tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-65643038226612105622024-03-12T21:53:23.756-07:00crazy for carolineMarc & Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00002706240827876109noreply@blogger.comBlogger1520125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6564303822661210562.post-80338072766036518252018-09-04T08:06:00.003-07:002018-09-04T08:06:38.774-07:00home videos...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
My kids have been getting on my computer to watch old videos of themselves on this blog. We don't have home videos... we have this blog!</div>
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I haven't been filming them as much as I should, but now they're filming themselves, so here's a few videos I found on my phone to share. </div>
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Who knows what this one was, but it cracks me up...</div>
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Caroline continues to have a beautiful singing voice. Found this video of her singing & rapping her favorite Lecrae song...<br />
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Another one I found on my phone...<br />
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Her first attempt laying harmony tracks... although she couldn't figure out how to line up the timing, you can hear it's in there!<br />
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And how about a grand finale of Jameson screaming down a hill?<br />
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<iframe allow="autoplay; encrypted-media" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/SfAsAgnYZJo" width="560"></iframe>Marc & Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00002706240827876109noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6564303822661210562.post-61449477818143820012018-09-04T07:09:00.002-07:002018-09-04T07:09:26.796-07:00what's next....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1OoZnm4fwi4JGEfxup_NRxHZXQKsbvm5uF_W9XiCY21eTvi-jy8WGd7IgosSl-5zxqF8-a-tgZQ-1yY2KBqnldRBSolZhVDh91OlGa9wXqVhxxRNNypCcxW7BOSScHVa9tSZZftbbxng/s320/IMG_20180827_195333.jpg" width="240" /></div>
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Oh man, it’s been awhile. </div>
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And life is completely different now.<o:p></o:p></div>
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For the past 17 years, this would be the “peak season” of
our year. College students are returning
to town, and this is when all ministry events and meetings would kick into full
swing. My body just naturally feels stressed this time of year remembering the
pressure to meet and welcome new freshmen into our group.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But this year is different.
We aren’t in the business of welcoming students anymore. We’re in the business of welcoming
guests. Into our homes and into our
city. In this break from vocational
ministry, Marc and I have been given the opportunity to pour ourselves
full-time into houses and Airbnb. We’re making
our life-long hobby into our job. Fun,
right? Emphatically I’ll say YES. But it’s not without its own set of stressors.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Because we don’t know if this house thing is going to be our
next “thing,” or if it’s just an “in the meantime” thing. We can’t see into the
future, and we don’t know where God may call us next. So for now, we are staying put in Lynchburg
and being resourceful with what we have and what we know. We’ve got some rental property, we’re working
on our 3<sup>rd</sup> Airbnb now, I’m co-hosting for several Airbnb clients (sort
of similar to a property manager), we’re starting our first ever house flip
very soon, and Marc will be doing some on-call hospital chaplain visits with
University of Lynchburg students. <o:p></o:p></div>
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We’re busy, busy, busy, which is why you rarely hear from me
on this format anymore. Usually all I can squeak out is a picture and highlight
reel on social media here and there. And
as great as social media can be to keep us all briefly in touch, it’s a harder place
to be real, to be vulnerable. <o:p></o:p></div>
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That’s my hope for this blog. It was always intended to be a “safe place”
for me to honestly pour out my feelings and fears. If you know me in real life,
you know that I value authenticity and transparency. There just isn’t time in life to beat around
the bush and pretend. So here I am, back
to type and process a little as I write.<o:p></o:p></div>
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We’ve received various reactions to our decision to step down
from RUF without having a “what’s next” plan already concocted. Some have called us brave and inspirational,
some probably think we’re crazy. And generally,
it’s not a good idea to leave one job until you have the next one squared away,
I agree. I’m not a risk taker by nature,
and I can’t tell you how HARD it was for me to walk into this no-man’s land. No monthly paycheck. No benefits.
No job. Well, sort of.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I didn’t honestly know if we’d be okay, but here we are. We
made it to the other side and WE DIDN’T DIE.
In fact, we’re actually doing quite well! We’ve got a freedom that we haven’t felt
before… a freedom over our calendar, over our choices, over our life’s
direction and calling. Ministry, as wonderful
as it was with our students, had demands on us (particularly with fund-raising)
that were beginning to feel more like shackles than freedom. As we’ve gone through major identity shifts
over the last few years, we’ve felt the need to leave our neighborhood, our
institutions, our social and financial security in order to go where God was
obviously sending us.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Like He did with Abraham, God has pushed us out of our
comfortable places. And He hasn’t yet
told us WHERE we’re going. (small details…)
It’s frustrating and scary at times, yet we try to walk faithfully (though
feebly) by faith and not by sight. <o:p></o:p></div>
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We’re working with our hands and doing what’s in front of us.
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Today I stopped to think about all the suffering we’ve endured
over the past year, and a word came to my mind: “Re-formation.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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It’s funny how over the years we often used the word “reformation”
in our ministry. Even in the name, “REFORMED
University Fellowship.” It’s a theological
word with tons of meaning with which we are well-acquainted, but not until
today did I think to apply it to our family’s experience as of late.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But today. It hit me.
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If God is the Potter, and we are the clay, He has slowly and
painfully decided to shape a new work with us.
The “clay” of our life is mold-able and changeable. Life as we knew it, like the clay on the
potter’s wheel, has been crushed in His hands. It’s felt like we’ve been
spinning incessantly. He has seen fit to push us from every direction and it’s
hurt like hell.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I have doubted His goodness.
I have doubted His presence. <o:p></o:p></div>
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But even though we’ve felt knocked down, the Potter has never
removed His hands from us. He’s been at
work the entire time to “RE-form” and re-shape us into a new masterpiece for
His glory. <o:p></o:p></div>
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And as we enter this time of “RE-formation” into who knows
what, may we begin to feel the gentle touch of the Potter’s hands upon us.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9HYp7tVB62NBKNJBCpnSonKsSGZLqO1OMVuLXljjEdlHnbYzcwHRd3-5Uo2Ko7R2HDONG_EG0jAl_S2w_RR9jP9zZCe4mWQPXmf0tu5HgK7DzzCnF1sPBEcn5C7Din-gQbTVOebLCAp0/s1600/IMG_2443.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9HYp7tVB62NBKNJBCpnSonKsSGZLqO1OMVuLXljjEdlHnbYzcwHRd3-5Uo2Ko7R2HDONG_EG0jAl_S2w_RR9jP9zZCe4mWQPXmf0tu5HgK7DzzCnF1sPBEcn5C7Din-gQbTVOebLCAp0/s320/IMG_2443.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />Marc & Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00002706240827876109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6564303822661210562.post-10325683490647033812018-07-14T17:45:00.001-07:002018-09-04T07:09:51.321-07:00sleeping booty...Hello, again! This is Caroline.<br />
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This blog is a combo of around three different topics.<br />
I couldn't choose which one I wanted to share with you, so I'll share all of them.<br />
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My mom is starting an airbnb in our old house. This is the picture right before I happened to break the bone on the side of my foot. I was having a race with my friend and brother and I slipped on my Heely's and fell. The way I fell, I can't remember. But I do remember IT HURT.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilou77bEmScqd_JPvslqIfC9IMrBuLpvww5uQAmW-nQ_QZHVfhlWYnFAKzQa6egEjbjxsAReq5fHP6hHOdcZ74nMIdxpvsj0lGXnni3NXalqZHkPBRbgrFezo4hJd5knzJhhhMcMUVKSo/s1600/IMG_20180610_152441.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilou77bEmScqd_JPvslqIfC9IMrBuLpvww5uQAmW-nQ_QZHVfhlWYnFAKzQa6egEjbjxsAReq5fHP6hHOdcZ74nMIdxpvsj0lGXnni3NXalqZHkPBRbgrFezo4hJd5knzJhhhMcMUVKSo/s320/IMG_20180610_152441.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
My parents took me to the urgent care and I got this scan; if you look where my orthopedic doctor marked the arrow, you can see a crack/fracture in my foot. My foot was and still kind of is now swollen. My foot was probably in tears by then.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs85swuYtXWHkzKwx37ilug7IpIwWV42EwC8QG_2IIytSNi5CnbyJMgmcnksxw2GcRmbk1x-_ILd1JDrl8ly8Re8Ue0ZgMvojuhdVTS959ny3RAdkN9YrfqlC1kXs1TzbtBPEP1cWyrOM/s1600/IMG_20180610_173851.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs85swuYtXWHkzKwx37ilug7IpIwWV42EwC8QG_2IIytSNi5CnbyJMgmcnksxw2GcRmbk1x-_ILd1JDrl8ly8Re8Ue0ZgMvojuhdVTS959ny3RAdkN9YrfqlC1kXs1TzbtBPEP1cWyrOM/s320/IMG_20180610_173851.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
This is when I got home, excited about my new crutches. (BTW, NEVER like crutches. They REALLY hurt and annoy you.) I couldn't walk to the bathroom; I had to grab or have someone get my crutches. I got super annoyed. Boy! Glad I don't have to wear that bulky boot and especially use those crutches anymore.<br />
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During my tragic experience with a fractured foot, my brother was having a happy first time losing a tooth. That kid can bring a twinge of happiness in sad times. He's the greatest.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8Ap4TrM7Uz-RpJfMn2Bq2Sssy0b1JPco4jy7KL4-Rq_GbriBv9Hk6juce8wzIuW2VfemhRYuPXarz65OOIBcDVnXdGPqRmjpqBZ6JAuEbI6uyBhpCmG7RnzTGMUnzeqNKtMNGH4WVmqQ/s1600/MVIMG_20180610_192413.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8Ap4TrM7Uz-RpJfMn2Bq2Sssy0b1JPco4jy7KL4-Rq_GbriBv9Hk6juce8wzIuW2VfemhRYuPXarz65OOIBcDVnXdGPqRmjpqBZ6JAuEbI6uyBhpCmG7RnzTGMUnzeqNKtMNGH4WVmqQ/s320/MVIMG_20180610_192413.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
This is me and my little nurse brother trying to get into Coldstone Creamery. A lot of effort to get into an ice cream shop. (It was worth it, though) I couldn't walk on my foot so it was bounce after bounce on my left foot. Ugh.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIya9LPpCodMg2suhH00IiexzrGjSux_dny80hPEyr8dD6VYTsT4cTrRko7BTZW1albzNnMz7AoICOh7mHdI0ZxTv2aCoYrZB56_Fns-C4-zkSAi9sK8YCny4EJrnoczQ5tbTSHUibwSY/s1600/MVIMG_20180622_104852.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIya9LPpCodMg2suhH00IiexzrGjSux_dny80hPEyr8dD6VYTsT4cTrRko7BTZW1albzNnMz7AoICOh7mHdI0ZxTv2aCoYrZB56_Fns-C4-zkSAi9sK8YCny4EJrnoczQ5tbTSHUibwSY/s320/MVIMG_20180622_104852.jpg" width="240" /></a>And to make things harder, I had committed to the summer play at my school! We selected Sleeping Beauty, and I happened to get the role of Sleeping Beauty. I had a stand-in for the dance scenes, luckily. This is me in the Animal Scene and my friend Meliyah in the bunny costume behind me.<br />
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Huge congrats to my friend Sophia who played the role of Maleficent. She was amazing. I mean, everyone did awesome in the play, but she stole the show.<br />
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I was in the scene where I got pricked by the spinning wheel and I fell on the bed, and when I fell, my parents saw my boot pop out from under my dress. We had a joke in our family that I was 'Sleeping Booty'. For little kiddos that think that's funny, keep on laughing! It is funny! But it's not the butt kind of booty. It's the boot kind of booty.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHGmStl8jsFR313bDyV9AdStL1DXyNEVtb7t75UalV2lMLXYIimO5SWfjoiZntw_ykDFdcL5HDdM_NjSsHjZ2S9s7eqa2KfzEnXoqsv19R550LlTLAVynfcuKL25i74KmNyT-xGbo_le0/s1600/MVIMG_20180622_111135.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHGmStl8jsFR313bDyV9AdStL1DXyNEVtb7t75UalV2lMLXYIimO5SWfjoiZntw_ykDFdcL5HDdM_NjSsHjZ2S9s7eqa2KfzEnXoqsv19R550LlTLAVynfcuKL25i74KmNyT-xGbo_le0/s320/MVIMG_20180622_111135.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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Our big finale was a huge hit. Our dancing and singing made it the star song. We all did amazing in my opinion. You must go see the plays at T.C. Miller. They are outstanding!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEide0i_N-RL3hDFkiURJBEQiFw44AvafBLbVDHH3Tne2FR1GNMTYFAecddBPwkDYIwvasTdnEoS5mdbZ2rRiSt5JvU5wEdkDcRk8euCa3R4Gk1rdBa563e11a177uXsGr0cM-3SjYl-3N4/s1600/MVIMG_20180622_111823.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEide0i_N-RL3hDFkiURJBEQiFw44AvafBLbVDHH3Tne2FR1GNMTYFAecddBPwkDYIwvasTdnEoS5mdbZ2rRiSt5JvU5wEdkDcRk8euCa3R4Gk1rdBa563e11a177uXsGr0cM-3SjYl-3N4/s400/MVIMG_20180622_111823.jpg" width="300" /></a><br />
