tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4101300012983588542024-03-05T06:11:46.732-06:00[Staircase] Wit and Wisdomof a Budding May Bloom.Hannah Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264247259911142756noreply@blogger.comBlogger27125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410130001298358854.post-10635308429118729722013-05-12T22:15:00.000-05:002013-05-12T22:17:03.949-05:00Mother's Day: Just Hear Me Out?I didn't realize today was going to be Mother's Day until about...Friday.<br />
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And I didn't really care. For my sake, I mean. (Because, you know, I'm a mother now. It still blows<i> </i>my mind.)</div>
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It isn't that I don't want to honor my mother...my mother-in-law...my grandmothers...and it isn't that I don't want my children to honor me. But why should these things be going on? Do I want my daughter to give me flowers because its Mother's Day and this is what the TV ads and the Hallmark aisle dictate that she's supposed to do? Because I deserve to be pampered for all of the pain she's put me through and the care I've given her? Friends, I don't "deserve" anything. Esther and I both need to be honoring our mothers and grandmothers every day of the year for one reason: because it brings glory to God. Don't you think it is worth noticing that the country <a href="http://www.thefiscaltimes.com/Articles/2013/05/10/Mothers-Day-Spending-21-Billion-to-Say-I-Love-You.aspx#page1">spending 20 billion dollars for Mother's Day</a> caters to a rebellious youth culture in which parents are continually disrespected and then stuck in nursing homes at the ends of their lives?</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.someecards.com/usercards/viewcard/MjAxMS0wM2I1NzhkYjJiYWM5ZDM2">photo source</a></td></tr>
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Okay, that may have sounded a bit harsh. I don't want to be insensitive--my Facebook feed was filled with beautiful posts thanking and praising many, many amazing women. They were beautiful and sincere, and I was blessed to read them. I just think we should do that sort of thing all throughout every year--and continually be holding ourselves accountable to God's expectations for honoring our moms, so that we can guard against cutting ourselves slack and then easing our consciences with a pink carnation on...what day? Oh yes...the Lord's. That brings me to my other objection.<br />
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Sunday is the Lord's day. it isn't mine, it isn't my mothers. It isn't my grandmother's. God asks for one day out of every seven. Of course they are all His, which makes these dichotomies a little more difficult to explain, but this day is holy--it is set apart for a specific purpose. If we don't wholeheartedly commit ourselves to rest and be replenished in communion with our Christ on His day, how can we possibly be equipped to give proper honor to our mothers the rest of the week? <br />
Maybe this is more of a struggle for me than for you. I know everyone has different strengths. But it is hard enough for me to put my fears, worries and even just mundane focuses aside every Sunday without extra interference from a secular culture.<br />
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So just to make sure I've been perfectly clear...I love my mom. She is my inspiration--if by inspiration I can mean that the things she has sacrificed and accomplished in her life boggle my mind every single day and I have been trying fruitlessly to think of the words to her poem for years. My mother-in-law has given her life selflessly to serve God, she's been through hardships I can't really imagine, and I couldn't have been blessed with a better one, because I don't think a better exists. My grandmothers have shaped my life in ways that I can't limit by describing at the end of a paragraph, even if wide physical distances separate all of them from me now.</div>
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I give praise to my Father in heaven for each one of these mothers in my life...and I think Mother's Day does them a great disservice. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.girltalkhome.com/blog/mothers-day-contest-winner-5">photo source</a><a href="http://www.girltalkhome.com/blog/mothers-day-contest-winner-5">: www.girltalkhome.com</a></td></tr>
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Hannah Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264247259911142756noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410130001298358854.post-1376399102328690132013-04-01T12:35:00.000-05:002013-04-01T12:35:37.728-05:00Once Upon a Tangled Mess: Situational Ethics.<div>
I like fairy tales. <div>
I've liked them for as long as I can remember. I like to read them and write them. So I stumbled across a show on Hulu called "Once Upon a Time," and that sounded just like my cup of tea.</div>
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It basically throws all of the classic fairy tales into one story world in which the evil stepmother from Snow White concocts a curse which is meant to prevent all happy endings. Our favorite fairy tale characters are locked into a town called Storybrooke (set in modern Maine) with their real memories erased and fake ones in their place. Everyone has backstories in their heads which didn't really happen...and the goal of the story is to see the curse broken and the truth back in the minds of the people. It's a fun premise.</div>
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Snow White and Prince Charming are newlyweds when the curse takes effect, but as far as their new brainwashed selves are concerned, Snow is a single schoolteacher named Mary Margaret, and Charming is now David...who is married to another woman.</div>
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The problem is, because none of that is actually true, David and Mary Margaret find themselves irresistibly attracted to each other. They feel a connection that's just "right," and no matter what they do, they just can't help knowing they were meant for each other.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.sodahead.com/entertainment/once-upon-a-time-fans-which-couplestoryline-do-you-like-better/question-2470207/">photo source</a></td></tr>
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So David leaves the woman he thinks is his wife for the woman who really <i>is</i> his wife. We are clearly meant to be cheering and exulting at this point, but it just left a sick feeling in my stomach. They could very easily have written the story so that his true memories were coming back to him--other characters were remembering bits of theirs around the same time. But they wanted that twinge of naughty satisfaction to go along with the audience's justification of the affair. That's their choice...but it cost them a viewer. And this is why.</div>
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As my pastor is fond of saying, "Even if something is not wrong to do, if you think it is and do it anyway, you're sinning." </div>
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This is sort of a paraphrase of Romans 14:14, which says, </div>
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"I know and am persuaded in the Lord Jesus that nothing is unclean in itself, but it is unclean for anyone who thinks it unclean." </blockquote>
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Paul is speaking of food, but the principle transcends the context. He gives it a broader application later in the chapter: </div>
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"But whoever has doubts is condemned if he eats, because the eating is not from faith. For whatever does not proceed from faith is sin." </blockquote>
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Then we have the movie Tangled. It's a beautiful movie with some things I really like, but why did they have to change the story and set it up so that Rapunzel thinks the witch is her mother who loves her and has her best interests at heart?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIFpmta5aQ1zlpNC7qVSd-Khq_tlBknF-ALapTJema7si1CS7gbuAfRygkkLWVodbt1ggc-mPAvxcokwiP4A_ch7uKpeFgDQo-xbkdzjYOpgsAGi-Jho75U3RWzBlzSdLfHcuKrQK7cAZ_/s1600/Mother+Knows+Best.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIFpmta5aQ1zlpNC7qVSd-Khq_tlBknF-ALapTJema7si1CS7gbuAfRygkkLWVodbt1ggc-mPAvxcokwiP4A_ch7uKpeFgDQo-xbkdzjYOpgsAGi-Jho75U3RWzBlzSdLfHcuKrQK7cAZ_/s320/Mother+Knows+Best.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.doblu.com/2011/03/29/tangled-review/">photo source</a><br /></td></tr>
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Friends have asked me what I would have her do differently in such an emotionally abusive situation. I'm not saying I don't think she had options, even if she did think the witch was her mother, but if her only motivation for leaving was that she just had to see the magic lanterns on her birthday...I just don't think that cuts it. Escaping could have been fine in certain situations--I mean, she could run out of food...some emergency...but no. She just wanted to have fun. Silly mother just worried too much. She knew she shouldn't leave...and she did it anyway. I think that was sin.<br />
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The world loves to present us with hypothetical situations in order to see if we'll compromise. But we have a promise:<br />
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"No temptation has overtaken you that is not common to man. God is faithful, and He will not let you be tempted beyond your ability, but with the temptation he will also provide the way of escape, that you may be able to endure it." ~1 Corinthians 10:13~</blockquote>
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We will always have a Godly option. It won't be easy, and it may require sacrifice. But sin is never the only way.<br />
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Hannah Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264247259911142756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410130001298358854.post-87125059307730850782013-03-16T17:55:00.003-05:002013-03-16T19:20:13.211-05:00Pipe Dreams and Cloud Castles<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://cache.kotaku.com/assets/images/8/2009/09/laputa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="258" src="http://cache.kotaku.com/assets/images/8/2009/09/laputa.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://kotaku.com/5353692/the-many-strange-and-beautiful-sci+fi-faces-of-hayao-miyazaki?tag=castle-in-the-sky">photo source</a></td></tr>
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You know what? I've been in the teens for so long that I feel quite comfortable in them.<br />
Twenty is approaching apace (i. e. in two months) and I'm still in denial. It's not like I don't want to be old someday, or I'm obsessed with youth...I've just had a lot of fun being a teen wife and teen mama, and I feel like I'm giving up my favorite sweater. The twenties will take some breaking in.<br />
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But as I get older, a couple of old fancies which have been embedded into my subconscious for a while are working themselves out, and the realizations have hit. They hurt, but I'm slowly accepting them. I'll survive...I think.</div>
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1. Hannah, you are not Rapunzel. You never will be. So keep your hair cut.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://collider.com/walt-disney-tangled-movie-images/">photo source</a></td></tr>
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Ever since I can remember I have dreamed of growing my hair out looong long long. It went perfectly with my picture of ultimate beauty--rippling floor-length dresses...bell sleeves...pointy ears...</div>
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It didn't help that we were friends with a family who had three gorgeous teen girls who kept their hair exactly the way I wanted mine. It flowed to their knees, was glossy and smooth, and oh, it was just lovely. So ever since, my default has been to grow my hair as long as I can with that goal in mind. But it is so frustrating and I don't really put the time into the maintenance long hair requires, and it's not thick enough to avoid looking stringy, so it generally just gets thrown together. I've got a job, people. So I looked around and after assessing my friends and relations and observing that none of them have Rapunzel hair and they are FINE, I've finally decided to let my imaginary ropes and ropes of braids go--and have hair that can actually look as taken-care-of as I want it. I still plan to keep long hair...just not VERY long. I, unfortunately, am not Rapunzel.</div>
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2. You are not a pioneer woman. So work out.</div>
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It just seems silly. We spend all this time and money figuring out how to get places easier and faster, do our dirty work with machines, talk to people across the street from our couches...and then we have to spend MORE time and money hopping around in a very pointless fashion in order to keep ourselves functioning at any sort of healthy level. How does that make sense? So in the name of logic, I have put off a good exercise regime, thinking that maybe hooking up the washer and dryer on the second story would give me enough trips up the stairs to work up the necessary sweat.<br />
It didn't.</div>
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So I sat down with myself and had a good talk. </div>
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"Self," I said, "If you want to live that way, you're going to have to move somewhere with potato fields and outdoor plumbing. Otherwise, deal with the squat-jumps."</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://images.nationalgeographic.com/wpf/media-live/photos/000/210/cache/potato-field-india_21021_990x742.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://images.nationalgeographic.com/wpf/media-live/photos/000/210/cache/potato-field-india_21021_990x742.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://photography.nationalgeographic.com/photography/photo-of-the-day/potato-field-india/">photo source</a></td></tr>
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So I have resigned myself and started the bodyweight 100-500 program. </div>
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Jubilation.</div>
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Hannah Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264247259911142756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410130001298358854.post-34440178142193775272013-03-12T10:44:00.002-05:002013-03-12T10:44:45.202-05:00A Golden Splash: The Birth of Esther (The Long Story)<br />
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“<i>Years
rolled on again, and Wendy had a daughter.</i></div>
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<i>This ought not to be written in ink, but in a golden
splash.”</i></div>
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<i>~Peter
Pan~</i></div>
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Well, my friends, it has happened again. Life has snatched me and
tossed me across a gap I cannot uncross. It is done, it has been
written. My daughter is born, and in the bathroom mirror I see the
face of a mother. It is a wild and wonderful thing.
