on thy beautiful garments, O captive daughter of Zion.
       These words were spoken long generations ago to a People about to take a journey, a long and weary journey, but it was to the Land of Heart's Desire. To the soul of that nation the prophet spoke as though she had been a woman; a woman pressed down by the chains of a prison, but now set free to go the way of her heart.
       I woke early one morning and was thinking of the day's journey when these words became real to me. That day was going to be a troublesome day. A journey through uncongenial country, with hills to climb and streams to cross; the kind of wayfaring which makes one very tired, and yet seems to lead to no useful junction.
       To put it into plain words, Jane was on holiday, Bunty was starting for Ireland that day, and a party of friends on a motoring tour had written to say they might give us a look in about lunch-time, or it might not be till supper-time. And they might be glad to stay the night, or they might not. They could not say definitely, but would just leave it and see.
       I lay in bed trying to think out what this meant. John said it need mean nothing whatever. Bunty was quite old enough to get herself and her luggage ready without a stroke of help from me. And as to the visitors, if they came, they could have bread and cheese. Why on earth did women make such a fuss over situations that were perfectly simple?
       But I knew what it meant; that Bunty's room--at that moment rather chaotic--must be turned out after she had gone in case the visitors came; that beds must be made up and that sufficient food must be prepared.
       In fact a very busy day indeed was before my young Emily and me. My own writing, always inclined to be in arrears, must be put aside and caught up with afterwards as best it could. And nobody would be any the better for all the wear and tear I had to face, for nobody would realize that any wear and tear was attached to just having three or four motorists for one night. Especially as they might not come.
       Then to me the word of the Lord came: Awake, awake, put on they beautiful garments, O captive daughter of Zion.
       And I saw with the eyes of my understanding that every woman who hungers and thirsts for righteousness is a daughter of Zion. For Zion means City of God, and is another name for Jerusalem. Jerusalem with her chequered history is a picture of a woman's inner life. She is "the mother of us all" and we storm-racked and temperament-driven creatures of the twentieth century are her daughters.
       I saw that. And then I saw, too, that putting on beautiful garments meant something more than making the best of a tiresome situation. It meant the inner self being graceful over it and not down-at-heel. But, oh! (I thought) how am I to get like that, and to keep like that, when truly my temper is feeling much tattered and torn?
       Why is it that after all these years I still hate to be shifted out of my "course"? If I had been a horse I am afraid I should have been the sort which chafes when it feels a hand upon the reins, the sort of horse which will suddenly fling up its head and bolt.
       I thought back to the days when times were far more difficult. I was younger then and stronger than I am now, but burdens were heavier and circumstances inexorable. Yet, day after day the journey was undertaken, night after night found one weary, but still alive to tell the tale.
       I thought, too, of days more recent when the extent of the "journey" was only from the bed against the wall to the settee in the window. And even then--as those who must make that sort of wayfaring will testify--there were little helps by the way; baken cakes and water-cruses, which kept the journey from being "too great."
       And as I lay thinking and reasoning--for God does still reason with His people--I saw that this day's journey was only another form of the old lesson that seems to be taking me all my life to learn. The lesson of accepting each moment as it comes, believing that God who plans the ages is mindful of the smallest detail in the lives of men. Because "His folk are we all."
       A living soul is meant to be not only a pathfinder, but also a trail-blazer--and the finding and the blazing is never done once and for ever. It is a slow and continuous process, for paths have a way of grassing over, and trails often need rekindling if the road is to be kept open for God to travel on it. For that, if we only could realize it, is the reason and the meaning of all our wayfaring.
       God sends us journeying so that each day's mileage may become a highway for His feet. In us, and through us, as we live our ordinary lives, the great Road Planner looks for a way by which He can bring His own transports. Years pass sometimes before we see how the roads link up with one another, merging at last into the one Road which leads to the City Celestial.
       This new day (I thought), this very hour of my soul's waking has been born out of eternity; tonight when I lie down again it will have returned whither it came. Not a single moment of it is my own property. It is only lent to me to use, as I might use a field-path without in any sense becoming its owner.
       And this being so, who am I that I should say: "This thing or that thing is my lifework," when really my "life-work" is to get on with whasoever my hand findeth to do?
       "When little has been done by me, much may have been done in me," is what Francis Thompson said when the pressure of ordinary life seemed to hinder him. By which I think he meant that no day is lost if in it the Soul has received the faintest glimmer of Things as they Are.
       A look at the clock made me step out of bed and begin to dress. The day's journey had still to be traveled, but the burdensome quality of it did not weigh heavily now, because it was adjusted and swung harmoniously. Moving to rhythm is a grand secret.
       One charlady of mine knew that secret. When she swept, the broom became a young lithe dancing partner; when she washed a blanket, her arms fell into a metrical swing, so different from the feverish rub-here-and-there of the unskilled. My charlady never seemed hurried, yet the amount of work she did in a day was amazing. I thought of her as this day wore on. Just an ordinary day which thousands of women would have tackled without turning a hair.
       After the usual last-minute stampede, Bunty left. The guests did not arrive till tea-time and could not stay the night. When John and I had waved our farewells, he turned to me and said:
       "There! What did I tell you? There was no need for half the things you have done. I never saw such a woman!"
       And I replied quite truthfully:
       "No, nor did I."