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Meliyah is one of my best friends. She is so awesome and really nice. She played Queen Stephanie/bunny in Sleeping Beauty.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">#myplaceisonstage</td></tr>
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My family is the best. They are really supportive and will help me with my lines in the plays I participate in. I hope next year I get a lead role because playing a role at T.C. Miller is probably the greatest thing ever. Do you have a child who is in grades K-5? Sign them up for the lottery list or enroll them in the waiting list (as my parents like to call it). Thanks for listening to me!<br />
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<br />Marc & Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00002706240827876109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6564303822661210562.post-86464027434712275262018-04-25T18:58:00.000-07:002018-09-04T07:09:38.928-07:00headlights...It's now public and official, so I can announce to you that this will be our final semester of RUF. <div>
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Wow, it's so bittersweet to even type that sentence. </div>
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17 YEARS of a job that really feels more like a way of life for us, and all of that is about to change.</div>
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But WE have changed. </div>
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I look back on who I was just five years ago, and it's like sometimes I don't really know her anymore. (I should probably write more about that at some point.) I know Marc would say the same, too.</div>
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In our process of sanctification, we've grown and we've changed. Through the circumstances in our life, God has steered our path away from campus ministry and more towards a love for the city, a love for the poor, and a heart for justice and racial reconciliation. </div>
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My counselor says we've undergone "major identity shifts" in recent years as we've raised a black son, lived in a poor urban neighborhood, and taken students on mission trips to the inner city each year. Those things can't <i>help </i>but change you. </div>
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There was a huge tension of what I was pondering all week in my neighborhood and how it was connecting (or not) to Sunday morning. We were living in two vastly different worlds, which was terribly confusing and painfully isolating.</div>
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Change and transformation IS painful and even traumatic. God has been pulling us away from the life we had before ("old life," if you read that previous blog post) and we are slowly entering into an unfamiliar, yet exciting "new life." We've carefully and thoughtfully left jobs and churches and schools and people we've loved, and each decision felt more painful than the one before. </div>
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(Can I give a quick shout out to our wonderful therapists at this point? Seriously. They've walked us through so many life transitions and we don't know what we would've done without them. Everybody, go find a great therapist!)</div>
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But at each step, we knew it was inching us towards "new life." Towards freedom to pursue the things we feel called to pursue.</div>
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But here's the thing....what's crazy is that we've stepped out into a wilderness with no next job lined up. We literally have NO idea what's next for us job-wise. How's that for scary? (I mean, faith-building? haha)</div>
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But what we DO know and feel confidence in is that we're on the right path. We know it's time for a break from vocational ministry before whatever lies ahead, which is only possible financially from selling one of our rental properties.</div>
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Our plan in the meantime is to focus on our rental properties and my Airbnb job. Doing houses together has always been our hobby. It's hard work, but it's so rewarding. We can't wait to work together as a team. We'll be intentionally seeking rest and spiritual & emotional nourishment, too. In some ways, we know specifics of what that means, and in other ways, we're still trying to figure out from where/whom that nourishment will come.</div>
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Marc's sister gave a good analogy that comes to my mind each day as we prepare for this transition into the wilderness.... \</div>
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It's night outside. </div>
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We're in a car driving with the headlights on. </div>
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From inside the car, we can only see a few feet ahead to what the headlights reveal in the darkness. </div>
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We can't look ahead or plan ahead because we just can't see very far in the dark. </div>
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But what we CAN do is keep going those few feet ahead, and when we do, the headlights will then show us the <i>next</i> few feet, and so on. </div>
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It's kinda like walking by faith and not by sight.</div>
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The "headlights" are showing us our next steps are to finish RUF in May and begin a season of rest from ministry. I don't know how long that season will be, or where we'll end up after it's over. I don't know what turns and twists are up ahead. Many days that's frightening. (My emotions are so all-over the place that I'm just learning to accept them and try to ride the waves...) </div>
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But I suppose as we inch ahead in what IS revealed, God will make our path clearer and brighter little by little.</div>
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Marc & Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00002706240827876109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6564303822661210562.post-32510563990241466572018-02-19T10:06:00.000-08:002018-02-19T10:06:13.017-08:00ten years....Yesterday our sweet Caroline turned 10!! Double digits, baby! I guess that makes this blog officially a decade old, too!<br />
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We planned a fun overnight shopping spree in Richmond for our gal who wanted clothes. </div>
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BUT, as life likes to do, our plans were thwarted suddenly when we noticed another skin staph infection developing on my leg (just inches away from the one I battled 2 months ago and landed in the ER...what in the world).</div>
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So what was SUPPOSED to be our fun birthday overnight was spent in the Urgent Care...</div>
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(That's how I'm blogging. I'm in pain on the couch waiting to get in to see my doctor today...)</div>
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Thankfully I was able to pull it together to get to a few stores and Caroline got some cute stuff. </div>
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Just not at all how we all wanted to celebrate 10.</div>
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But since I've got a little time, I'll give a super quick update....</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihAhXoPcV9eBT6FBU32uglqDKjiP7ip0xNAZlOgXlauVhjCCbTgO7OrRhtB-VgJWG2xlNHw6N42d1xgdfHqrpaIauoMHbfsrbqfZg03bXFouS_R9gjNbQ9e_1VWC0LexOt4Y9axXiTux0/s1600/MVIMG_20180131_162711.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihAhXoPcV9eBT6FBU32uglqDKjiP7ip0xNAZlOgXlauVhjCCbTgO7OrRhtB-VgJWG2xlNHw6N42d1xgdfHqrpaIauoMHbfsrbqfZg03bXFouS_R9gjNbQ9e_1VWC0LexOt4Y9axXiTux0/s320/MVIMG_20180131_162711.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Caroline's LOVING her new public school. She's got a group of diverse friends, her grades are great, she's in almost every club and activity they offer... show choir, math club, jump rope club, gifted & talented program, she's got a major role in their big play this Spring, you name it. She's also started on violin and if I could just get the girl to practice more often, she has SO much talent for it.</div>
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Now I am FAR from a crafty person, but she and I came up with this art project together with $3 canvases and a $1 bag of dried beans. </div>
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Jameson is growing like crazy in every way. He's taking swim lessons at the Y, going to pre-school every day to get ready for kindergarten next year, and is in love with everything that involves fighting and battles... Star Wars, Kung Fu Panda, and most recently Black Panther.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jameson & his friend DJ</td></tr>
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He BEGGED us to use his own money to get a Black Panther costume. </div>
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Marc surprised him by taking him to see Black Panther on opening day. He wore his full costume and people in the theater were all snapping pictures with him! </div>
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My basement apartment Airbnb has been killing it. Booked almost solid.</div>
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And I've been loving it so much that I've now got 2 clients who want my services to help me set up and manage their own Airbnb spaces! Dream job.</div>
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Marc is doing great. Back to work after Christmas break and rolling along this semester teaching Romans in RUF. He's taking students to an inner city mission trip in Chattanooga, TN, in just a couple weeks. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> Students over for the Super Bowl!</td></tr>
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I know my recent blogs have been rather raw and ambiguously depressing. There's no doubt we've endured our fair share of suffering in the past 6 months. But it's finally beginning to feel like we're coming through on the other side, and for that I am SO grateful. We'll still wear the scars, but at least there is healing ahead.</div>
<br />Marc & Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00002706240827876109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6564303822661210562.post-34178214455908116772018-01-29T10:09:00.003-08:002018-01-29T10:11:50.157-08:00finding my words...Hello my blog friends,<br />
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I'm sorry if you came here looking for fun updates and cute pictures of the kids. They're doing great. I hope to share more about what they're up to soon.<br />
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But I'M coming here to write and process. So much is swirling through my mind after the year we've had, and though we didn't drown in the flood of suffering, I'm still catching my breath from it all.<br />
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I'm trying to find my words.<br />
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There are layers to our suffering that are too vulnerable to share, most especially on a public blog. Marc and I have been deeply wounded in many ways this year, and I'm limited in what I can say and who I can tell.<br />
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That alone makes suffering so much harder, y'all.<br />
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When my daughter's hair was falling out, I took to this blog to write my raw, honest emotions as they came. It was a huge part of my acceptance process, not only to write it out, but for others to read it and empathize with us through our struggle. Our suffering was "out there," public, on display for all to see and respond.<br />
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I suppose if I have to suffer, I prefer to take my suffering communally like that. It holds me up to know that others KNOW and care and are WITH me.<br />
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If I may be so vulnerable to admit, I'm not feeling "held up" right now.<br />
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I'm navigating these deep waters with Marc, a good therapist, and a couple of close friends.<br />
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And I'm supposed to believe that Jesus is with me, making a way for me, directing me along this journey. He's carried me thus far, and He has been so, so good and faithful in the past.<br />
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But my fears tell me this time it's different. The evil one whispers lies to me.... "no one is with you," "you don't belong anywhere," "you should have never changed."<br />