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On August 9<sup>th</sup>, 2012, I looked around and found everything
in place.
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How often does that happen in life? Not very. But on that day it
seemed like even the tasks I wouldn't have minded leaving until after
the baby's arrival had been taken care of. Dishes washed and put
away...clean laundry...I even found time and energy to pull the
grates off of the stove and scrub it down. Even though the baby
wouldn't be sleeping in the crib just yet, I was also happy to have
had Daddy and Caleb put it together a few days before, since I needed
every bit of storage I could get.
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So I had leisure to sit and wonder about the new sensations inside
me. She seemed to be pushing down, but harder than before, and almost
in a rhythmic sort of way. But then...could a baby en utero be able
to push quite so hard? Was this what Braxton-Hicks felt like? I
hadn't had any until that point. The sensations faded away after the
morning, however, so I set the thoughts aside.
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August 10<sup>th</sup>, 2012, I woke up at 2:30 am as usual to send
my husband off to work—and found the same rhythmic pressures at
work. However, they weren't going away, and were accompanied by the
discovery of a lost mucus plug. I promptly called my doula.
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“You're having a baby,” she said.
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I somehow managed to convince my panicking husband that he really
didn't need to call in absent at work, so he left after many
reassurances that I would be fine, and I would call him if anything
seemed to be progressing more rapidly than I expected. I tried to go
back to sleep, but what I now identified as early contractions
wouldn't let me quite doze off. So I laid in bed with a timer, paper
and pencil, and turned on the BBC Persuasion with Ciaran Hinds and
Amanda Root. The contractions averaged at about 7-10 minutes apart
for several hours.</div>
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At 7 or 8 in the morning I called my mother-in-law just down the
road, and she came to get together a last-minute Wal-Mart list so we
would be stocked with snacks, toilet paper, and similar incredible
luxuries. Caleb came home from work at 10:30 (I still wonder how much
he managed to accomplish, checking his phone every five minutes in an
agitated flurry to see if I had tried to contact him) and at that
time I called my mother. After asking how she was doing, and getting
the reply that it was just a nice slow day, I asked her,
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“Well, if it's a slow day for you, is it a good day for a baby?”</div>
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I gave her the scoop on my contractions, and then couldn't really get
another word in because she was too busy calling Dad on the other
phone and giving my brothers instructions for while she would be
gone.</div>
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By this time, I was thanking God for my rocking chair, and every time
a contraction hit me I would sit, rock, and breathe.
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At somewhere around lunchtime, I called my midwife to let her in on
things, and she told me that before she headed over, because it was a
long way to drive, I should take an hour-long bath. This would
stabilize my labor, which would either slow down and possibly delay
for as long as a couple more days, or it would pick up and let us
know that this baby was ready.
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By the time I got out, nothing had slowed down. My doula arrived, and
promptly banned me from the rocker and all other flat surfaces. After
that I mostly sat on the birthing ball. I found that although the
ball strengthened the contractions, I had longer and better rest
periods in between if I used it. So I sat and rocked and leaned
against the arm of the couch as Caleb pushed on my lower back to ease
the pain.</div>
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If I needed to stretch, I would stand up and circle the kitchen
table, stopping to lean on the counter and rock back and forth
through the contractions.
</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Things were far enough along at this point that I was putting vibrato
into my exhales and distracting myself with scripture verses. I had
prepared five particular verses for labor, but was surprised to find
that the most readily available in my memory turned out to be the
beginning of James 1, which my family memorized to rhythm about 10
years ago. The sing-song quality matched my rocking movements well,
and the words turned out to fit well--</div>
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<br />“My brethren, count it all joy when you fall into various
trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience.”</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It wasn't long until the vibrato-breathing turned into what my
sister-in-law describes as “dying cow noises” and I would have to
approve of that description. That's what it sounds like, people.
</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
My midwife arrived around six in the evening, checked me, and told me
I was between six and seven centimeters, and <span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">between
80 and 90</span> percent effaced. I got into the pool, which my
husband and doula had been filling with water from the stove for
quite some time. <i>It felt so good. </i>
</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
A lot of mothers talk about their “push-urge” as a powerful
sensation which sort of overtakes the whole process of laboring. I
assumed it would be (excuse my simile) something like the vomit
reflex—hard work, not pleasant, but involuntary and all-consuming.
I don't know whether it's because I could have waited longer before
starting or I just didn't understand the descriptions, but I found
that I had to make myself push much more than I thought I would. The
closest I came to what might have been an “urge” was when it
became much more painful if I didn't push through a contraction than
if I did.</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I pushed for an hour, squeezing one of my husband's hands, and one of
my mother's. My voice grew hoarse, and between contractions I lay
limp against the side of the pool, asking God for help. I think it
was about this time that I started saying to myself what every mother
must in the face of hard labor:
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>I'm never doing this again.</i>
</div>
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(Of course, that sentiment doesn't last very long.)</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
My water broke sometime inside that hour, and when Esther began to
crown, they said I could reach down and feel her head. At that point
I was so tired that I really didn't feel like breaking my
concentration, but my midwife encouraged it, so I did—and I'm so
glad. It brought a smile to my face and renewed my resolve, because
we were so very close to meeting face to face. <br /><br />The rest is
rather a blur of pushing and standing up to deliver (so her head
wouldn't hit the bottom of the pool) and the sting of my tear, and
then I sat back in the water to look at my baby girl.
</div>
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I don't really have words for that moment. Maybe someday they will
come to me.
</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We moved to the bedroom for delivery of the placenta. I had planned
on much more skin-to-skin and nursing time with Esther at this point,
but I ended up being so weak and tired that when the cord stopped
pulsing and Caleb cut it, I was happy to let Mom take her out to meet
the crowd of uncles, grandpas and neighbors who had gathered in the
living room. It was strange and surreal sitting there getting
stitched and listening to the deep laughter and conversation in the
next room as they admired my 9 lb, 13 oz daughter and (bless them)
siphoned the water out of the birth pool.
</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We have been trusted with an eternal soul to nurture in her Creator's
name. I could not feel more honored, nor more delighted. So ends the
story of Esther's birth at home, with which I could hardly have been
more pleased. I didn't find myself harboring nasty feelings towards
my husband or anyone there, I never thought I would die, and I never
felt like I just couldn't do it. <br />There was a point during my last
few pushes where the contraction stopped and my midwives kept urging
me on. I had no strength to push without the force of the
contraction, so I gasped out, “I can't...” and I think they may
have mistook that for a moment of despair, because they immediately
cut me off with, “Yes you can. Yes you can.” But it really was
only that I needed the help of the contraction to continue.</div>
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</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /><br />Life doesn't always play out the way we hope, however. Across
the following weeks, nursing became more and more painful...my baby
cried more...and her fat rolls began to shrink away. She is healthy
and strong now, but I will save that story for next time. God has
been good.</div>
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<br />
</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
“My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit has rejoiced in God my
Savior. For He has regarded the low estate of His maidservant.”</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>~Luke
1—The Magnificat~</i></div>
Hannah Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264247259911142756noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410130001298358854.post-54512962785931986232012-06-18T04:04:00.000-05:002012-06-18T04:04:10.960-05:00Becoming Grownup (First Anniversary Reflections)<br />
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
A year has passed. One
year, and so many moments of deciding that I am not ready to be a
grownup. I wouldn't hinder it, and I wouldn't give up the blessings.