Thursday, August 23, 2012

Brave New World contd....

"But I don't want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin."
"In fact," said Mustapha Mond [bad guy], "you're claiming the right to be unhappy."
"All right then," said the Savage defiantly, "I'm claiming the right be to unhappy."
"Not to mention the right to grow old and ugly and impotent; the right to have sypilis and cancer; the right to have too little to eat; the right to be lousy; the right to live in constant apprehension of what may happen tomorrow; the right to catch typhoid; the right to be tortured by unspeakable pains of every kind." There was a long silence.
"I claim them all," said the Savage at last.

I finished this incredible book last night. Disturbing, compelling, and eye-opening. Those are all words that come to my mind. But I would definitely recommend it for adults who want to think deeply (which I would hope of every adult). Aldous Huxley is a magnificent writer.

The book in a sentence speaks of never giving in to cultural ideas, fighting against the tide, spending your energies on what matters, even when it looks like it doesn't matter...

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Brave new WORLD

"I'd rather be myself. Myself and nasty. Not somebody else, however jolly."

"That'll teach him" [the director] said to himself. But he was mistaken. For Bernard left the room with a swagger, exulting, as he banged the door behind him, in the thought that he stood alone, embattled against the order of things; elated by the intoxicating consciousness of his individual significance and importance. Even the thought of persecution left him undismayed, was rather tonic than depressing. He felt strong enough to meet and overcome affliction, strong enough to face even Iceland [what he's just been threatened with by his superior].

He was not worthy, not... Their eyes for a moment met. What treasures hers promised! A queen's ransom of temperament. Hastily he looked away, disengaged his imprisoned arm. He was obscurely terrified lest she should cease to be something he could feel himself unworthy of.

"Well, I'd rather be unhappy than have the sort of false, lying happiness you were having here."

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

The Way the World Turns....

One of my dear friends, Breanna, just started a blog and she inspired me to start posting favorite songs again! I used to do it all the time but little to no response, so stopped. But just because I'm not getting any comments is no reason to stop doing something good! :) So here goes...

Life has not been easy lately. I mean, it's not usually easy, but it's been ESPECIALLY hard the past couple of months. But you know? Christ never promises that this life will be easy. And it's songs like these that help me see the bigger picture... Sanctus Real is an amazing band.

Empty moments when I feel hopeless
Have left me restless inside
Doubt and sadness have kept me in fragments
Longing for a better life
Oh, it's the way the world turns
The way, the way

And I feel the current pulling me down
Can't keep the world from turning around
So I keep turning to You
I keep turning
'Cause You're the hope of a new sunrise
Breaking over a desperate life
And I keep turning to You
I keep turning to You

I'm so distracted by senseless passions
Tempting my wandering eyes
But ever pursuit brings me closer to the truth
That only You can satisfy

When I feel the current pulling me down
Can't keep the world from turning around
So I keep turning to You
I keep turning
'Cause You're the hope of a new sunrise
Breaking over a desperate life
And I keep on turning to You
I keep turning

The way we're hurting keeps us turning to You
To You♫

Monday, October 17, 2011

We Can Cry with Hope....

Steven Curtis Chapman's song on his Speechless CD keeps running through my mind--particularly the chorus:

♫We can cry with hope
we can say goodbye with hope
'cause we know our goodbye is not the end
And we can breathe with hope
'cause we believe with hope
there's a place where we'll see your face again...♫

My grandmother, Dorothy Christine Robertson Cochran, passed away last Thursday, October 13th. She was a bright, energetic, spunky, fun, individual who could never be beat and never stayed sad. She had a difficult life, yet didn't allow that to quench her spirit and make her hard, bitter, and joyless. She chose instead to make nearly everything into a joke of some kind, love comedy, and make others laugh as much as she could.

During the last ten years we have lived far from her residence in FL--first in GA and now in CO. But the distance never lessened our love for her, or her love for us. I am so grateful that God lengthened her life to 81 years so we could know and love her longer.

The most difficult thing about her passing is that none of us are 100% certain she was a Christian. I don't say this out of arrogance but out of a painful desire to be truthful to myself. But like the song says, we can cry with  HOPE. We can HOPE that she is in heaven right now, waiting for us to get there. Knowing a peaceful and pain-free existence she really never had here on earth.

I honor, love, respect, and cherish my grandmother's memory, and I always will. I miss her so much and still can't believe she's gone at times, but it's just another reminder that this earth is not our home. She is the first of my close family members to pass away, and I know that if I live my full life expectancy, this is only the beginning of seeing death in those closest to me. I honestly don't know how I will deal with other family members' deaths who are even closer to me than my grandmother was. But I do know that God will never send anything my way that I can't handle with his strength.

I love you, Grandmother.