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An older, wiser friend sat through Caroline's hairloss journey with me. She opened up the Bible and showed me in the Psalms how raw and honest were the words of lament. And at the end of many of the laments (not all), the psalmist suddenly makes an abrupt right turn to say something hopeful to the effect of "yet will I trust Him..."<br />
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I remember my friend gently and lovingly telling me, "Amy, you're not in that final verse yet where you're able to proclaim your faith. You're still in verses 1-4 of the lament, and that's OKAY." She gave me time and space to not be okay. I didn't have to fix myself or change my attitude right away. And you know, looking back, over time I guess Jesus did that for me.<br />
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Right now, I'm finding my words.<br />
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There's alot I'm trying to figure out.<br />
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And I'm going to heed my friend's advice. It's okay if the words I'm finding are mostly those of lament, disappointment, fear and doubt.<br />
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Is this whole Christianity thing even true?<br />
God, are you even there?<br />
How long, O Lord, will you turn your back from me?<br />
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Lord, I believe. But help my unbelief.<br />
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<br />Marc & Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00002706240827876109noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6564303822661210562.post-83330148635027344812018-01-09T13:46:00.001-08:002018-01-09T13:46:19.352-08:002017...Good riddance to you, 2017.<br />
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You brought with you deeper sorrows than I've ever felt. You took away people and things that brought great joy into my life. You held all the most terrible moments in your hands and seemed to rain them down on my head. You turned my hairs gray. You took away any sense of "normal" I might have felt before. <br />
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And now, in this beginning of 2018, I'm still left trying to piece myself together from the havoc you created.<br />
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Goodbye, 2017. I won't ever forget you.<br />
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I'm still recovering from you, but I have a sneaking suspicion I'll look back on you and see how all your chaos and pain changed me. <br />
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I think you pushed me down the path a little faster than I wanted to go.<br />
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And one day, I hope I'll thank you for that.<br />
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<br />Marc & Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00002706240827876109noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6564303822661210562.post-21679045217522961812017-12-04T14:53:00.000-08:002017-12-14T17:53:38.690-08:00transracial adoption and jesus in the chick fil A...If you've been following our journey on this blog (where I share much more of my heart than on social media), it's no surprise that our family has endured one of our toughest semesters yet on so many fronts. (Read back a few posts ago and perhaps you'll get a sense for the amount of stress we've endured.)<br />
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Some things are improving, and some things remain very raw, sore, and difficult. We are trying to find our way.<br />
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Life looks so different now than it used to. Through these trials, I've found myself reflecting often upon transracial adoption (adopting outside of your race/across racial lines). It's changed our life so radically over the past five years. <br />
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When we adopted Jameson, (and that was a whirlwind of a story- whew!) we took the adoption experts' advice very seriously when it came to incorporating our son's culture into our family.<br />
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I know lots of white families that have adopted black and biracial children. Some of them choose to ignore the topics of race and our racial history with their children (as is custom in white culture). Someone I know even touted, "My friend's children don't even <i>know </i>they're black!" <br />
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Sigh.<br />
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To be fair, every adoptive couple, just like every parent, has the right to decide how they'll parent their children on various topics throughout a child's life. I'd even guess it's probably <i>more </i>common for white couples adopting transracially to simply include their child into their own life and culture with very little changes to expose their child to his/her own culture and identity. (That's tough work.)<br />
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But here's the problem. <br />
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All those cute little black babies raised by sweet white families in the past few decades are now ADULTS. And they're talking. They're sharing their experiences of being raised in white families, in white churches, in white neighborhoods. Research shows they're struggling through their own identity issues as they're now living as black men and women in life, and they're often finding themselves ill-prepared to handle life as a person of color in society once they're out from underneath their parents' white umbrella.<br />
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It's Marc and I's mission to raise our children in such a way to honor their birthfamilies and to honor their heritage. Since Jameson's adoption is across ethnic lines, it's an added challenge but we want to do everything we possibly can to learn about, celebrate, and incorporate the richness of his culture into our own family.<br />
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Even when it puts us in a strange wilderness like now.<br />
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Because we're not black. We're not white. We're a black AND white family. Collectively.<br />
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And so that makes us constant pilgrims longing for a place and a people to which we belong.<br />
We're in process from "old life" to "new life," where there is alot more color and diversity. That may sound nice and exciting, but in reality, painful isn't a strong enough word to describe that transition for us. <br />
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Don't get me wrong, I love wherever I'm headed, for I know it's God that is doing the leading, and He will surely guide us. <br />
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But I'll be walking with a limp to get there.<br />
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Last week, I was standing in the airport Chick Fil A line with Caroline and Jameson before our flight home departed. (Marc was on baggage duty back at the gate while we got food.) Jameson was in my arms, and he was being a total sweetie. Our faces were close to one another, and we were just engaging in a typical 5-year-old mom and son conversation. When Jameson laid his head down on my shoulder because he'd been up since the crack of dawn traveling, my eyes met those of another man.<br />
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I'd seen this man back at the gate. He was kindof an odd duck, almost like a black Indiana Jones. The adventure hat, the vest, the chiseled facial features and muscular build. Intimidating at first glance, but at the back of the Chick Fil A line, he was staring straight into my eyes in a way that was incredibly profound, full of compassion.<br />
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<i>Was he trying to tell me something? Or is this just my imagination? </i>I'm trying to figure out. I really wish I was more intuitive...<br />
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But he continued looking at Jameson and me, and he nodded his head slowly. <br />
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<i>I see you, Mom, </i>his expression and nod told me. <br />
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And then, he nodded at me AGAIN! Slowly, intentionally, deliberately. TWO NODS! He <i>was</i> telling me something. He was non-verbally affirming my motherhood to my chocolate-skinned son in such a tender way that I was incredibly humbled. <br />
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I fought back tears and smiled knowingly back at him. <i>Thank you for seeing me</i>, I wanted my face to say. <i>Thank you for affirming me in such a difficult season in life.</i><br />
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I turned around and we continued through the line. As we ordered, the girls at the cash register were striking up conversation with Caroline, even to the point of name introductions. And just as it was time to insert my credit card into the machine......almost out of nowhere the man walked up with his credit card in hand and told the cashier, "It's on me."<br />
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Y'all. I just about burst out crying! (It's a moment I've been WAITING to type about because it won't leave my thoughts and memory.)<br />
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I don't know who that man was, and I've even questioned if he was an angel?! <br />
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Because to me, that moment was as if it was the Lord himself affirming me....<br />
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<i>Amy, I see you. You're doing this. Though it's painful, and people will reject you and think you're crazy, you're on the right track. You're giving everything you have to love your children and I'm proud of you.</i><br />
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It was like God was saying:<br />
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<i>Not only am I going to affirm where you're headed, do not fear. I'm even going to PROVIDE for you along the journey. You won't go hungry. Trust in me. I'll feed you along the way, and I'll send the most unlikely people to do it. </i><br />
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I know it's a little weird to compare this guy in the Chick Fil A line to Christ himself, but out of love, this guy rushed to the front of the busy line to pay my debt.<br />
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And in that moment, my faith was increased.<br />
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<br />Marc & Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00002706240827876109noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6564303822661210562.post-75108238002367138822017-10-29T10:35:00.000-07:002017-10-29T10:44:52.555-07:00maybe we need another reformation....Today isn't your typical Sunday morning.<br />
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It's big. <br />
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This Tuesday marks the 500th anniversary of the protestant Reformation when Martin Luther nailed the 95 Theses to the church door in Wittenburg, Germany. Maybe that's not a big deal to you, but without it, our lives and arguably our entire society wouldn't be the same without it.<br />
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So that means churches everywhere across the globe (especially those in my reformed Presbyterian tradition) will be celebrating it together today.<br />
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(So, of course- Murphy's law-- my son comes down sick in the middle of the night, which means I can't go to church. But while pouring him a warm bath, I got to thinking, and started jotting down a few thoughts.)<br />
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It's easy as a Protestant to look back on history and see who was on the right side of it, you know?<br />
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Yeah! The Reformation.<br />
Yeah! Martin Luther.<br />
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The church had become terribly corrupt and self-serving. Its doctrine was out of line with the Scripture. It oppressed people monetarily by demanding payment for the promise of eternal life.<br />
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That all sounds crazy to our modern ears, right? Of COURSE things needed to change.<br />
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The church itself needed to be challenged, held accountable, and cleansed of its corruption at the time.<br />
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And thanks to the courage of our buddy Martin Luther to get it started, it eventually was.<br />
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But today I'm thinking more deeply about the terribly difficult road it took for Martin Luther and the Reformers. <span style="font-size: large;"> Change didn't come overnight, and it didn't come without a great deal of suffering for all of those involved in the movement of resistance. </span> After demonstrating his own form of peaceful, nonviolent protest, Martin Luther's life was characterized by constant pressure to defend this movement called the Reformation politically and theologically against the dominant, all powerful Catholic church.<br />
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I'm sure that was one stressed-out guy, y'all.<br />