But I still don't feel ready. I have learned that
</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
1. The times when I know
just how much I love someone are often the times when I am incredibly
frustrated, either because of them or in their behalf. Because then I
realize how much it hurts to see them in error when I want so badly
for them to reach their utmost potential, and how much I would give
to heal the ache in their eyes.</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
2. Some nights, even a
grownup just wants mommy.
</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
3. Westley was right—life
IS pain. Humans are too faulty and love is too strong for it to be
anything else. I am just beginning to understand how blissfully
ignorant I was as a little girl of the hurts in the world—how often
friends slip away, couples tear apart, and invisible walls grow like
weeds.
</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
4. Some days, dropping a
stick of butter feels like the end of the world.</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
5. Being in charge of a
household (or being the wife of the one in charge) is a lot scarier
than being a child in one. It's like sitting on the bumper when
before, you always got the booster in the back seat. You sketched out
a map before you left, but it blew away...there's a drop-off on one
side...and who (or Who) is standing on that gas pedal...?</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
But as I said in the
beginning...I wouldn't give up the blessings. I have also learned
that</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
1. Contrary to my
expectations (due to a remark once made by one of my parents about
<i>their</i> early years), not every couple hates each other the
first year of marriage. I won't say I never lose touch with the
fluttery side of things, but there you have it. I like him.</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
2. Husbands will hug you
as tightly as you want whenever you need it. And they will startle
you by (really truly) thinking you're gorgeous on your most
nightmarish hair days.
</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
3. The movement of new
life inside me...it's just one of the best feelings in the whole
world. It panics me every now and then with its vastness of
implications, but I am learning a different sort of love than I ever
knew before, and it gives me joy.</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
4. I may not write quite
so many long letters and emails...but my loving friends always seem
to be there, ready to challenge and comfort me as ever.
</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
5. God never fails to love
me more than I understand. I constantly fall short of honoring His
love (I can't nearly say I try my best, even), however, I'm trying to
at least merit the description 'a work in progress.'</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
These lessons perhaps make
my life sound more sobering than it has been. Really, it's beautiful,
and I wouldn't switch places with anyone on earth. My trials have
been very petty so far, and when I'm not crying (pregnancy hormones,
anyone?) I'm laughing at my foolishness. But I can only imagine the
fright of a newborn baby as it emerges into the atmosphere we call
normality. I am a baby grown-up, and the world is too big and too
bright. Just give me time. I'm still a little scared.</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>Hannah Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264247259911142756noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410130001298358854.post-8243700445653492552012-06-05T21:16:00.003-05:002012-06-05T21:16:37.071-05:00Maternity LeaveWell everyone,<br /><br />With pregnancy, nesting, preparing to move, job craziness for my husband, and all that jazz we call life, I really haven't had much inspiration for this little nook of the web. So I decided I might as well make it official and let myself off of the hook--just in case y'all were expecting to see more of me over the Summer.<br /><br />May God be with you all during the next few months. I look forward to sharing all about the birth of my daughter!<br /><br />
Huffing and puffing (I <i>know</i> I had ankle bones at some point in the past),<br />
~HannahHannah Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264247259911142756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410130001298358854.post-74365902480770730032012-05-02T17:31:00.000-05:002012-05-02T17:31:17.393-05:00Should Christians Celebrate? Part II--Does God Like Holidays?<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Photo credit: <a href="http://www.sxc.hu/photo/1378026">data9090</a></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Before I step any farther
into the topic of Christians and holidays, I need to note that I do
not believe the setting aside of any day besides the Lord's Day is
required by God. Paul writes in Romans 14,
</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.5in; margin-right: 0.5in;">
“<i>One person esteems one day as better than another, while
another esteems all days alike. Each one should be fully convinced in
his own mind. The one who observes the day, observes it in honor of
the Lord. The one who eats, eats in honor of the Lord, since he gives
thanks to God, while the one who abstains, abstains in honor of the
Lord and gives thanks to God.”</i></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.5in; margin-right: 0.5in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-right: -0.01in;">
We are given a tremendous amount of liberty in this area. My family
may celebrate Christmas, Resurrection Day, and whatever else, but if
you don't believe it would glorify God for your family to do so,
please understand that I have no problem with that whatsoever. There
are huge issues with the major holidays celebrated in our country
today, and I can think of plenty of valid reasons why a household may
decide that it's not enough of a priority to justify the struggle.
The Baucham family, for instance, has chosen not to observe Christmas
in their household. You can read their reasons <a href="http://archive.constantcontact.com/fs026/1102459509708/archive/1102807115791.html">here</a>, and I greatly
respect the stance they have made.
</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-right: -0.01in;">
So this is not a question of whether holidays are lawful, but of
whether they are profitable. My first question, <a href="http://www.staircasewitandwisdom.blogspot.com/2012/04/should-christians-celebrate-part-i-did.html">as mentioned in my introduction</a>, is this: Does God like holidays?</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-right: -0.01in;">
By the way, when I say “holiday,” I mean a day in which normal
life's routines are set aside in some fashion to commemorate or
celebrate an event or person. <a href="http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/Holiday?s=t">Dictionary.com</a> says it a little
fancier:</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-right: -0.01in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 0.49in; margin-right: 0.52in;">
“<i>A day fixed by law or custom on which ordinary business is
suspended in commemoration of some event or in honor of some person.”
</i>
</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
First I
want to look at a few examples of sentiments proclaimed throughout
the Psalms.
</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
Psalm
78:</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
“<i>We will not hide
them from their children, </i>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
<i>but tell to the coming
generation </i>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
<i>the glorious deeds of
the Lord, and His might, </i>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
<i>and the wonders that He
has done.”</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
Psalm
105:</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
“<i>Oh give thanks to
the LORD; call upon His name;</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>make known His deeds
among the peoples!</i></div>
<i><div style="text-align: left;">
<i>Sing to Him, sing praises to Him;</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>tell of
all His wondrous works!”</i></div>
</i><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
Psalm
111:</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
“<i>Praise the Lord!</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
<i>I will give thanks to
the Lord with my whole heart, </i>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
<i>in the company of the
upright, in the congregation.</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
<i>Great are the works of
the Lord, </i>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>studied by all who
delight in them.”</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
In these
verses we see</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
~Remembering
God's works</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
~Studying
God's works</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
~Proclaiming
God's works</div>
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<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
As well
as</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
~Praising
Him for them</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
~Thanking
Him for them.</div>
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<br />
</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
These
are all shown as worthy activities for children of God, and I think
I'm going to venture to roll them all up into one verb: <a href="http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/celebrate?s=t">celebrate</a>. If
the above verses don't sound celebratory enough, try Psalm 98:</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
“<i>Make a joyful noise
to the Lord, all the earth; </i>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
<i>break forth into joyous
song and sing praises! </i>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
<i>Sing praises to the
Lord with the lyre, </i>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
<i>with the lyre and the
sound of melody!</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
<i>With trumpets and the
sound of the horn</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
<i>make a joyful noise
before the King, the Lord!”</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
As far
as whether or not God approves of celebration in the form of
holidays, i.e. certain days of the year being set apart to celebrate
specific works which He has done, a look at Leviticus 23 will reveal
that for His people, He mandated it. And have you read those
requirements? That is a<i> lot</i> of holiday for one year.
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Because
of the Romans verse, I don't believe these feasts are mandated in the
New Covenant, but neither have they been obliterated (although
certain aspects of them, such as sacrifices, have). So I think that
yes, holidays can be a legitimate form of celebration for the
follower of Christ. </div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
What about the extra-biblical holidays that many of us celebrate today? This
brings forward our next question, to be discussed in Part 3...</div>
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<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
Does
God Like <i>Our</i> Holidays?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<br />
</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>Hannah Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264247259911142756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410130001298358854.post-5060421112923469842012-04-18T15:45:00.000-05:002012-04-18T15:45:38.853-05:00Should Christians Celebrate? Part I--Did Christ Eat Rabbit?Well, Resurrection Day has come and gone—as we can all tell from the chocolate rabbits and plastic eggs lining our local clearance aisles. So am I the only one missing a connection between the cross and the bunny?<br />
<br />
Christ fed the multitudes, but I think he used fish—and they did eat bread at the Last Supper, but I don't see loaves of Mrs. Baird's hidden among the green cellophane at Wal-Mart. Let's see, we're getting closer. . . after He was crucified, they gave Him some nasty wine, and when He rose and appeared to the disciples, I know He ate something. Maybe that's where the eggs come in—or did he eat rabbit?<br />
<br />
Um—nope. It says He ate fish again. Huh. I'd expect to at least see some goldfish crackers in the purple baskets. <i>That</i> would make sense.<br />
<br />
Oh, wait. That's the Easter Bunny, not the Resurrection Day Bunny. Never mind, sorry. My bad. I think I have it now—two holidays colliding on the same day?<br />
<br />
It sounds right, but that can't be it. No, certainly not. Because how does that explain <i>this?</i><br />
<br />
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<a href="http://www.dazzlejunction.com/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="Graphics"><img alt="Bunny Tomb Empty image" border="0" height="320" src="http://www.dazzlejunction.com/graphics-holiday/easter-christian/bunny-tomb-empty.gif" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> <a href="http://www.dazzlejunction.com/graphics-holiday/easter-christian/">Easter Christian Graphics</a> </span><br />
<br />
<br />
I am so confused.<br />
<br />
From what I've heard, I'm not the only one who is wondering or has wondered in the past why we celebrate the way we do, and whether or not the benefits outweigh the effort. Does God like holidays? Does He like ours? And if He does...does He like the way we're celebrating them?<br />
<br />
This is a topic which has become increasingly important to me, and I quickly realized that one blog post wasn't going to suffice for everything I wanted to look at. So I hope you'll return for the second installment of my series 'Should Christians Celebrate?' and I'll give you my thoughts on whether or not God approves of holidays.Hannah Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264247259911142756noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410130001298358854.post-27751712878566477932012-04-08T18:30:00.000-05:002012-04-08T18:30:48.055-05:00Pickled in Christ?<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I found this gem in my Greek New
Testament Lexicon while researching baptism for my husband. It can, I
believe, be safely asserted that I have never heard salvation
explained in quite this way before...</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">"'The
clearest example that shows the meaning of baptizo [vs. 'bapto'] is a
text from the Greek poet and physician Nicander, who lived about 200
B.C. It is a recipe for making pickles and is helpful because it uses
both words.<br /></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">Nicander says that in order to make a pickle, the
vegetable should first be 'dipped' (bapto) into boiling water and
then 'baptised' (baptizo) in the vinegar solution. Both verbs concern
the immersing of vegetables in asolution. But the first is temporary.
The second, the act of baptising the vegetable, produces a permanent
change.<br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">When used in the New Testament, this word more often
refers to our union and identification with Christ than to our water
baptism. e.g.Mark 16:16. 'He that believes and is baptised shall be
saved'. Christ is saying that mere intellectual assent is not enough.
There must be a union with him, a real change, like the vegetable to
the pickle!'<br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">(Bible Study Magazine, James Montgomery Boice, May
1989.)"</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbGFHSGaIcdhJlL2qXfu9FNhUTC1EkRhH9jt3TCfYDFWzXsZNAbOQXmGt1Pot2Ws_f6l0T01nLhfjm2x646kRadYhWtv4aB790IV1P7X9RYbUveHfyMqqnze5ZA_ueX00thDKwjqK-4RMe/s1600/320px-Pickle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbGFHSGaIcdhJlL2qXfu9FNhUTC1EkRhH9jt3TCfYDFWzXsZNAbOQXmGt1Pot2Ws_f6l0T01nLhfjm2x646kRadYhWtv4aB790IV1P7X9RYbUveHfyMqqnze5ZA_ueX00thDKwjqK-4RMe/s1600/320px-Pickle.jpg" /></a></div>
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A joyous Resurrection Sunday to all of
my fellow Pickles in the Lord!
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Photo credit: <a href="http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Pickle.jpg">http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Pickle.jpg</a>)</span></i></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbGFHSGaIcdhJlL2qXfu9FNhUTC1EkRhH9jt3TCfYDFWzXsZNAbOQXmGt1Pot2Ws_f6l0T01nLhfjm2x646kRadYhWtv4aB790IV1P7X9RYbUveHfyMqqnze5ZA_ueX00thDKwjqK-4RMe/s1600/320px-Pickle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="text-align: left;"> </span></a><br />Hannah Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264247259911142756noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410130001298358854.post-31903911548618650762012-03-30T19:44:00.000-05:002012-04-04T03:11:07.920-05:00What Not To Wear...but Why?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4dCbeNDHPGcGn-4RBGFaBupcWGCmktRWKUeoxvP8oyLNGOAFW5Nm822AGCSocPs4MU4Vw9TVoMxGmCyJxsxSnZMOgr7fMAP8iK0V4tQvqRhbYGUHG95hxsYZTrI-eUAnQXaN-ovFMGmlN/s1600/Earring+Photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4dCbeNDHPGcGn-4RBGFaBupcWGCmktRWKUeoxvP8oyLNGOAFW5Nm822AGCSocPs4MU4Vw9TVoMxGmCyJxsxSnZMOgr7fMAP8iK0V4tQvqRhbYGUHG95hxsYZTrI-eUAnQXaN-ovFMGmlN/s320/Earring+Photo.jpg" width="245" /></a></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"> (Photo credit: <a href="http://www.jupiterimages.com/">www.jupiterimages.com</a>--cropped by me)</span></i></div>
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For the past month or so, I have enoyed
watching episodes of TLC's TV show "What Not To Wear" when I'm wiped
out in the evenings or I want something to focus on while I fold
laundry. I tried Say Yes to the Dress, and it only depressed me.
(Thousands of dollars for one dress to make the bride feel like the
star of the show? What happened to representing the Church and
setting the focus on Christ?)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'm analytical. I can't help it. So I
keep wondering what it is that brings me back to What Not To Wear.
For those of you who are unfamiliar with this reality show, it runs
in the vein of "Extreme Makeover, Home Edition," but for individuals
instead of houses. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Each episode features someone who has been
nominated by her friends and family because they feel like she needs
help learning how to dress (and they're right). Stacey London and
Clinton Kelly offer her $5,000 towards a shopping spree in New York
if she will agree to toss whatever clothes they dislike out of her
current wardrobe and follow their shopping rules. The participant is
sent home with her new clothes, and a new hairstyle and makeup. I
haven't seen an episode yet in which she leaves unhappy, or her
family is not ecstatic with the things she has learned about looking
presentable.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Why do I feel like Clinton and Stacey
are bettering these peoples' lives with what they teach even though I
don't agree with a lot of the attitudes they promote? I don't think a
slouchy dresser needs to “love herself,” or “show off her great
body,” and I don't think the issue should resolve with a person making
more “me-time” for herself because by golly, she's amazing, and
she needs to accept that she just deserves it. That viewpoint only makes clothing a reinforcement of the pride we as followers of Christ are working so hard to beat out of our nature.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Skyrocketing self-esteem won't get us
closer to God—but WNTW is getting something right. I hadn't been
able to pinpoint it until suddenly today they said something that
made it all click.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><b>“You're dressing like you
don't want to be here.”</b></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
That I understood. Dressing nicely and
appropriately is not about showing people how much I love myself
because I rock the world. It's about saying, “I love being here.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I love my calling. I love the people
I'm around. I love the home in which God has placed me as the wife,
mother, and domestic artist. Sure, I can throw on a t-shirt and a
stained skirt to sweep and wash dishes. I can even socialize with my
neighbors with unbrushed hair and pajama pants sticking out from
under my skirt. But it sends an “I don't care” message, and
that's the last thing I want to say about the position I have been
given.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>This </i>is the reason to pay
attention to the clothes I put on. It's not about appreciating
myself, it's about appreciating my situation—my work, my family,
and my brothers and sisters in Christ. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>Hannah Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264247259911142756noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410130001298358854.post-46420860637589515882012-03-20T13:03:00.000-05:002012-03-20T13:03:10.118-05:00Rain Music<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Hello Everyone...I know I am a failed blogger. I have many posts bouncing around in my head right now, I just haven't had the motivation to sit down and write them. And when I tried the other day, for some reason it just wasn't...ringing, if you know what I mean. It didn't flow. So I didn't post it. I'm sorry. But while a few other thoughts simmer, here is one of my favorite poems. It perfectly fits such a rainy first day of spring, does it not? </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i><u><br /></u></i></b></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu2B_CkFmEhXQg6Ed4gah7Qb84fJJOqh1SGtGZk1kPwq-FzF4EhWvd8tsouxDZ_EDe-wjLBF0X6Z40wXHYsAXu94ewPaMl8owO6zvibuGHNQgaPSYe8nj1GGPpDa0546S0SUXfdigtaEbn/s1600/DSC04612_-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu2B_CkFmEhXQg6Ed4gah7Qb84fJJOqh1SGtGZk1kPwq-FzF4EhWvd8tsouxDZ_EDe-wjLBF0X6Z40wXHYsAXu94ewPaMl8owO6zvibuGHNQgaPSYe8nj1GGPpDa0546S0SUXfdigtaEbn/s200/DSC04612_-1.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="CENTER" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" style="background-color: white;"><tbody>
<tr><td> <br /><span style="color: #444444;"><b><br /><i style="font-size: x-large;"> </i><u><span style="font-size: x-large;">Rain Music</span></u></b></span><span style="color: #444444;"><i> <br /> by Joseph S. Cotter, Jr.</i><br /><br />O<span>N</span> the dusty earth-drum</span></td><td><span style="color: #444444;"><a href="" name="1"></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td><span style="color: #444444;"> Beats the falling rain;</span></td><td><span style="color: #444444;"><a href="" name="2"></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td><span style="color: #444444;">Now a whispered murmur,</span></td><td><span style="color: #444444;"><a href="" name="3"></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td><span style="color: #444444;"> Now a louder strain.</span></td><td><span style="color: #444444;"><a href="" name="4"></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td><span style="color: #444444;"> </span></td></tr>
<tr><td><span style="color: #444444;">Slender, silvery drumsticks,</span></td><td align="RIGHT" valign="TOP"><span style="color: #444444;"><a href="" name="5"><i> </i></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td><span style="color: #444444;"> On an ancient drum,</span></td><td><span style="color: #444444;"><a href="" name="6"></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td><span style="color: #444444;">Beat the mellow music</span></td><td><span style="color: #444444;"><a href="" name="7"></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td><span style="color: #444444;"> Bidding life to come.</span></td><td><span style="color: #444444;"><a href="" name="8"></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td><span style="color: #444444;"> </span></td></tr>
<tr><td><span style="color: #444444;">Chords of earth awakened,</span></td><td><span style="color: #444444;"><a href="" name="9"></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td><span style="color: #444444;"> Notes of greening spring,</span></td><td align="RIGHT" valign="TOP"><span style="color: #444444;"><a href="" name="10"><i> </i></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td><span style="color: #444444;">Rise and fall triumphant</span></td><td><span style="color: #444444;"><a href="" name="11"></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td><span style="color: #444444;"> Over every thing.</span></td><td><span style="color: #444444;"><a href="" name="12"></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td><span style="color: #444444;"> </span></td></tr>
<tr><td><span style="color: #444444;">Slender, silvery drumsticks</span></td><td><span style="color: #444444;"><a href="" name="13"></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td><span style="color: #444444;"> Beat the long tattoo—</span></td><td><span style="color: #444444;"><a href="" name="14"></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td><span style="color: #444444;">God, the Great Musician,</span></td><td align="RIGHT" valign="TOP"><span style="color: #444444;"><a href="" name="15"><i> </i></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td><span style="color: #444444;"> Calling life anew.<br /><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;">Photo Credit: www.morguefile.com</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Hannah Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264247259911142756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410130001298358854.post-82667759522151688842012-02-20T10:09:00.000-06:002012-02-20T10:09:06.654-06:00Home Planning and N. N. S.<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
For the past few days, I've been back
into the swing of planning my housework organization. Notice I said
“planning.” None of this has been really put into practice yet,
so I can't attest to the efficiency or practicality of it. These are
just my brainstorms—or, to be perfectly honest, I could call them
the result of NNS. (That's “Nestless Nesting Syndrome.” The
result of pregnancy while waiting to move from the trailer into the
<i>real</i> house.)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
After going back over the menu planning
idea I shared a while back, I decided I could use a little more
specification. So I'm going to try choosing one meat per week. A
week's dinner menu might look something like this:
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script', sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><u>Week
1: Chicken</u></span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script', sans-serif;">Mon.