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It's important to note that Luther's intentions were never to split from, but to "reform" what already existed if that was possible. He certainly wasn't playing by the rules, but he wasn't abandoning the system, either.<br />
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But like most any dominant institution or company, a few revolutionaries weren't going to change anything. It wasn't until some of the cries of the Reformation like <i>Sola Gratia, Sola Fide, Sola deo Gloria, Sola Christus, and Sola Scriptura </i>(Latin phrases meaning Grace Alone, Faith Alone, For God's Glory Alone, Christ Alone, and Scripture Alone) took hold of people's hearts and began to spread uncontrollably like wildfire that it was clear there would be no stopping this thing.<br />
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I wonder what it must have been like for Luther to stand alone in protest against a centuries-old establishment that he himself loved and belonged within. <span style="font-size: large;"> To brave the wilderness, as Brene Brown would say. </span> <span style="font-size: large;">Luther was risking his very life when he stood alone.</span><br />
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As people slowly caught on to Luther's seemingly "revolutionary" ideas of getting back to the heart of the Christian faith, I wonder how increasingly threatened those in power must have felt. He was excommunicated from the church, called before emperors and asked to recant his beliefs. But thanks be to GOD Luther remained defiant for the good and godly beliefs in which he was fighting.<br />
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And we're all better for it today, amen?<br />
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But here's what I'm thinking. Just as the church had become misguided and corrupt by its own desire for power back then, we see it happening in our country today. <span style="font-size: large;">Maybe it isn't the doctrines of salvation that are being twisted as much as they were in the 1500's, but perhaps affirming and applying the doctrines of God's IMAGE and God's KINGDOM are being missed and more importantly <i>dis-</i>missed by a majority culture within our evangelical institutions.</span><br />
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The story of the Bible itself is a Savior who came as a poor, homeless man in order to 1) reconcile sinners to Himself AND 2) to reconcile two groups that hated one another (Jews and Gentiles) into the SAME FAMILY of God. Though the racial and economic tension and reconciliation in the Gospel story is radically applicable to us today, our homogeneous churches are the fruits of generations who have focused on the first half of the Gospel without regard for the latter.<br />
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Maybe we need another reformation?<br />
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Maybe it's already happening. Maybe that's what all this cultural mess we're feeling these days is about.<br />
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I sense the Spirit is in the business of waking some of His people up.<br />
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Do you sense the small wildfire burning within the hearts of those who yearn for true biblical, Gospel-centered justice? Could it be that what's instinctively being labeled as a "liberal, political agenda" is really an attempt to dismiss the flames of reformation that are beginning to sweep our nation?<br />
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Do you sense division, even within the church? It's okay. <span style="font-size: large;">The Reformation shows us that division and peaceful protest can ultimately be for the good of God's kingdom. </span><br />
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Is the church engaging in healthy discussions on matters of race, poverty, and culture? <span style="font-size: large;">Understanding the doctrines of God's image and His kingdom demand that we pay attention to what's happening around us. </span> Is the church listening to the voices of the modern day Martin Luthers, or is it seeking to silence and excommunicate them?<br />
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Is the American evangelical church acknowledging, confessing, and repenting of it's own history that kept people of color from entering its doors just a few decades ago, creating the safe haven of the American black church, and does it humbly welcome them in today? Does the church recognize its compliance of anti-Gospel practices and the long-term, continued lingering effects of hundreds of years of enslavement within our country?<br />
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Do churches have a genuine desire to ensure the diversity of God's image isn't just within the congregation, but also in leadership roles as well? Or similar to the 1500's, is the long-standing institution of the church feeling politically and economically threatened and reacting in fear, desperate to maintain power?<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">What if </span>(bear with me)<span style="font-size: large;"> the cries of <i>this</i> reformation are the words "Black Lives Matter?"</span> I'm sure the 5 Solas made those in the catholic church shudder back then, too.<br />
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In 500 more years, what will history show us about the American church's love for the poor, the oppressed, the marginalized?<br />
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And whose side will you be on?<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>"God doesn't need your good works, but your neighbor does." -Martin Luther</i></span><br />
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<br />Marc & Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00002706240827876109noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6564303822661210562.post-59804889581946119782017-10-13T10:56:00.001-07:002017-10-13T10:57:02.922-07:00the slowness of recovery...I just read over my last blog post. Though there's likely a few more things accomplished on the River House, every word typed then still applies fully to this day.<br />
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It's hard, you guys.<br />
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Life isn't settling down into any sense of "normal" yet. We wonder if and/or when it ever will. <br />
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It's day to day. We focus on what needs completing this day, and we're succeeding if we can do that.<br />
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There's layer upon layer to our current stage of suffering. There's physical, material/financial, emotional, and relational suffering. There are large looming questions of belonging and identity for us as a family.<br />
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Wounds are trying to scab and scar. Many days, they still feel very fresh and raw.<br />
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And you know, it's all capsizing upon us as we're entering into what we're calling "new life." Maybe we thought "new life" would be bliss. <br />
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My therapist tells me this will get better. But the chapter is so long, the path is so dark that it honestly feels like it might never change. <br />
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(Sorry, this post does not contain much hope. That's just where I am in the journey.)<br />
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I'm tired of reaching out, tired of asking for help. This isn't resolving in 2 weeks. There's no easy fix. No one wants suffering, but we <i>really </i>don't want suffering (for ourselves or others) that lingers on and on.<br />
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I feel as though I can't even trust my brain right now. One day I'm convinced of one thing, and the next, I'm convinced of the opposite. My mom always told me we don't make big decisions when we're upset in the moment, so I'm learning to take one day at a time. One step even. <br />
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I don't have to have all things figured out. I just have to focus on this day.<br />
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It's so timely that Brene Brown's new book is entitled, "Braving the Wilderness: the Quest for True Belonging." I'm reading it (well, listening to Brene read it <i>to</i> me) as if it were written directly to me. Where do I truly belong? With whom do I truly belong? (I'm thinking more broad spectrum along the lines of identity, culture, race, faith, politics, etc.)<br />
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Just as this home renovation is taking FOREVER, so does healing and recovery from "old life" to "new life." <br />
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I'm looking for people who can walk down this crazy, windy journey with me. People who are truly "safe" and can be trusted to love the unlovely parts of me. People who are committed to me and my recovery. People who want to understand and ask good questions. People who are okay if I'm in process.<br />
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If I question. If I cry. If I say stupid things. If I'm just a hot mess. <br />
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And who understand it takes a long, long time.<br />
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God is most definitely at work through this suffering, but the process is slow and so painful. <br />
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<br />Marc & Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00002706240827876109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6564303822661210562.post-43906754968423739992017-09-10T08:22:00.002-07:002017-09-10T08:23:10.324-07:00growth in neediness...Hello? <br />
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Hello, anybody there?<br />
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Oh hi there. It's me again. Yes, I'm really back! <br />
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Well, sort of. <br />
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I mean, it's been crazy. Like really, really crazy.<br />
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Moving is really hard. <br />
Moving into an unfinished home is even harder.<br />
Moving into an unfinished home at the most stressful time of your husband's year is even harder than that.<br />
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Y'all, we've almost been drowned by the storm surge of life these past 2 months. And it just continues to rain.<br />
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I know the sun will shine again on the other side of this, but right now we are caught in the flood and desperately trying to hold onto any life preserver in sight.<br />
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So, we've officially moved to the River House. Pictures will come later. I've only grabbed myself a few minutes and a laptop to write.<br />
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(And did I mention it's been really hard?) <br />
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The four of us are still, 2 months later, camped out in the basement of the River House. The kids share the only bedroom, and Marc and I have a mattress on the floor of the small living area. We have a functioning bathroom down here, and the kids have sortof learned to take showers. (though they are <i>dying </i>to take a bath again one day. God bless our neighbor who invited the kids over to get a real bath.) <br />
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Upstairs, on the main level of the house, our kitchen is now almost complete. We have a dining room table. We have a lovely new sectional couch and area rug in the Great Room. It's going to be amazing.<br />
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We also have piles of tools and obstructed walkways with construction material and moving boxes/furniture that can't yet be stored until there's a room with a finished floor.<br />
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Compared to last month, we're getting there!<br />
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But compared to normal life, we aren't.<br />
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The top floor of the house (our bedrooms and bathrooms) is still deemed uninhabitable. Though we've hired a tiling guy and plumber up there this week, it's a disaster. I originally thought it'd be Christmas before we'd be able to move to the top floor. Now I'm hoping by Halloween my kids can have their rooms and a bathtub again.<br />
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Y'all, there is really something to this idea of having a "settled" place. Generally knowing where your things are. <br />
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But these days, <i>everything </i>presents itself as a challenge. It feels like a triumph to get dressed beyond jeans and a t-shirt (my daily wardrobe for these past 2 months). It feels like a triumph to cook a meal (which to be honest, I haven't much). It's a true accomplishment to get my kids out the door to school without forgetting anything. (And also an accomplishment not to trip over construction stuff as you're trying to get out of the door.)<br />
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Day after day, the constant, chronic stress wears on you. Emotionally, physically, spiritually. We've both found ourselves under medical care and in counseling to make it through this flood we're under. <br />