</span></b>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script', sans-serif;">Chicken
soup</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script', sans-serif;"><b>Tues.
</b></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script', sans-serif;">Barbeque
chicken and mashed potatoes</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script', sans-serif;"><b>Wed.
</b></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script', sans-serif;">Parmesan
Chicken on spaghetti noodles</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script', sans-serif;"><b>Thurs.
</b></span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script', sans-serif;">Chicken
and Rice </span>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script', sans-serif;"><b>Fri.</b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script', sans-serif;">Leftovers</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script', sans-serif;"><b>Sat. </b></span>
</div>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script', sans-serif;">Chicken
Salad Sandwiches</span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Or something to that effect. It's
eating one meat all week, but every dish will taste different enough
that even my variety-loving husband said it sounded like a good idea.
This way, if I catch a good sale, I can choose that meat for the
week and save some pennies. And usually, between his parents, my
parents, and a meal out now and again, we'll have variety even within
the week. <br />
<br />
Also, inspired by <a href="http://www.passionatehomemaking.com/">Lindsay's</a> post <a href="http://www.passionatehomemaking.com/2012/01/how-to-wash-all-your-laundry-in-one-day.html">“How to Wash All Your Laundry in One Day,”</a> I decided to look up the weekly chore
list Ma Ingalls used in the Little House books. There are plenty of
other versions online, but of course Little House is very nostalgic
for me, and who can say no to a literary reference?
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So I've been trying to come up with a
modern schedule which corrolates to that which the Ingalls' used.
Some are easy—I don't have to mess much with “Wash on Monday.”
However, I haven't gotten quite to the point of making my own butter,
so “Churn on Thursday” required a little creativity. The
prototype looks like this:</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script', sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444; font-size: medium;"><b>Wash
on Monday</b></span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script', sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444; font-size: medium;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script', sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444; font-size: medium;">Laundry,
Extra dishes, Surfaces<b><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></b></span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script', sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span style="color: #444444; font-size: medium;">Iron
on Tuesday</span></b></span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script', sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span style="color: #444444; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></b></span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script', sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444; font-size: medium;">Clothes
put away, Surfaces clear<b><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></b></span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script', sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span style="color: #444444; font-size: medium;">Mend
on Wednesday</span></b></span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script', sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span style="color: #444444; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></b></span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script', sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444; font-size: medium;">Sewing,
Repo, Home fixes<b><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></b></span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script', sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span style="color: #444444; font-size: medium;">Churn
on Thursday</span></b></span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script', sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script', sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444; font-size: medium;">Fresh
expendable supplies—mayo, dressings, cleaners<b><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></b></span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script', sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span style="color: #444444; font-size: medium;">Clean
on Friday</span></b></span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script', sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script', sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444; font-size: medium;">Bathrooms,
Cupboards, Windows</span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script', sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444; font-size: medium;"><br /><span style="font-size: medium; font-weight: bold;">Bake
on Saturday</span></span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script', sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script', sans-serif;"><span style="color: #444444; font-size: medium;">Bread,
Cookies, Treats<b><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></b></span></span></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: 'Segoe Script', sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span style="color: #444444; font-size: medium;">Rest
on Sunday.</span><span style="color: black; font-size: medium;"> </span></b></span></span>
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div align="LEFT" style="line-height: 0.19in; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I'm
curious to know how my more seasoned housekeeping readers would see
this.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>Hannah Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264247259911142756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410130001298358854.post-36320316251677485952012-01-30T16:42:00.001-06:002012-01-30T16:42:11.826-06:00In Which I Speak Randomly<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Well, it's been about a month I
suppose...a month of growing this baby and stretching my clothes and
trying not to sniff because even if things don't smell <i>bad</i>, I
just have the feeling that I'm not meant to be smelling them at such
a high intensity. I'd really rather some things just not have a smell
at all.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Newer developments might include (for
the worse) crying fits which spring from nowhere, constant fatigue,
and (for the better) less stomach queasiness, which is cancelling out
the tiredness enough that I actually have a few clear surfaces around
here. It's quite uplifting, actually.<br />
<br />
But apparently last
Friday, an arch enemy found out about my newfound feelings of
happiness and worth and decided that it simply could not be allowed.
Hence, the evilness which is called Stomach Virus invaded my abode
and being, and promptly tried its best to...well, I'd say kill me,
but that's rather dramatic. I suppose it only wanted to yank my
stomach up my throat. <br />
<br />
Now I'm recovering, and over the
weekend I have amassed a few opinions on random subjects which I have
decided to share with you.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5LJPwZNyNWIK6blS3r3nFdSzPr-SJMOFo-_9ob7ftXBVGgVMksrxm8r3JOtzdcES8C5a9hSBKx8qgpi7w_mR0ebbnvzW5bILI1dIGuf6_YdjSfHjfnXb-fhbBWYZj4GStYY5A9ZJTm4oV/s1600/Random+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5LJPwZNyNWIK6blS3r3nFdSzPr-SJMOFo-_9ob7ftXBVGgVMksrxm8r3JOtzdcES8C5a9hSBKx8qgpi7w_mR0ebbnvzW5bILI1dIGuf6_YdjSfHjfnXb-fhbBWYZj4GStYY5A9ZJTm4oV/s1600/Random+.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
The first: “Do not free a camel of
the burden of his hump; you may be freeing him from being a camel.”</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I thought this G. K. Chesterton quote
would look perfect on a maternity shirt, and said so on Facebook via
status update. My sister-in-law thinks it would be degrading, and
perhaps that is the popular opinion—seeing that nobody replied to
my status. I think it's a great anti-feminist metaphor, but hey. I've
been wrong before.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The second: “Wives and Daughters”
is such a beautiful story. I watched the movie again while
convalescing on the couch, and it rather frustrates me how most of
the comments I read are women swooning for Roger, when while Roger is
indeed a stellar character, there are so many other people with
traits to highlight. When I put myself in Molly's shoes, my
admiration for her obedience towards her father even in living life
with such an awful stepmother puts me in awe. The love of Squire and
Mrs. Hamley in their old age is such a beautiful thing, and even the
second Mrs. Gibson's character is astounding in that no matter how
hard she “tries” to please a person, it always leads back to her
own comfort or her social standing. Elizabeth Gaskell has earned
applause for more than a handsome hero.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And the third: No matter how many times
I try to get over it, Sam Tsui irritates me more every time I watch
him sing. He has a good voice, which is why I even make the effort.
But it's like he's sure he's the hottest thing since buttered toast,
and that just kills the mood for me.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Enjoy February!!!</div>Hannah Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264247259911142756noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410130001298358854.post-17497795044496867722012-01-01T17:50:00.000-06:002012-01-01T17:50:36.975-06:00January: A Poem<span style="color: blue; font-size: x-large;"> </span><br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WpCXv-AXHWs/TwBy6F1JJRI/AAAAAAAAARw/s6D73s76hZ8/s1600/sw_FrostyLeaves_03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WpCXv-AXHWs/TwBy6F1JJRI/AAAAAAAAARw/s6D73s76hZ8/s200/sw_FrostyLeaves_03.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
<br />
<ul><ul>
<dl>
<dt><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>A</b>gain I reply to the triple winds</span></dt>
<dt><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">running chromatic fifths of derision</span></dt>
<dt><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">outside my window:</span></dt>
<dt><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Play louder.</span></dt>
<dt><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br /></span></dt>
<dt><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">You will not succeed. I am</span></dt>
<dt><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">bound more to my sentences</span></dt>
<dt><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">the more you batter at me</span></dt>
<dt><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">to follow you.</span></dt>
<dt><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span></dt>
<dt><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> And the wind,</span></dt>
<dt><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">as before, fingers perfectly</span></dt>
<dt><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;">its derisive music.</span></dt>
<dt><b><br /></b></dt>
<dt><b>William Carlos Williams</b></dt>
<dd><b><br /></b></dd><dd><b><br /></b></dd><dd><b><br /></b></dd></dl>
</ul>
</ul>Hannah Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264247259911142756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410130001298358854.post-15310925241539904392011-12-31T05:00:00.000-06:002011-12-31T05:00:01.096-06:00End of a Weathered Year<br />
When I was around twelve years old, I didn't like seeing the new year come. I didn't want to get older, I didn't want to see the changes I knew were bound to happen, and I didn't like that feeling of cutting the old year off once and for all. It felt like a dying and a birth too close together.<br />
<br />
Now I enjoy the yearly milestone. I see it more as gentle closure...God gave me an empty year the way my parents have given me blank journals. I filled it, and I'm ready for another.<br />
Of course, as I always find with my handwriting, life ends up messier and more complicated than I had anticipated. As I misspell words and scribble hastily, I speak what shouldn't be said or don't take the time to finish my tasks to the degree that they ought to be finished. I spill ink and have to scrub the carpet--I disregard the commands of God and must accept the consequences.<br />
Every once in a while, an entry ends up pretty and neat, but it would be foolish to think that I really had much to do with such a work of beauty. So I am assured that my sanctification continues, because of Christ.<br />
<br />
The old year is a dear one, but it has been filled. The last page has been written, and it's time to stack it away with past years until times come when I wish to remember or share with others. For now, I smell the clean, crisp, unstained pages of the new year and pray that I'll have the childishness to ask my Father if He'll hold my hand and help me write.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LeAzLSLCsGg/Tv473lzSn1I/AAAAAAAAARY/8hYRM4NgUB0/s1600/1176000_black_notebook_with_pencil.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LeAzLSLCsGg/Tv473lzSn1I/AAAAAAAAARY/8hYRM4NgUB0/s1600/1176000_black_notebook_with_pencil.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">(Image credit: </span><a href="http://www.sxc.hu/profile/typofi"><span style="font-size: x-small;">http://www.sxc.hu/profile/typofi</span></a>)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>Hannah Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264247259911142756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410130001298358854.post-16507107494177596062011-12-12T11:20:00.002-06:002011-12-12T11:20:29.928-06:00With Child<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://3.gvt0.com/vi/_XQHOdP7Bq8/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/_XQHOdP7Bq8&fs=1&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/_XQHOdP7Bq8&fs=1&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"></embed></object></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Well, I've been absent for a while, but hopefully if you've been by, you'll have noticed the <i>pregnancy ticker underneath my header! </i>Although I've been feeling well enough to post, I couldn't really think of much besides pregnancy-related topics to talk about, and my news hadn't been made public yet. So I have waited. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
Waited to tell you all about the wonders of first-trimester pregnancy—the forcing food down my throat because my stomach wants it but my mouth is sick of it. The sudden love of cilantro and hatred of shrimp (so weird). The looks my husband gives me when I start choking over his deoderant (Me: “How much did you put ON?” Him: O.o “I can't smell it at all...”) and the underlying odors of a neglected travel-trailer kitchen. The frustration because I don't look pregnant yet...I've just gained enough weight to look fatter. And the blechy feeling in my stomach which prevents my being motivated to clean the bathroom, fold laundry, or any of that good stuff. <br />
<br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">But there's one thing which trumps all of the above: Knowing I have a real, live BABY inside my TUMMY.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
(No, I'm not being anatomically correct here. I just like the word “tummy” better than “belly.” :-P)</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">God has blessed us, and we are so very excited to welcome this child into our family. <br />
<br />
Merry Christmas!!!<br />
<br />
</div>Hannah Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264247259911142756noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410130001298358854.post-90945505381379356892011-11-12T09:09:00.000-06:002011-11-12T09:09:24.907-06:00Kitchen Dragons<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTc4NEuvMNSCz5biZuGqzxYX9Ga2OR2438gvlmGv3BM2pIU1cyQX0ZZTM69TlDpdMqadk782N4xGmszgayTUQc1LmeB8dI3LijspoJECrI7Dsf-sYN5ZH_DDfe-Z-A3WyNw9RlBfTQJydM/s1600/DragonMenu.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTc4NEuvMNSCz5biZuGqzxYX9Ga2OR2438gvlmGv3BM2pIU1cyQX0ZZTM69TlDpdMqadk782N4xGmszgayTUQc1LmeB8dI3LijspoJECrI7Dsf-sYN5ZH_DDfe-Z-A3WyNw9RlBfTQJydM/s320/DragonMenu.jpg" width="241" /></a>When it comes to cooking meals, I have plenty of experience. I can operate utensils and appliances, read a recipe, and whip out some [usually] yummy, good-for-you food. But when I started researching how to<i> plan</i> my menus, I felt like I was stepping past the known world into "Here there be dragons" territory.<br />
<br />
I got a good deal of spontaneity from the genetics of my former generation...and you might not automatically think it, since I'm sort of introverted, and not always bouncing off this way and that way. I just find that for questions such as "What should I cook for dinner today?" or "What should I wear this morning?" I rely very heavily whatever mood I'm in, and I like to have a variety available.<br />
<br />
So plans which assign every day of the week a certain meal which is repeated the next week on that day really don't appeal to me, because I get bored just thinking about repeating the same seven or eight meals all the time. (Plus wondering, "How do I know I'm going to <i>want</i> to eat that on that day?")<br />
<br />
My husband loves variety even more than I do, so I knew that this way of menu planning wasn't going to end up being our cup of tea. I knew that if I wasn't careful, I'd fall into the slump of having a vague idea in my head and then scrambling every afternoon to make something which includes only the ingredients I have available without hours of preparation.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>I also knew that to change the course of my natural habits, I had to do it now, before God sends children our way and makes changing extremely difficult.<br />
<br />
It has had me baffled for a while, but I think I've got something promising, and I'm so excited to try it out. Instead of Minestrone-and-Meatball Monday, Chicken-and-Rice-with-corn-on-the-cob Tuesday, etc. I want to have something more like, "Soup on Monday, Rice dish on Tuesday, Pasta on Wednesday, and so on.<br />
<br />
It gives me a weekly outline which focuses my choices, but each category is broad enough to fit many different moods, and give me endless variations and new recipes to learn.Hannah Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264247259911142756noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410130001298358854.post-31612965521576736552011-11-05T12:45:00.001-05:002011-11-05T12:45:49.934-05:00A Fall FavoriteIt is finally November! I love how Fall blew in so suddenly...as if she had forgotten and the new month startled her into the proper routine. The air has a crisp chill, scarves are coming out, Thanksgiving will be upon us, and so will Christmas. All of this fills me with joy every single year. So, in celebration, another Christopher Morley Poem. Three cheers and a mug of cider to Fall!<br />
<div><br />
</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZOCYrFcXcIALVfDw5zkSgLQjQvtXNr4_vhVX36ghGWYYrmO1lAiTl_8kaFhcuZX_Q_5c1FWyiluFr3LwDTU6vMS3kchTVUqNhcDsBQyIAfJUoY2tEhyphenhyphenHcgeeygK0W4dMAosHw0XcUqSEW/s1600/Leaves13-2011Oct-06-szs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZOCYrFcXcIALVfDw5zkSgLQjQvtXNr4_vhVX36ghGWYYrmO1lAiTl_8kaFhcuZX_Q_5c1FWyiluFr3LwDTU6vMS3kchTVUqNhcDsBQyIAfJUoY2tEhyphenhyphenHcgeeygK0W4dMAosHw0XcUqSEW/s200/Leaves13-2011Oct-06-szs.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><b>Burning Leaves, November</b><br />
<br />
These are the folios of April,</div><div style="text-align: center;">All the library of spring,</div><div style="text-align: center;">Missals gilt and rubricated</div><div style="text-align: center;">With the frost's illumining.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Ruthless, we destroy these treasures,</div><div style="text-align: center;">Set the torch with hand profane--</div><div style="text-align: center;">Gone, like Alexandrian vellums,</div><div style="text-align: center;">Like the books of burnt Louvain!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Yet these classics are immortal:</div><div style="text-align: center;">O collectors, have no fear,</div><div style="text-align: center;">For the publisher will issue</div><div style="text-align: center;">New editions every year.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">~CM~</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">(Image credit: <a href="http://www.morguefile.com/">www.morguefile.com</a>)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div>Hannah Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264247259911142756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410130001298358854.post-31892066988420173962011-10-26T21:19:00.000-05:002011-10-26T21:19:36.913-05:00The Proof is in the Pudding...And other cliche phrases gone the way of the dodo bird.<br />