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Though I don't want to, I'm learning how to reach out for help in various forms of support. And then reach out again. And in my own humility, reach out again.<br />
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I'm learning what it feels like to be needy. Like really, ongoing needy, where your problems don't go away in a couple weeks. <br />
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I'm feeling more in common with my neighbors who are impoverished materially. Though <i>they</i> are abundantly rich in community, and I have experienced my own deficit in relationships through this.<br />
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I'm learning how serious stress is. Upon our bodies and our minds. How important it is to manage and reduce it, if that's even possible.<br />
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I'm learning that money is important, but saving it isn't worth losing your sanity. Cue the therapist bills, medical bills, and contractor bills.<br />
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I'm seeing how resilient kids are. How they can roll and adapt to new situations with relative ease, as long as they're feeling nourished and nurtured.<br />
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I'm learning how I'm simultaneously tougher and weaker than I thought I was.<br />
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I'm seeing our own limitations. And the beginnings of aging bodies that can't handle what they could in our 20's and 30's. <br />
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Moving here, stepping down from my job as worship director, sending Caroline to public school, were to be the beginning steps of "new life" for us. (a separate post on Caroline's great start in her 1st public school experience to come...) <br />
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Transitioning into this "new life" has been somewhat tumultuous, but we have hope that brighter days are yet to come.<br />
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<br />Marc & Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00002706240827876109noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6564303822661210562.post-22748695701455535232017-07-16T14:23:00.005-07:002017-07-16T14:24:20.293-07:00the river house #15: it's moving time...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT289Ydww7to_dmXKAMvhH1KftchOTuzKxXWvSCf60ETkUBJBWtlRt9BhmOweoBnE6JyPv3pj5w7VhyphenhyphenphTSPz5fhDp25kwfKxikul45lGlSLruvieiEdY0cW1oCErGpD5cQRSnBxH5Y5o/s1600/20170625_191916.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT289Ydww7to_dmXKAMvhH1KftchOTuzKxXWvSCf60ETkUBJBWtlRt9BhmOweoBnE6JyPv3pj5w7VhyphenhyphenphTSPz5fhDp25kwfKxikul45lGlSLruvieiEdY0cW1oCErGpD5cQRSnBxH5Y5o/s320/20170625_191916.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
SO much has changed on the River House since I last updated! And I really shouldn't be laying here blogging to you about it, but I've come down with a sinus infection from all of the dust this work has been kicking up, so I'm giving myself a few hours to slow down...<br />
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<span style="text-align: left;">Where to begin.... well, we have walls now! Drywall was a HUGE game changer. I can't believe we sold our current house before we even had WALLS up in this home. (Did I even mention we sold our house in 2 days with multiple offers? Which is great and all, <i>except </i>when you are still renovating another house you're not ready to live in...) </span></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">The timing has been nothing short of stressful, y'all. Or maybe it's just EXCITING. Adventurous, even! Yes, adventurous. We wouldn't life to be dull.</span></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">Somewhere in all of the chaos and stress, though, has been the rewarding feeling of seeing this project begin to take shape. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJCD6zEF6UOpAsyZFtbIDabECEp2wweBkQnltWOY74xKs3s6Pkov5URukeRDdaKwieZ1K_AQpvnx1bJLAnWCsZVZ6GKcdMeNSu4cTrq4uLt2xMXbeUu17uv-Htg-UXmC2PfEVy4MTmb5o/s1600/20170614_151642.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJCD6zEF6UOpAsyZFtbIDabECEp2wweBkQnltWOY74xKs3s6Pkov5URukeRDdaKwieZ1K_AQpvnx1bJLAnWCsZVZ6GKcdMeNSu4cTrq4uLt2xMXbeUu17uv-Htg-UXmC2PfEVy4MTmb5o/s400/20170614_151642.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Perhaps the MOST exciting day was the one when my kitchen cabinetry was delivered! Months of planning, months of waiting, and they were finally here!!!<br />
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EXCEPT.<br />
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They were THE.WRONG.COLOR.<br />
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All of them. Creamy, buttery yellow. I ordered crisp white.<br />
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You know what that means.<br />
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Another MONTH of waiting. <br />
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And our move-in date was a month and a few days away. <br />
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Expectations had to be adjusted. And re-adjusted. Always re-adjusting.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsMiss7e9YPf0AWpWssiPMSKcpPKY6CKA_qp1dIi2jz5PGWYfqCXJ_R6uhxqJ4ZjImThgbD2nBsxDgg2xAL5uXMFQzLxejUqR34jqI5wFFf2ZquSTCf2v7koF871XtdzgZB-hWYi4mmOo/s1600/20170617_224944.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsMiss7e9YPf0AWpWssiPMSKcpPKY6CKA_qp1dIi2jz5PGWYfqCXJ_R6uhxqJ4ZjImThgbD2nBsxDgg2xAL5uXMFQzLxejUqR34jqI5wFFf2ZquSTCf2v7koF871XtdzgZB-hWYi4mmOo/s320/20170617_224944.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dirty job</td></tr>
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The bright side of this project has been our students and friends who have helped us along the way. We couldn't have gotten this far without 'em. <br />
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There is just something to someone literally entering into your MESS to help.<br />
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We'll be forever grateful.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBzu42fVJ7Xn22ou5eEDmPgUEoYZFfLfGO8QgRlG-9haoD1eU_xbMsGB9Gg5Fjr91ubLo9al9tY-X15d7HCm5ctDJqKJNHzog1XIYK6RzC_ENIJ60jg-fGgGoCR06Yri24-dq-wdDwjRY/s1600/20170613_134918.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBzu42fVJ7Xn22ou5eEDmPgUEoYZFfLfGO8QgRlG-9haoD1eU_xbMsGB9Gg5Fjr91ubLo9al9tY-X15d7HCm5ctDJqKJNHzog1XIYK6RzC_ENIJ60jg-fGgGoCR06Yri24-dq-wdDwjRY/s320/20170613_134918.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Floor delivery!</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDnCyRPnvj9i8glvHRhFGlqXfXXb6yCwsq2NJSZS9Zy_pArhij1iXCOPg2-34va46_ztD5VH2y5otV6xdxgrroOnLdG8Ia1Vyzm6B-6WumFUS3XLm-B35jrmo97OtE52N7CpLCVX-G928/s1600/20170612_130425.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDnCyRPnvj9i8glvHRhFGlqXfXXb6yCwsq2NJSZS9Zy_pArhij1iXCOPg2-34va46_ztD5VH2y5otV6xdxgrroOnLdG8Ia1Vyzm6B-6WumFUS3XLm-B35jrmo97OtE52N7CpLCVX-G928/s320/20170612_130425.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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The kids have done pretty well through the craziness of this summer. I took it upon myself to sign them up for various camps and VBS weeks, so they're having a blast while we're able to get some work done. They've got sweet friends next door at the River House, so they haven't missed a beat getting to play with them outside. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvskmXVJWiKLvDdPDJvVT2s9sscYd7mknMwA0VkIVhOIhzXiPbwqxz4Pnr4LUCPlwujNYGS_BitZAIkS2t62ZAJ0uXHrZHFJKQBNEElUjcUSslFszq0JlBGaQt7IPpqMcntIPCE4zOSww/s1600/20170620_112301.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvskmXVJWiKLvDdPDJvVT2s9sscYd7mknMwA0VkIVhOIhzXiPbwqxz4Pnr4LUCPlwujNYGS_BitZAIkS2t62ZAJ0uXHrZHFJKQBNEElUjcUSslFszq0JlBGaQt7IPpqMcntIPCE4zOSww/s320/20170620_112301.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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The goal by our closing date (next week!) was to have the 1st floor finished and then be able to work on the top floor. </div>
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Well, <i>that's </i>not going to happen. (readjusting those expectations)</div>
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So NOW the goal has been revised to get what needs doing in order to to hopefully earn a CO (Certificate of Occupancy), and then work as we can when we can. A CO would give us permission to live on the 1st floor, not just store our stuff there.</div>
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So we need running water. And before you can get running water, you've got to tile your bathroom floor... </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk6GRsoY7cKwJQqRL6CcIzZmQlaKHWC8cXm01wiQNd5EHbsbBeCNz3UW88lMv2M_NcAe0i7F2gJan2MeaP4ch1V4IAPpjRqQgSp91mAlW6AAowlI8c9kZ8hewCgoQkp5HV1K1uYUnPDIY/s1600/20170621_104904.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk6GRsoY7cKwJQqRL6CcIzZmQlaKHWC8cXm01wiQNd5EHbsbBeCNz3UW88lMv2M_NcAe0i7F2gJan2MeaP4ch1V4IAPpjRqQgSp91mAlW6AAowlI8c9kZ8hewCgoQkp5HV1K1uYUnPDIY/s320/20170621_104904.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">bathroom vanity I found on craigslist</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4MWjFCy33r6mOd9rjqNYNWS-NFa8vWka82qSrT4c1pnzFxH1faTfPcsbZtkLVvi9NylNQAIfrNLkIxBHt_2NbHr_0UV6ctFrdJNym00pkIdMQ4FrGQwgCd-Wnt_Blph4BWnD_TQCGfRM/s1600/20170619_190932.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4MWjFCy33r6mOd9rjqNYNWS-NFa8vWka82qSrT4c1pnzFxH1faTfPcsbZtkLVvi9NylNQAIfrNLkIxBHt_2NbHr_0UV6ctFrdJNym00pkIdMQ4FrGQwgCd-Wnt_Blph4BWnD_TQCGfRM/s320/20170619_190932.jpg" width="179" /></a></div>
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I had our carpenters put up the original 1901 trim around the bathroom window. And when there's a coat of white paint on there, it's really gonna shine.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwi8EvueJu1i80cfjkHuU7tIy2F7nkdcKzl3-pKUm8ushWcqy33w-OSUFwGs02luL3zkpruHAU5dIbn8lcblEbxxcOFK6keIGL6cX-jnjvtiLlnK3gxFyhbfjsPbUhJ4R31o_Op6ySeRI/s1600/20170629_192052.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwi8EvueJu1i80cfjkHuU7tIy2F7nkdcKzl3-pKUm8ushWcqy33w-OSUFwGs02luL3zkpruHAU5dIbn8lcblEbxxcOFK6keIGL6cX-jnjvtiLlnK3gxFyhbfjsPbUhJ4R31o_Op6ySeRI/s320/20170629_192052.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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Remember that sinus infection I told you about? Hmm, could it be from being in this house? We literally had to change the air filter every couple of DAYS at one point.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTtaNd5MhU4_5oKs7W2PsxKo4wIz3v83bXUQGXAty8KIlP_lotY2DtSIeb89Cw7fWW88M08yGuSsCl9XkNO7FvM09FaHNVpRLNkRclZbQGPZaNfLfS5WD37ozTOLkou7eEjN9O684LNig/s1600/20170626_161729.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTtaNd5MhU4_5oKs7W2PsxKo4wIz3v83bXUQGXAty8KIlP_lotY2DtSIeb89Cw7fWW88M08yGuSsCl9XkNO7FvM09FaHNVpRLNkRclZbQGPZaNfLfS5WD37ozTOLkou7eEjN9O684LNig/s320/20170626_161729.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I really think hell is going to be filled with lots and lots of SANDING. Sanding little crevices like stair rails for hours and hours on end, covering yourself in black dust. (It'll all be worth it, right? Can't wait to see this finished in all its glory.)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3dpNzLmQp5lMS53YfAuDBcO7KbtrFl08kO_OqEonAKAmCItyAOCQjT3o34_HWT5JFxQPJLZ5seQC4FF_bg3AVqWIayXbTbASkfnJzPXRp3zCabyxH1SBhZLvvqdt7t3cUCWZq38vjG7I/s1600/20170629_191618.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3dpNzLmQp5lMS53YfAuDBcO7KbtrFl08kO_OqEonAKAmCItyAOCQjT3o34_HWT5JFxQPJLZ5seQC4FF_bg3AVqWIayXbTbASkfnJzPXRp3zCabyxH1SBhZLvvqdt7t3cUCWZq38vjG7I/s320/20170629_191618.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
I found a "new" old front door at an architectural salvage shop in Richmond that was similar enough to the original door of the house. I had a contractor put some additional trim on it in order to match it even closer. <br />
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Then I painted it a slate blue color for now. It'll change once we paint the rest of the exterior... maybe next summer?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAvrJX8DeXTD5Mfm8Rlh9r6-B36sgQMCQ-PYuSTRDond8Hj6qEI9KgcQIkIhSK8ILyVNlhEkLzeOK-FJpHflT1XNJuCLgzl0D0T_u_IgEq4D6MeMNieZ-4puN-HOWUtp1ibl9fsU-ffe0/s1600/20170629_191821.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAvrJX8DeXTD5Mfm8Rlh9r6-B36sgQMCQ-PYuSTRDond8Hj6qEI9KgcQIkIhSK8ILyVNlhEkLzeOK-FJpHflT1XNJuCLgzl0D0T_u_IgEq4D6MeMNieZ-4puN-HOWUtp1ibl9fsU-ffe0/s320/20170629_191821.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
But for now, I'm liking my blue door.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6q_OlbyvRpYyxpa3ENGvfKdnOH6AagVVjfNMyu283XNP6FLjGw0bYzNkCFGecZHLqagQwjWbFPQo2e4dft4dGZctbevkQa_zFq-qi6-33qsUXBVceCmhDuilk-W6sz5oHe-Md3mE_QoY/s1600/20170630_141827.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6q_OlbyvRpYyxpa3ENGvfKdnOH6AagVVjfNMyu283XNP6FLjGw0bYzNkCFGecZHLqagQwjWbFPQo2e4dft4dGZctbevkQa_zFq-qi6-33qsUXBVceCmhDuilk-W6sz5oHe-Md3mE_QoY/s320/20170630_141827.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
And no post about the River House is complete without a picture of my 2nd home for the summer: Lowe's.<br />
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Or as we call it, Slowe's. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCYrJ_G9Xwa1A6VLTjWADj92-dVKWWrxkJHX4_XxAYq7IZJGG5FjxWyf0HfNm6ZcnwUME9lVjjPC_7gZcp-X-xYf3Yce4v0u61r4hUMi3o7z1Bx4Q16wSxA7ygPlU410fS7llOWWB-g_0/s1600/20170706_095730.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCYrJ_G9Xwa1A6VLTjWADj92-dVKWWrxkJHX4_XxAYq7IZJGG5FjxWyf0HfNm6ZcnwUME9lVjjPC_7gZcp-X-xYf3Yce4v0u61r4hUMi3o7z1Bx4Q16wSxA7ygPlU410fS7llOWWB-g_0/s320/20170706_095730.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