<br />
*Cough*<br />
<br />
Anyways...this is a lowly little foodie-update post to squeal about a couple of things.<br />
<br />
One, my adapted bread recipe is working beautifully! The wrath of wheat allergies has not been awakened, and the bread tastes as good as the original recipe.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKlqDD0LgVRcc5ZnJHV2s2S1n6YhwT7lyXhRwwrbUXUahUBpnfBu_qLgyHwUgjImtPWBK0yfWb3F7Ls4LFoVRMCOCkb3hGShdkcbeQMl-zVUrmsKI4b8fhLpoHW3CPlhSJcLeJbffokUg3/s1600/Pudding.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKlqDD0LgVRcc5ZnJHV2s2S1n6YhwT7lyXhRwwrbUXUahUBpnfBu_qLgyHwUgjImtPWBK0yfWb3F7Ls4LFoVRMCOCkb3hGShdkcbeQMl-zVUrmsKI4b8fhLpoHW3CPlhSJcLeJbffokUg3/s200/Pudding.JPG" width="200" /></a>I'm so happy!<br />
<br />
Secondly, I got spontaneous and tried my hand at pudding today, and it worked! My finger keeps wanting to sneak underneath the edge of the plastic wrap and lap up another dollup of the goodness, but we're working on that. Can't wait to have it tomorrow! Gratitude goes to <a href="http://heavenlyhomemakers.com/healthy-treat-for-today-creamy-pudding">Heavenly Homemakers</a>--this recipe is going into the Kitchen Book for sure.<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Photo credit: <a href="http://heavenlyhomemakers.com/">www.heavenlyhomemakers.com </a></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span>Hannah Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264247259911142756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410130001298358854.post-67198665005587088142011-10-22T08:15:00.003-05:002011-10-22T08:17:03.757-05:00The Supermom Dream<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9c_zoceJGqm7cgJtF9RmeL7mjb-6r4pS4crwooMkdBeWGh4W46wVzaw7sU9VioDgcav9txWcYYjzG3HAQde_guhlgb5G-klCs91GFmvZabTWp_2LXcZ98wy5EClROck8doUxKpyTCNq_r/s1600/s-WORKING-MOM-large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9c_zoceJGqm7cgJtF9RmeL7mjb-6r4pS4crwooMkdBeWGh4W46wVzaw7sU9VioDgcav9txWcYYjzG3HAQde_guhlgb5G-klCs91GFmvZabTWp_2LXcZ98wy5EClROck8doUxKpyTCNq_r/s1600/s-WORKING-MOM-large.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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<br />
I don't agree with everything the writers of <a href="http://www.boundless.org/">Boundless</a> put forward, but their perspectives give me a lot to think about, and I really enjoy reading what they have to say. Candice Watters has written a couple of articles lately which look back on previous pieces she's written, and update her beliefs on the same subjects. I'm working on a post discussing her view on the book of Ruth, and today I read her article titled <a href="http://www.boundless.org/2005/articles/a0001936.cfm">Kids Don't Retrofit</a>, and found it extremely refreshing.<br />
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She begins, "I used to think I could fit kids into my life."<br />
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Isn't that the dream of so many women today? We go to college and find ourselves face to face with opportunities for the career we've always wanted. We want to get married, we want children someday, but that doesn't mean we've got to just drop all of our goals of success in the working world, does it?<br />
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Of course not, culture tells us. June Cleaver's day is past and gone...if you want to be a truly successful woman, be a Stephanie Powell. In last year's TV show "<a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1591493/">No Ordinary Family</a>," Stephanie is a research scientist with two teenaged children and a husband who works as a sketch artist at the police department. In the episode, "No Ordinary Visitors," her mom comes to visit and continually nags on her for devoting so much time to her career, but the episode ends with this apology (begin at 39:00): <a href="http://www.videobb.com/watch_video.php?v=AHbpInUZL210">http://www.videobb.com/watch_video.php?v=AHbpInUZL210</a><br />
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">“Stephanie, I know I've been tough on you. Just, when I see all you've accomplished in your life, it makes me feel like I could have done more with mine. Maybe even more than just a wife and mother.”</span></div><br />
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Stephanie protests, but really, her position is exactly where so many of today's women only dream of being. What's the catch? Stephanie has superpowers. It's tempting to want to try and be our own little Stephanie Powells, but honestly, we just can't run at the speed of light. My question even past that is, how would her life change with six or seven children instead of two? And more importantly, what does <i>God</i> want women to be doing with their lives?<br />
<br />
Candice says,<br />
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<blockquote>"For all the debates that rage about whether mothers of young children should work and whether they should place their children in daycare, rarely, if ever, does anyone ask, "What would you want if you were a toddler?" Pop psychologists have conditioned us to assume the answer would be, "I'd want what would make my mommy happy, because that would make our relationship better!" But deep down, I know I'd want someone to love me enough to make me a priority--even if that meant they had to sacrifice something." </blockquote><br />
God wants us to sacrifice. He gave some of us children and told us to teach and train them up in His way--why should we stop at using anything less than our fullest potential to fulfill this calling?<br />
<br />
<blockquote><div style="font-style: normal; orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Therefore shall ye lay up these my words in your heart and in your soul, and bind them for a sign upon your hand, that they may be as frontlets between your eyes.</span></span></div><div style="orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=410130001298358854&postID=6719866500558708814" name="en-KJV-5228"></a><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">And ye shall teach them your children, speaking of them when thou sittest in thine house, and when thou walkest by the way, when thou liest down, and when thou risest up.</span></span></span></span></div><div style="orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=410130001298358854&postID=6719866500558708814" name="en-KJV-5229"></a><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">And thou shalt write them upon the door posts of thine house, and upon thy gates:</span></span></span></span></div><div style="orphans: 2; widows: 2;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=410130001298358854&postID=6719866500558708814" name="en-KJV-5230"></a><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: normal;">That your days may be multiplied, and the days of your children, in the land which the LORD sware unto your fathers to give them, as the days of heaven upon the earth.</span></span></span></span></div></blockquote> ~Deuteronomy 11<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(Photo credit: <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/">http://www.huffingtonpost.com</a>)</span>Hannah Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264247259911142756noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410130001298358854.post-18237604042849587992011-10-19T20:45:00.000-05:002011-10-19T20:45:10.935-05:00Halloween, Horror, and Our ResponseSince we got married, my husband and I have been really scrutinizing the holidays we celebrate--starting from Scripture. Halloween...Thanksgiving...Christmas...should we celebrate them, and if so, how?<br />
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To be honest, we haven't actually talked much about Halloween, because neither of us have celebrated it since we were very young. I can remember one Halloween dressing up as a fairy princess, and the next year Mom and Dad were all set to dress my brother and I as Thing One and Thing Two, when they decided that Halloween wasn't something they felt comfortable celebrating any longer. For Caleb, he was six when he moved to Romania as a missionary kid, and when you're living in a place where contact with demon-possessed people happens, you really don't want to join into the yearly celebration of them.<br />
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But is there a place in a Christian's life for scary stuff, or do we need to shy away from anything considered "dark?" We've been tossing that one around for the last couple of weeks, and I was very excited to find a post on one of my favorite blogs which laid out the exact conclusion we'd come to. Here it is: <a href="http://www.rabbitroom.com/2011/10/righteous-horro/">http://www.rabbitroom.com/2011/10/righteous-horro/</a><div><br />
</div><div>And if you like reading books set in your current season of the year, try out one of my very favorites: <i><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Perilous-Gard-Elizabeth-Marie-Pope/dp/0618150730/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1319064380&sr=8-1">The Perilous Gard</a></i>, by Elizabeth Marie Pope.(You can get it used for a penny on Amazon, plus shipping...) In my opinion, she brings a beautifully Christ-centered perspective to All-Hallows Eve in a very skillful way.</div><div><br />
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</div>Hannah Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264247259911142756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410130001298358854.post-39970749181622681232011-10-10T17:07:00.002-05:002011-10-12T08:44:18.933-05:00On Bread<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJO4QFXs66PhIuGOBBXUfGjWvfmCZbXBLgCtHJgRFMCV0ePLoNKeAKD_SZdcCY6au9vNm6cLoE6ZqZDybyUKU3SS4EhVc9Azq6R5OuA2tRCl5XfDH8-GOUTnP7lM0bBoSQpzRbsj9zC42q/s1600/img_1198_j.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="147" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJO4QFXs66PhIuGOBBXUfGjWvfmCZbXBLgCtHJgRFMCV0ePLoNKeAKD_SZdcCY6au9vNm6cLoE6ZqZDybyUKU3SS4EhVc9Azq6R5OuA2tRCl5XfDH8-GOUTnP7lM0bBoSQpzRbsj9zC42q/s200/img_1198_j.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Out of my two most used Whole-Wheat bread recipes, one tastes good, and one tastes better. One calls for soaking of the flour the night before, one just has you throw it in the mixer. One does <i>not</i> turn my face an allergic cherry red (ohh, so *that's* why I look like I've been out in the snow all day!) and one, unfortunately, does.<br />
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Well, since my husband ended up rather disappointed that the yummy bread wakes up my allergies, I wondered how hard it would be to adapt my good recipe into a flour-soaking recipe. This is scary territory for me—I'm great at following recipes, but not so great at tinkering with them or making my own. At least not yet. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Anyways, after basking in the wealth of information provided by Lindsay at <a href="http://www.passionatehomemaking.com/2010/04/adapting-your-recipes-for-soaking.html">Passionate Homemaking</a>, I tried my hand at re-writing the recipe, and now I'm excited to try it out and see what happens! <br />
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It's hard to believe that this is the me who got together with her mother at about eight years old and decided to at least *try* to bake some kind of wheat bread for the very first time. We always bought our bread before that, and to both of us the idea of baking our own seemed so incredibly, domestically impressive at the time. Those dinner rolls came out hard as rocks, but they tasted good in the middle, and we kept trying. <br />