So one month later, we had the flooring AND the cabinets stacked to the ceiling of the Great Room. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKEa_6JRQng3RoIvIdCkODv66t_P-PEM2okfdWsWgqKOAsFl825_egb0QmjcVAEjmHO8ISRIbBl6UCxBLL6KxfYcB_wDhDSPmW3cxG_tvFusSR08uVdrzr0Kgghx2hNW0jXiZAdSKL50c/s1600/20170706_141952.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKEa_6JRQng3RoIvIdCkODv66t_P-PEM2okfdWsWgqKOAsFl825_egb0QmjcVAEjmHO8ISRIbBl6UCxBLL6KxfYcB_wDhDSPmW3cxG_tvFusSR08uVdrzr0Kgghx2hNW0jXiZAdSKL50c/s320/20170706_141952.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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And last week was when it became an HGTV show-- contractors swarming the house.... the trim guys, the cabinet hanging guy, the floor guy, the electrician, and the plumber (Marc), all working like crazy. </div>
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And I'm running to Slowe's constantly for all of them. Ugh. I guess this adds "general contractor" to my resume?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdafhvpp76L2-SYoc2bIFIWrTknIdi5MPUIeVl9n-5v6X900lLtN0r5zj2wcoR73na1huu39Mx0JwUgnSTFFHtT69mCp42sIYKyz_EhyflTZaIj_fuoEU8I7_r7WEng0lNDzbzCp6l4CI/s1600/20170630_121711.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdafhvpp76L2-SYoc2bIFIWrTknIdi5MPUIeVl9n-5v6X900lLtN0r5zj2wcoR73na1huu39Mx0JwUgnSTFFHtT69mCp42sIYKyz_EhyflTZaIj_fuoEU8I7_r7WEng0lNDzbzCp6l4CI/s400/20170630_121711.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
Here's a quick glimpse of the front room of the house, which will be Marc's office and the most historical of the renovation. We restored the original brick fireplace, used the original trim, we'll be refinishing the floors, etc. <br />
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So when I found this super huge and fun historic chandelier on craigslist, I thought it would make a statement and still stay in the right period.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLv53SVVuiPaKda0QfBGbxYJFHYtGwCWq5eWPTxaz-P25vtl5gnUPo08fiVnvGkN5_sYitGv_c752YhsJP34SdnejdV-vTq0aGdtjtcaIsRZBJEbWKlzZeDp5e0RYqL5OaaNQ6h16lf5M/s1600/20170708_171950.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLv53SVVuiPaKda0QfBGbxYJFHYtGwCWq5eWPTxaz-P25vtl5gnUPo08fiVnvGkN5_sYitGv_c752YhsJP34SdnejdV-vTq0aGdtjtcaIsRZBJEbWKlzZeDp5e0RYqL5OaaNQ6h16lf5M/s320/20170708_171950.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
Here's another glimpse at a beauty I found for the front entryway... oh how I love light fixtures... <br />
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The floor guys, the trim guys, and the cabinet-hanging guys were literally dancing around one another last week. And since the first cabinet catastrophe put me so far behind, my installer was kind enough to set my base cabinets FIRST in order for the countertop folks to come and get their templates made as quickly as possible. </div>
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So that brings us to this past week! A CO (Certificate of Occupancy) requires handrails around stairways: </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">new handrails</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiked6m2SiyKZzAKSl9t65AuR_u1bxh5zGzBgWSqZvYOYGEwJGhbiDafSbpPwc7eyo1nRYrjLKkBuOHKAcl85DJeiDrCnRBOzH2BI-jOuWEbC1EI32CZ2fmyiLy5ByCyxh2hljHW37hbi8/s1600/20170713_142405.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiked6m2SiyKZzAKSl9t65AuR_u1bxh5zGzBgWSqZvYOYGEwJGhbiDafSbpPwc7eyo1nRYrjLKkBuOHKAcl85DJeiDrCnRBOzH2BI-jOuWEbC1EI32CZ2fmyiLy5ByCyxh2hljHW37hbi8/s320/20170713_142405.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">industrial pipe handrail</td></tr>
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One of my Pinterest-inspired projects was an iron pipe handrail going down to the basement. On the river out my back window is a historic factory that makes industrial black pipe, so I thought it would be a fun and fitting tribute to make a pipe handrail. (Not as easy as it looks... first I stumped my husband, myself, then I stumped the contractors, and after 4 trips to Slowe's, we finally got it and all my contractors were so impressed with it.)</div>
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So here's where things stand now with the floors in! I only had to return 4. MORE. CABINETS.<br />
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Because the designer didn't account for my window trim (grrrrrr... these people... ). <br />
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At this point, though, my expectations are so readjusted that almost nothing will bother me.<br />
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I'm reeeaally excited about the special custom kitchen hood I'm designing.... can't wait to show you what I'm doing!<br />
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We've got weeks and weeks of caulking and painting ahead of us. But I'm not going to think about it.<br />
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This project is making me go gray!!! Haha, that's just paint. But seriously, though. It's been entirely too stressful. I wasn't sleeping more than 5 hours a night, so I found myself crying in my doctor's office last week. Sometimes meds are a wonderful gift from Jesus.</div>
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So what's crazy is that as of 3 days ago, we're now LIVING in the basement!!! Closing on our other house isn't until next week (the 28th), but Marc will be out of town that week, so we wanted to get settled and into a routine before he left. </div>
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So it's this week that we need to pack our ENTIRE HOUSE because we're moving all of our stuff next Saturday! (Is this as stressful to read as I'm feeling typing it?)</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our little abode in the basement</td></tr>
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So this was our first night camping set up! We brought over the essentials. The kids are sleeping on beds and Marc and I tried the pull out couch one night.....<br />
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....theeeeen we moved our bed over the next day... ha ha <br />
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There are advantages of moving one block away... easy to run back for things you forgot to bring over.<br />
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This is my kitchen for the next length of time, you guys. I am missing that dishwasher... </div>
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But believe it or not, I think we're doing better being over here. We're all sleeping well, and though it's small, at least it's organized. I have to tell myself it's not for forever. I can do this. </div>
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The semester is quickly approaching and Marc will be getting back to RUF full time. We had hoped we'd be much farther along, and we really could use an army right about now. We'd covet your prayers (and help) this week as we try to wrap things up at the other house and get everything moved over here. </div>
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To be continued....</div>
Marc & Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00002706240827876109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6564303822661210562.post-87624222414248821202017-05-29T19:54:00.000-07:002017-05-29T19:56:01.179-07:00white mama at the black barbershop: more than hair...<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmaab0W_XkcdurtNKhC7WFHzO9jWH5-78RNfVPN6sB-6wunw9E_cJR0C_x3QhhrioYHiUGJisJg8OPm7PRjnxHrU0p3KvKA2Z9n7uhJQN3LO0_2JHy73AJhyMlqyJ9mr3wDS3ng5nbwzU/s1600/20170526_164504.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmaab0W_XkcdurtNKhC7WFHzO9jWH5-78RNfVPN6sB-6wunw9E_cJR0C_x3QhhrioYHiUGJisJg8OPm7PRjnxHrU0p3KvKA2Z9n7uhJQN3LO0_2JHy73AJhyMlqyJ9mr3wDS3ng5nbwzU/s400/20170526_164504.jpg" width="225" /></a><br />
Okay, I'm super embarrassed to show y'all this first picture of my son's hair.<br />
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Life has obviously been a little crazy between selling our house and working on the River House, (more on that in a future post!) so as you can see, Jameson's hair has not been our first priority. <br />
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I was almost too mortified to take him in ANYwhere, and I really shouldn't have taken him in without washing his hair at home first to help loosen his incredibly tight curls for picking out. <br />
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So the barber,<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: center;">loving his first shampoo at the barber shop</td></tr>
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whom we love and have seen before, started working through Jameson's hair with the pick, and I could see Jameson doing everything in his power to hold back the tears. (As I internally beat myself up...) <br />
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At that point, the barber took him for his first shampoo. (I guess he realized it was a lost cause to get that pick through the boy's head. Smart man.)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxToT40MfmOF2BOs8Zavl4HDYyzby3jL42y5B6rzfSyv5kV6NFNUpOgcfSQM5rTmJKBqjWQY_qTGxA5pKqVL4sWa-_st2ob633dgYGwoIkRfGA0SYkphC6tOe1OvAmjFrNgKJ4_hbsruA/s1600/20170526_170314.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxToT40MfmOF2BOs8Zavl4HDYyzby3jL42y5B6rzfSyv5kV6NFNUpOgcfSQM5rTmJKBqjWQY_qTGxA5pKqVL4sWa-_st2ob633dgYGwoIkRfGA0SYkphC6tOe1OvAmjFrNgKJ4_hbsruA/s400/20170526_170314.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
After the shampoo came the buzzers. (or are they called the clippers? I don't even know...) And at the back of Jameson's head are the tightest little curls that whatever-it's-called yanks and pulls when the hair gets long. <br />
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Jameson couldn't hold it in anymore. He bowed his head and let the tears flow. My poor guy.<br />
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The barber ran to the back room and rushed back with a chocolate bar for both of my kids. #barberforthewin<br />
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Tear-stained Jameson devoured the bar, and the barber and I continued chit-chatting. Occasionally he would direct a boisterous question to Jameson, and Jameson (being a shy version of himself) would usually just answer with a soft, enunciated "yes."<br />
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Then the barber turned to me each time and imitated Jameson's little voice saying "yes" and laughed to himself. He said he couldn't believe how "polite" Jameson spoke. <br />
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I laughed. Jameson didn't exactly know how to get his barbershop talk on. <br />
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And then that big ol' wave of white-mama-of-a-black-son insecurity hit me, for more than just hair.<br />
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<i>My son is going to be teased for how he speaks. He'll likely be teased for a myriad of things just because he lives with a white family. He'll have to suffer the consequences for his deficiencies in black culture because of me.</i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih6A_QdmDVbnJBDPvqrbD9nBE5zJ5lW63Fh3PmrIQJVVi4FLJqunoIXFpmxrIVoermHXrfLE0oKW6PaHqVuOkHqVQmSZsZ_nyrpqzf2Noq-vFK-NdRnyA46VIvLAnP2ZofX27I9nKm2JQ/s1600/20170526_173528.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih6A_QdmDVbnJBDPvqrbD9nBE5zJ5lW63Fh3PmrIQJVVi4FLJqunoIXFpmxrIVoermHXrfLE0oKW6PaHqVuOkHqVQmSZsZ_nyrpqzf2Noq-vFK-NdRnyA46VIvLAnP2ZofX27I9nKm2JQ/s400/20170526_173528.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
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I left that barbershop painfully aware of my whiteness, and of my son's lack of blackness, if that makes any sense. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqNnCJE4iaie00mhgHsHBTdc1VuqE77BVx2vk6_Zx8TzGH1KFSaQ3_JPsD4PqCi3MvZteWO4bmHLf5RD7lWJcH_GbmRoOP5z3BgjFtatz5fHYe0BSaS7Jol86_3iX3izug2XjH3xxAPXE/s1600/20170526_173521.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqNnCJE4iaie00mhgHsHBTdc1VuqE77BVx2vk6_Zx8TzGH1KFSaQ3_JPsD4PqCi3MvZteWO4bmHLf5RD7lWJcH_GbmRoOP5z3BgjFtatz5fHYe0BSaS7Jol86_3iX3izug2XjH3xxAPXE/s400/20170526_173521.jpg" width="225" /></a>I can give my son so much-- food, clothing, a loving home, a family that's crazy about him, lightsabers galore, and even a good haircut-- but there's a big piece missing in every adoptee's life. </div>
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(Especially in a transracial adoptee.)</div>
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I can't give Jameson the connection to his birth family. And I can't give him his racial and ethnic heritage. </div>
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That may not sound like a big deal to some, but Jameson comes from a very strong and beautiful cultural heritage. Marc and I are always seeking for ways to bring more of it into our life, both for our sake and for his.</div>
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Since we have serious cultural limitations, we are praying that some of our dark-skinned brothers might take him under their wing. I am praying for more racial representation for him in the church. I want him to have real-life role models that can talk to him about what it means to be black in America. That may not be something that he feels he needs now, but it's something he'll know he missed out on later. </div>
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You guys, transracial adoption is about SO much more than learning to do hair. </div>