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My mother almost never buys storebought bread now. In fact, we both grind our own wheat berries. And here I find myself...<i>messing with the recipes. </i><span style="font-style: normal;">What on earth may happen next?</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;">I tell you this so that you may </span> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> a) Laugh at the fact that I think this an impressive progression of events because you can't even remember a woman in your heritage who *didn't* bake bread with their own recipes</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> or</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;"> b) Laugh because you're pleased that there *is* another woman in the home-keeping world whose mother...let alone she herself...did not know how to bake bread, and therefore bought it at the store for her family of seven.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><b>Photo credit:<a href="http://www.morguefile.com/"> www.morguefile.com</a></b></i></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><br />
</span></div>Hannah Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264247259911142756noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410130001298358854.post-62147237145038584692011-10-06T14:42:00.005-05:002011-10-17T12:40:54.798-05:00Review: Courage, New Hampshire<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://ia.media-imdb.com/images/M/MV5BNjMzMTkyMDk0M15BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwMzYwNTk0NQ@@._V1._SY317_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
<img border="0" src="http://ia.media-imdb.com/images/M/MV5BNjMzMTkyMDk0M15BMl5BanBnXkFtZTcwMzYwNTk0NQ@@._V1._SY317_.jpg" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;">I have some old friends in California who run a Revolutionary War reenactment, and they've recently decided to start making godly movies that portray bits of historical fiction set in America's early days. Their first in the “Courage, New Hampshire,” series is called, “The Travail of Sarah Pine,” and I was very excited to get to watch it recently. Mr. Riley, of <a href="http://www.rileysfarm.com/">Riley'sFarm</a> and<a href="http://www.colonybay.net/w/index.php/about-us/"> Colony Bay Productions</a>, asked me to review the movie on my blog, so here I am—somewhat belated, but finally sitting down to write. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit; font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #444444; font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">The website's summary reads: </span>“<span style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif;">In the winter of 1770, the township of Courage lies on the raw edge of the frontier, in western New Hampshire. When a detachment of British soldiers arrive in search of deserters, they fail to catch their quarry, but one of them does catch the eye of the justice of the peace. Sergeant Bob Wheedle, of the 29th Regiment, was here a year before — and he left something behind.”</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> Sarah Pine, an unmarried young woman in the township, steps forward when Sgt. Wheedle returns, and claims him as the father of her baby daughter. He learns that Sarah considers herself bound to him in marriage, and that she has been trusting in God to bring her husband back to her. <br />
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I dearly love my friends at Riley's Farm, and I applaud what they're doing—I can definitely call this first episode a noble effort. The screenplay needs some work, as most of the story was conveyed through sit-down conversations instead of action scenes, but that only takes practice. I do have a few issues with the story, though.<br />
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Sarah Pine is a deluded woman. She understands something I believe is correct—this man made a covenant with her when he fathered her child. However, she doesn't seem to have any concept of the shame in her situation, and the township fosters this attitude in her by putting all of the blame of that night onto Sgt. Wheedle. He is the one tried for fornication, she is only called forth as a witness. She is “a good girl who made a mistake,” whose honor everyone is trying to protect—and my question is, what honor? The honor she let go for the false promises of Sgt. Bob? </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: inherit; font-size: large; font-style: normal;">Satan deceived Eve, but Eve still followed him and she bore the consequences of her actions. Sarah Pine was tricked by a man with less-than-honorable intentions, but she did consent to his wishes. In my opinion, Sarah's “mistake” should have been taken much more seriously than it was. <br />
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Bob's side is redemptive, if simplistic—he is pronounced not guilty, but he goes back and asks Sarah to marry him anyways. Sarah is only proven correct in her predictions that this is what he'd do, because it's what he told her he'd do in the beginning and she's believed it all along. <br />
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In conclusion, I thank Colony Bay for even writing a story that involves punishment for fornication—a sin which the modern American culture deems completely acceptable. But I think they got it slightly off-balance. I look forward to seeing how they've improved in the next episode.</span></div>Hannah Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264247259911142756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410130001298358854.post-30528379680586258542011-09-09T15:30:00.004-05:002011-10-12T10:52:38.551-05:00The Poet<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I know I'm a horrible blogger. I know it's been a very long time since I posted. I know you're giving me a sad, reproachful look right now. I'm sorry.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">As I mentioned to my mother-in-law recently,, being a poet and being a blogger are very similar. The goal is to reach a point where one finds inspiration in the beauty of even the most humdrum, everyday item or happening. I consider myself both poet and blogger, and I have decidedly not reached the goal.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">However, while inspiration evades me, I thought I'd continue a habit from my old blog and share bits of favorite poetry every once in a while. Christopher Morley is a poet I've enjoyed for a very long time, and here is a little gem of his.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> The Poet</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> ~By Christopher Morley</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-size: medium;">T</span>HE barren music of a word or phrase,</div><div style="text-align: center;">The futile arts of syllable and stress,</div><div style="text-align: center;">He sought. The poetry of common days</div><div style="text-align: center;">He did not guess.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">The simplest, sweetest rhythms life affords-</div><div style="text-align: center;">Unselfish love, true effort truly done,</div><div style="text-align: center;">The tender themes that underlie all words-</div><div style="text-align: center;">He knew not one.</div><blockquote></blockquote><div style="text-align: center;"> The human cadence and the subtle chime</div><div style="text-align: center;">Of little laughters, home and child and wife,</div><div style="text-align: center;">He knew not. Artist merely in his rhyme,</div><div style="text-align: center;">Not in his life. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6erYF7tp-kfJv092HxIK4YUZ7bwr39gvVCBGyckRbR5PskF2cX6nnKZklHnCtPBhUDaSesqIgcC8sLiSj9K7R8tzajV_eqrcPjSB1YZZzMpvEF4y9EpdMPTaq2JNWSXCcXey4xCPrWQlJ/s1600/gustave-courbet-the-poet-charles-baudelaire-reading.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6erYF7tp-kfJv092HxIK4YUZ7bwr39gvVCBGyckRbR5PskF2cX6nnKZklHnCtPBhUDaSesqIgcC8sLiSj9K7R8tzajV_eqrcPjSB1YZZzMpvEF4y9EpdMPTaq2JNWSXCcXey4xCPrWQlJ/s200/gustave-courbet-the-poet-charles-baudelaire-reading.jpg" width="148" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Image credit: <a href="http://www.allposters.com/">www.allposters.com</a></span></b></i></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div>Hannah Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264247259911142756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-410130001298358854.post-68568515229580353962011-08-03T16:29:00.002-05:002011-10-12T16:50:53.993-05:00Newlywed Hospitality<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">My husband and I have finally situated the apartment enough that we feel able to have people over for dinner or whatever the situation calls for. We are loving it! But this week I was reminded of David Copperfield, and the part where he and Dora are just married and the meat somehow always ends up burnt or raw...<br />
Because apparently one cannot leave chicken breasts in the crock pot for two extra hours and find them unharmed. <br />
We had been gone all day and because of changed schedule information, we didn't get home until about six in the evening. I had estimated our return at about four when I put the chicken on to cook. </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">Upon entering the house with two guests, the strong smell of chicken met our noses, and my stomach sank. I only hoped the others didn't notice the other, very toasty aroma which I found all too obvious.<br />
So I rushed into the kitchen and pulled the lid off while my unsuspecting husband settled everyone into the living room. I managed to beckon and get his attention, and only pointed at the pot. <br />
He stared at the blackened remains of our dinner and looked at me very worriedly.<br />
“What do we do?” he whispered. <br />
“I don't know,” I answered. “We got home much later than I planned for.”<br />
I almost heard his mind whirring as I watched his face.<br />
“There's nothing you can do with it?” he asked.<br />
I thought fast. “Well, we already have salad,, biscuits and cookies. I can try to pick out the middle of the chicken, shred it up, cook a few veggies, and toss it all into the rice I'm about to cook.”<br />
“Do it.” And he returned to his guests.<br />
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I served the meal apprehensively, with many quick prayers that at least the butter would cover any taste of charred chicken—or if worse came to worst, the cookies might atone for my failure. But God saw fit to bless us, and all of the food seemed to be greatly enjoyed by our friends. Praise Him, thank Him for emergency fixes and a good batch of cookies, and please, for your own sake, I plead with you...do not leave your chicken in the crock pot for ten hours when the recipe calls for eight.<br />
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</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmUeiv7IyCr30zPS1Hq-T0TR2Gu_EobvrL3ticbMuHgqe8Tp7pfj10rhnyWwgqqpvXvKFJywox_1nnCeIfM-5koMitn4lNlP9-iHTi0qkZPnhGfz1Hl2kkDkIME8d0xwVogb59TRL2tUU9/s1600/100_9175.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmUeiv7IyCr30zPS1Hq-T0TR2Gu_EobvrL3ticbMuHgqe8Tp7pfj10rhnyWwgqqpvXvKFJywox_1nnCeIfM-5koMitn4lNlP9-iHTi0qkZPnhGfz1Hl2kkDkIME8d0xwVogb59TRL2tUU9/s200/100_9175.JPG" width="147" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Image credit: <a href="http://www.morguefile.com/">www.morguefile.com</a></span></b></i></div><br />
</div>Hannah Mayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05264247259911142756noreply@blogger.com7