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It's committing to a journey that will literally lead you places you never knew you'd go. </div>
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It's coming to grips with your own insecurities and incapabilities and mourning losses your child doesn't even yet know he's facing. </div>
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It's being willing to give up your comfort and even your people for the benefit of your child. </div>
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It's a path that isn't for everyone. </div>
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It's the most challenging (and simultaneously the most rewarding) thing I've ever done. And I'm only 4 years in. </div>
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May God give this little white mama the grace to know how to do it well.</div>
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Marc & Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00002706240827876109noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6564303822661210562.post-86125191271231732572017-04-29T17:52:00.002-07:002017-04-29T17:53:11.406-07:00the river house #14: selling, staging and sexism...<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
We are up to our necks in houses, houses, HOUSES! </div>
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Y'all, it's crazy. It's the hot time of the market, so we need to get our current house up for sale. </div>
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But the only problem is, what if it sells?!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBGvbMtm8bW5crhQrhunSs5bTpp2fEZ_QCsOlZgr5t0fk75FkxEfQ0N3ONDUU3PGtyEm8TgCnc9x-BhxPyVslp6p0WfDBOR1I6mQaKg4EeCreUoAjfyGGSPBcvpmdQS3GfBnGE4-YEkS4/s1600/20170427_131728.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBGvbMtm8bW5crhQrhunSs5bTpp2fEZ_QCsOlZgr5t0fk75FkxEfQ0N3ONDUU3PGtyEm8TgCnc9x-BhxPyVslp6p0WfDBOR1I6mQaKg4EeCreUoAjfyGGSPBcvpmdQS3GfBnGE4-YEkS4/s320/20170427_131728.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Because if it does, then <i>this </i>is what I currently have. </div>
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(and if you can't tell, that's not exactly live-able)</div>
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We are STILL insulating and fixing all the other thousand little things that need doing in order to get drywall. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvK-vxZM8tT07ACckVRkA-Y2rCnCTqJ3pMz8geU_4eOFINVd7CGX9yDABxQMK7dkynAYYrpWbOAkRWsFFC1UCP1IXuxdHtraclP0aA6J60X0CMcju13awT6g4tIuvtmto7I3SO07PH2uA/s1600/20170412_095718.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvK-vxZM8tT07ACckVRkA-Y2rCnCTqJ3pMz8geU_4eOFINVd7CGX9yDABxQMK7dkynAYYrpWbOAkRWsFFC1UCP1IXuxdHtraclP0aA6J60X0CMcju13awT6g4tIuvtmto7I3SO07PH2uA/s320/20170412_095718.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">BEFORE: replacing the rotted wood on the back porch</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBGvbMtm8bW5crhQrhunSs5bTpp2fEZ_QCsOlZgr5t0fk75FkxEfQ0N3ONDUU3PGtyEm8TgCnc9x-BhxPyVslp6p0WfDBOR1I6mQaKg4EeCreUoAjfyGGSPBcvpmdQS3GfBnGE4-YEkS4/s1600/20170427_131728.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">AFTER: the porch is painted and the yard is landscaped</td></tr>
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But first, in order to get listed on the market, we've had to switch our energies into our current house.<br />
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I planted flowers for that extra pop of curb appeal.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRsDRKXQNv95Kdtbw2Kf0vqgnyFjhf1aZW3AiXGguXbxZfoU4KEFo57ORTG3d-ygwwxSKBUfYgRasVnE3G8yN413o01WYg-Bpx8zirLHNcdZ6HrrpYQPv2E-kkgXdijVW9SWTAML2BEg8/s1600/20170415_072456.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRsDRKXQNv95Kdtbw2Kf0vqgnyFjhf1aZW3AiXGguXbxZfoU4KEFo57ORTG3d-ygwwxSKBUfYgRasVnE3G8yN413o01WYg-Bpx8zirLHNcdZ6HrrpYQPv2E-kkgXdijVW9SWTAML2BEg8/s320/20170415_072456.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
Speaking of curb appeal, each year the city's Easter festival is in our neighborhood, and literally thousands of cars drive by our house that day, so it was important for us to be looking spiffy as we announced our house was coming for sale soon!<br />
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So in a typical day, I literally go from exterior work...<br />
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...to interior decluttering...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuojSXxG-kTXLutcaThIAD7Lq7XpEFevt1drZJ1EGS5JzAf2cuS52QgQrz4TI6qyqjnFaLcV8WzuoBOQ1DjVK-hcwooGNCf1a3NAkEu0hQP8FBeW5__zBT1MWyJoEqMddOrLb1cqBy2Ug/s1600/20170425_175231.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuojSXxG-kTXLutcaThIAD7Lq7XpEFevt1drZJ1EGS5JzAf2cuS52QgQrz4TI6qyqjnFaLcV8WzuoBOQ1DjVK-hcwooGNCf1a3NAkEu0hQP8FBeW5__zBT1MWyJoEqMddOrLb1cqBy2Ug/s320/20170425_175231.jpg" width="180" /></a>...to hanging insulation at the River house...<br />
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It's too much, you guys. <br />
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Moving is hard enough.<br />
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But renovating one house while staging and selling (and ultimately packing up) another is too much.<br />
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And to make matters worse, we fired our contractor.<br />
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(<i>What?!? </i>I know.)<br />
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Yeah, we're now on our own with no help. Just when we probably need it the most.<br />
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I could literally write an entire blog post about the interchange the morning I fired him. It was so, so bad. It was just me and him, but thankfully our intern, Audrey, heard part of it word-for-word and was there for me after it was all said and done. <br />
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What started as me calmly expressing some concerns about the hours that he was reporting quickly (so QUICKLY!) escalated into him using loud, threatening language. I was caught in a situation where I was trying to keep things professional, and it was like I was talking again to my explosive young children who often don't have the capability to use calm words. Except this was an adult.<br />
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When his buddies drove up on the street, he stormed out to talk to them, which provided me the opportunity to attempt to stop physically shaking. But when I heard his inappropriate comments to his buddies about us, and then about ME BEING A WOMAN, that crossed a line.<br />
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So when he walked back in to speak to me again, I calmly confronted his choice of words about me as a woman. And his sexist response only dug his grave deeper. ("Oh," he said as he cocked his head to the side and wriggled his fingers in my face, "that's because you women have FEELINGS.") I was still trying to logically figure out some of his pricing discrepancies in order to resolve the situation, but it was like an animal who had been backed into a corner. He was flipping out, threatening to quit, attacking me. It was time for him to pack up. <br />
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<i>What in the world, y'all? How does he think he can treat someone that way? </i>Um, no.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUvHNgpGp1BXZbfd-YlBlFlV45_3HhASIY0XemP6aAr90l1YT04Hm9EOoooV_tVWZKSl686YqqpltD4awGx43MkQSd_83aSUGZ_FNp3RZ0Kk6WXhOTK4rLOgqVAxJY1bjqdBnoMIhWay8/s1600/20170428_132030.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUvHNgpGp1BXZbfd-YlBlFlV45_3HhASIY0XemP6aAr90l1YT04Hm9EOoooV_tVWZKSl686YqqpltD4awGx43MkQSd_83aSUGZ_FNp3RZ0Kk6WXhOTK4rLOgqVAxJY1bjqdBnoMIhWay8/s320/20170428_132030.jpg" width="180" /></a>So it's a new day. <br />
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We'll figure it out.<br />
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It's nice that my house is pretty stinkin' clean as we go on the market Monday.<br />
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But keeping it that way with my two children is going to drive us ALL crazy.<br />
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To be continued...<br /><br />
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<br />Marc & Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00002706240827876109noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6564303822661210562.post-77206072331462161782017-04-23T18:53:00.000-07:002017-04-23T18:53:41.437-07:00precipice...I'm standing on the precipice of "Old Life." (if you didn't catch the post on "old life/new life," <a href="http://crazyforcaroline.blogspot.com/2017/02/old-life-new-life.html" target="_blank">read here</a>.)<br />
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Most things still aren't yet settled into place, but they're coming.<br />
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Changes are around the corner.<br />
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Our house goes on the market next week. (if <i>that's</i> not stressful...)<br />
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We received the letter in the mail that Caroline did NOT win the lottery system to get into the small public school where we felt God's leading. <i>God, what are You doing? </i>So we're on a waiting list and hoping to hear something as soon as this week. We continue walking by faith through this wilderness-of-sorts.<br />
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Other steps towards "new life" are approaching that I'm not able to share publicly just yet. <br />
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But as I'm catching glimpses of "new life" on the horizon, I'm finding myself an emotional wreck about stepping away from "old life." <br />
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It's like I'm moving within my own city to another world. And like any move, there are gains but there are losses. <br />
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Right now, I'm mourning the losses. I am crying at the drop of a hat as things hit me. There are people and things about "old life" that I just want to bottle up and take with me into "new life." Thankfully, I'll still be in the same town and can see them, but I'm not naive- with change, it won't be the same.<br />
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On the other hand, I'm afraid that my dream of "new life" isn't going to live up to my hopeful expectations. (nothing ever does!) And I'm afraid I'll look back and kick myself for leaving "old life." <br />
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Although my head knows it's the right direction for our family. Though we don't know the destination, I know it's the direction God has clearly been guiding us.<br />
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But knowing something doesn't take away the emotions I'm feeling on this precipice. <br />
<br />Marc & Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00002706240827876109noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6564303822661210562.post-22142063994088081482017-04-06T10:33:00.002-07:002017-04-06T10:34:08.079-07:00the river house #13: all things unseen...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVBPj5tpzuQx9hNWKZ-29LMr3Jk87gwz4AqnSTrN7FHlfQs63JC8fH_V9CONHbtMIU5GpklFWS1kupGu5gacdMg4nz6RbB3QX_JwkDj8B4InGKO-rDyLciYG7GOrW6dpiIN8FbuK38wvU/s1600/20170320_172849.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVBPj5tpzuQx9hNWKZ-29LMr3Jk87gwz4AqnSTrN7FHlfQs63JC8fH_V9CONHbtMIU5GpklFWS1kupGu5gacdMg4nz6RbB3QX_JwkDj8B4InGKO-rDyLciYG7GOrW6dpiIN8FbuK38wvU/s320/20170320_172849.jpg" width="320" /></a>It's Springtime at the River House!<br />
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A sweet woman at church came months ago to plant some bulbs in the backyard. One day we'll have nothing else going on and can tend to the yard...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE_HLRmyioxLzRgdWnB6fhtzhZ-1cjlQugNYWbuVx2BFWtIe4G69FDCNCqGSAxG1QsnTCqmYKfzBOrigj2lSYjpw3KDDiS3z35JJKfC3imKvdnwIU4TcJdDuCXdrod3fUYAo3lqvXJNxU/s1600/20170320_164225.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE_HLRmyioxLzRgdWnB6fhtzhZ-1cjlQugNYWbuVx2BFWtIe4G69FDCNCqGSAxG1QsnTCqmYKfzBOrigj2lSYjpw3KDDiS3z35JJKfC3imKvdnwIU4TcJdDuCXdrod3fUYAo3lqvXJNxU/s320/20170320_164225.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My amazing handyman hubby</td></tr>
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But right now, we're tending to all things unseen.</div>
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Heating and air conditioning.</div>
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Plumbing.</div>
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Electrical.</div>
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Framing.</div>
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Oh framing. I think we've been framing for over 6 months now...</div>
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There's just a TON of work to be done</div>
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before any walls go up.</div>
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Work that you take for granted in a finished house</div>
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when you can flush a toilet</div>
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or turn on a light switch</div>
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or not have your ceiling cave in on you.</div>
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(that's always a nice feature)</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5pXLwFPSgRL7a2RGmbTLTs9CV5Pb3R4JiIpkMJGx8EmN2-TeyO8Oqsiez9g8_2jCmL0xBblrmTFU2Oyfe69Tgjmi8hvBe7yYw0OzVhPT-2NiOFifQJzKgeFEBVj4dfkuPVYeYi2MzKLE/s1600/20170321_174722.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5pXLwFPSgRL7a2RGmbTLTs9CV5Pb3R4JiIpkMJGx8EmN2-TeyO8Oqsiez9g8_2jCmL0xBblrmTFU2Oyfe69Tgjmi8hvBe7yYw0OzVhPT-2NiOFifQJzKgeFEBVj4dfkuPVYeYi2MzKLE/s400/20170321_174722.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Entryway</td></tr>
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It's work that's hidden behind your walls,</div>
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and will remain unseen.</div>
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But boy, if it's wrong, you'll know it.</div>
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So it probably doesn't look like too much has changed.</div>
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(I have to tell myself as I watch all the money drain out of my bank account that it has.)</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6MZzjGCku9zxdL6_S6MGp6gHM6PXHdYvWEB0e3clVqr2PKxp4exxK2S8r4Gv0-lzH2hwI8O5e8GeUyahQfbTmkCnH9c0wl1zFO58jJJD1jGxNhMBR4wAbPpsrlUbzoSBECRDulMogmLA/s1600/20170328_155009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6MZzjGCku9zxdL6_S6MGp6gHM6PXHdYvWEB0e3clVqr2PKxp4exxK2S8r4Gv0-lzH2hwI8O5e8GeUyahQfbTmkCnH9c0wl1zFO58jJJD1jGxNhMBR4wAbPpsrlUbzoSBECRDulMogmLA/s320/20170328_155009.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">framing and more framing<br /><br /><br /></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6RwWrprom5ja7O_cpmySi41vpOgRYkmUi1_1d6rGvdcwxDVBEcAFBERgtyUrxgQaMdk1SPgBiDT0lKQcJGKL0wYkrnXLlFolWmm2f_Ni3mWddANxqJMlfmiN4aIkVCBdrlUPWQYd0pAw/s1600/20170328_155001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6RwWrprom5ja7O_cpmySi41vpOgRYkmUi1_1d6rGvdcwxDVBEcAFBERgtyUrxgQaMdk1SPgBiDT0lKQcJGKL0wYkrnXLlFolWmm2f_Ni3mWddANxqJMlfmiN4aIkVCBdrlUPWQYd0pAw/s320/20170328_155001.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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We got our fridge!</div>
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We had the wall custom built to recess the fridge to be in line with the countertops (you can see the green tape line on the floor). This will save us space, we didn't have to spend a billion dollars to get a countertop depth fridge, and we still have all the room of a standard-sized fridge.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimy0WGwRHg1gzXTiBhebZN3TJKdX9t_7kPEaQiJM9hDMmvsu4SmcySrcqziRChjhf9hgTAec5iUEG47Y_0I_uX9P2cyAUoAPIthOCnvs-UeIoWWOBnDGmBlFWbVVxK7zYnBldJhP9yZhY/s1600/20170321_143344.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimy0WGwRHg1gzXTiBhebZN3TJKdX9t_7kPEaQiJM9hDMmvsu4SmcySrcqziRChjhf9hgTAec5iUEG47Y_0I_uX9P2cyAUoAPIthOCnvs-UeIoWWOBnDGmBlFWbVVxK7zYnBldJhP9yZhY/s320/20170321_143344.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Here's a sneak peek at the cabinet layout of the kitchen. (minus the cool custom hood I'm going to build above the stove)</div>
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I can't wait to see this view in REAL LIFE.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIPEpvjW5Q8p8Ou_wnfjNWyyPsNoRNfYvsUJcrwuoNNznxG-7eSsSyIsnJqOEno60lgTsyPRRxOpPiRSO_f9cuQ7_Q9tKpGIwLx8aQp-5IjI_xIpp9RZOq2Vn1xv2QfAAbsvMODgkP2tg/s1600/20170330_164604.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIPEpvjW5Q8p8Ou_wnfjNWyyPsNoRNfYvsUJcrwuoNNznxG-7eSsSyIsnJqOEno60lgTsyPRRxOpPiRSO_f9cuQ7_Q9tKpGIwLx8aQp-5IjI_xIpp9RZOq2Vn1xv2QfAAbsvMODgkP2tg/s320/20170330_164604.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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And speaking of views, I can't wait to see THIS view of the river as I'm soaking in my jetted tub. (which we found new off of craigslist- yay!)</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQFaMBIBJSB5vtNoSNu5yeJTLjeTIPj-NoiM6HCR-mwqwSbne1UadGNS8bGlX1szn2ssWZ_ngCWgfmESdDlPtfjxvmEFwxxMqwkmXrCjCs1O29VkP-Tx2CdleUE2krdovRLK1TS4r8IDQ/s1600/20170330_165306.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQFaMBIBJSB5vtNoSNu5yeJTLjeTIPj-NoiM6HCR-mwqwSbne1UadGNS8bGlX1szn2ssWZ_ngCWgfmESdDlPtfjxvmEFwxxMqwkmXrCjCs1O29VkP-Tx2CdleUE2krdovRLK1TS4r8IDQ/s320/20170330_165306.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Restored original brick fireplace in front room</td></tr>
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The exciting news is we have now passed the BIG inspection on all things unseen (HVAC, plumbing, framing, and electrical), and it's on to insulation! (also unseen, but also very important!)</div>
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Which sounds great and exciting, until you have to go and pick up a gazillion bags of the stuff... </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiighIFGWNWF05Labaix-xPS-AO31ZNjPG5MFsVpOLpXc9xlV261uFK0wTZBTKFztZuE6tQYKQ9CEfH5ZN_33zfKBACzXvk9qRgdo0PoQBeCicZwno52C4m-RL3BlMfy7O1sHjTfoq7XTc/s1600/20170331_195245.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiighIFGWNWF05Labaix-xPS-AO31ZNjPG5MFsVpOLpXc9xlV261uFK0wTZBTKFztZuE6tQYKQ9CEfH5ZN_33zfKBACzXvk9qRgdo0PoQBeCicZwno52C4m-RL3BlMfy7O1sHjTfoq7XTc/s400/20170331_195245.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I seriously hit my low at Lowe's. Now we call it "Slowe's." I used to like the place. But what I thought would be a 30 minute errand turned into a 3 HOUR+ ordeal just to pick up an online order because they couldn't figure out their new system and slipped up with a TON of miscommunication. I lost all patience at the very end when the security guard wouldn't let us leave with all of the insulation and my son was screaming bloody murder because he was hungry and tired because WE DIDN'T HAVE A PRINTED TICKET (that the front desk couldn't print for us, of course, because they couldn't figure out their new system). </div>
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Uggghhhh.... you get the picture, right? Misery. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZzFSXtvBDNSev4LsYucq6JJNKqG0nmzLgT0YGUcWpNYd7SzfgegREBcA8qaV8nMxo2KbkirpKRB6HG2YveJ8ROVRxG9tQmGqVTTDwmlsWLFwnCO0W96OmLFwOnrFX_Scco7X0Cv0Oomg/s1600/20170330_164638.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZzFSXtvBDNSev4LsYucq6JJNKqG0nmzLgT0YGUcWpNYd7SzfgegREBcA8qaV8nMxo2KbkirpKRB6HG2YveJ8ROVRxG9tQmGqVTTDwmlsWLFwnCO0W96OmLFwOnrFX_Scco7X0Cv0Oomg/s400/20170330_164638.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">beginning insulation</td></tr>
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Nevertheless, now we have insulation, and we're doing it ourselves to save a few thousand bucks.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_4sAwrVs6YSTgeY4vtfGj-FHomsucoN7gNNgwaMb10OBuw74iJET_A4AUKT1frussUVtHDfe2f4Stj29d0BwTABUh8L7Z746Md1Ob7t8kAY6D9kqtymVLEue1m6MJ1D9do73IXK6YmtY/s1600/20170330_165509.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_4sAwrVs6YSTgeY4vtfGj-FHomsucoN7gNNgwaMb10OBuw74iJET_A4AUKT1frussUVtHDfe2f4Stj29d0BwTABUh8L7Z746Md1Ob7t8kAY6D9kqtymVLEue1m6MJ1D9do73IXK6YmtY/s320/20170330_165509.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
Here you see Marc joyfully demonstrating the insulation process.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj540YcNoH9mFtCwaW7Dvv5HZ3msW63vnWTqia2ZLWU15ZHUSuN9qYW6Vl9mpCwnM0l3sYsLHFL_RHbj6UizjAWzslQStQCOgDAbHctPE7ZqLuDsCHcmwQfcPEuZOKPmRR-n8-td12l8MQ/s1600/20170401_165924.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj540YcNoH9mFtCwaW7Dvv5HZ3msW63vnWTqia2ZLWU15ZHUSuN9qYW6Vl9mpCwnM0l3sYsLHFL_RHbj6UizjAWzslQStQCOgDAbHctPE7ZqLuDsCHcmwQfcPEuZOKPmRR-n8-td12l8MQ/s400/20170401_165924.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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It's pretty tedious with all of the cuts, but here's what a finished wall looks like.</div>
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And once we finish and pass inspection for insulation, guess what's next?</div>
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Drywall, baby!</div>
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So if anyone wants to come over and learn the skill of insulating, you are more than welcome!!</div>
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to be continued...</div>
Marc & Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00002706240827876109noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6564303822661210562.post-16863617078780971732017-04-04T12:08:00.002-07:002017-04-04T12:09:18.680-07:00the big things...I feel like I'm working on "big things" right now-- rehabbing the River House, working to be a catalyst for a multiethnic church plant downtown, starting a "Be the Bridge to Racial Unity" discussion group, performing across the city with our band-- "big things" that change our city and our world.<br />
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I'm so passionate about the things I'm doing in the city, and I love what I'm doing. More on that another time.<br />
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But there's really only TWO "big things" in my life.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWFYndtKPyvu76blITXzN7iL_fr9qmGplab3FgZP3txpWJAWHSdVW-t2KLMdqTjEhXyL4_HwH3GFCjP1b_LwuoOpG4vb-Oa_MIHJR5UmloM53mJkGLRszg-Ly1r-POrrvMh6uKoCst6Pg/s1600/20170402_082211.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWFYndtKPyvu76blITXzN7iL_fr9qmGplab3FgZP3txpWJAWHSdVW-t2KLMdqTjEhXyL4_HwH3GFCjP1b_LwuoOpG4vb-Oa_MIHJR5UmloM53mJkGLRszg-Ly1r-POrrvMh6uKoCst6Pg/s320/20170402_082211.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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Her.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_t-roS6ak7UzH6TP0Ccvq51x4D-vEZppChbkDpxa0g31BGgFGs9wUcqgOZEr6j6BWSv87h2I85AxDOfeNv7sQHxl1H7PND1N38G___fr0bE83piHSBePvrM_sXtP2a5JDeQ5NQ6ho_IA/s1600/20170402_082154.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_t-roS6ak7UzH6TP0Ccvq51x4D-vEZppChbkDpxa0g31BGgFGs9wUcqgOZEr6j6BWSv87h2I85AxDOfeNv7sQHxl1H7PND1N38G___fr0bE83piHSBePvrM_sXtP2a5JDeQ5NQ6ho_IA/s320/20170402_082154.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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And him.</div>
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So here's what's big around here...</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimFNuHA5x7NMLrl5bd80P3rpt2sZVdCFRWDSkpjoR1iD2WppAmLRx0f32l1fdBESqOxMG3UM-jVfoeW6Bm6nc-0sNnjz4_uLNtyj0h-QKvXb6-wzTImRkQIPChbzzc7G1qqmE7HQ6WtuE/s1600/20170327_084351%25280%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimFNuHA5x7NMLrl5bd80P3rpt2sZVdCFRWDSkpjoR1iD2WppAmLRx0f32l1fdBESqOxMG3UM-jVfoeW6Bm6nc-0sNnjz4_uLNtyj0h-QKvXb6-wzTImRkQIPChbzzc7G1qqmE7HQ6WtuE/s400/20170327_084351%25280%2529.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
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My baby boy has now started preschool!</div>
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We were going to begin next fall, but the preschool we chose thought it best that Jameson started getting used to the routine of school now with a month left to go in the school year.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNXgJLzxMGE5PtyzdQBgboijiPzksLZMgHK_OehDDyQhLiQ7WRO5oWrsvh2GkEcvu1u7GWx8OpCGg6LZ3GewX9H0Wnd6fCIizashGq6rlYXdHZfV7mdvP-Y2Zbhei-r27F6SAAxyk4hUQ/s1600/20170327_085658.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNXgJLzxMGE5PtyzdQBgboijiPzksLZMgHK_OehDDyQhLiQ7WRO5oWrsvh2GkEcvu1u7GWx8OpCGg6LZ3GewX9H0Wnd6fCIizashGq6rlYXdHZfV7mdvP-Y2Zbhei-r27F6SAAxyk4hUQ/s400/20170327_085658.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">first day!</td></tr>
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And he is just eating it UP. He LOVES his school. In the first few days, he's already made two friends that he talks about all the time. I can tell he is being so stimulated educationally, and it's exciting to see him grow and mature into this phase of life. The preschool director told me he's so pleasant and super smart. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAGGB861rBcC7GVA3rRpgI_Q_dIc1klW02wmMTUMj-hdSSVA952lhft-7DHRA1Z7thaHv258-7AuFvwpwvq_PdHnjXHr-K6MF-FRsQeRMUYciqxbkE_ccl5H1m0zhhZmt-iWKV4lMD0xM/s1600/20170328_144001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAGGB861rBcC7GVA3rRpgI_Q_dIc1klW02wmMTUMj-hdSSVA952lhft-7DHRA1Z7thaHv258-7AuFvwpwvq_PdHnjXHr-K6MF-FRsQeRMUYciqxbkE_ccl5H1m0zhhZmt-iWKV4lMD0xM/s400/20170328_144001.jpg" width="225" /></a>But as you know, preschool is exhausting work. <br />
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Especially when you've got to get home to have lightsaber battles.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVBry6TG007bDExrTL_OagAWS2xx1lnM44QCwAvV80ZyVArHM_UfnIKC4D6CoA5h04tNGnT1H5jDuVphl8DKNacsbw7RRljsz53j3KGhUpG1LeM5BfXunNPeBogRmkrmnxxWp4JQ-YDio/s1600/20170326_132427.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVBry6TG007bDExrTL_OagAWS2xx1lnM44QCwAvV80ZyVArHM_UfnIKC4D6CoA5h04tNGnT1H5jDuVphl8DKNacsbw7RRljsz53j3KGhUpG1LeM5BfXunNPeBogRmkrmnxxWp4JQ-YDio/s320/20170326_132427.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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Caroline is having an amazing school year in 3rd grade. She continues to be at the top of her class academically though we've now entered the point of girl drama with a few friends. I guess that's just part of the growing process.</div>
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She's doing an after-school math club once a week, gymnastics once a week, and playing outside in the yard with neighborhood kids almost every other waking minute. This is my social BUTTERFLY.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlhMvfSyzLKHg1rMEFwMMy3-RVvy486gOlWw_6561N9ytNANgeB1dXGJJhe5PEm9S3nESIEJiwAEMY6laz4v3kiiJwLqE9GNfFzTlTW97mvKR-AGoWgCukChxJezZ9pJOyE2iSy9xfWRo/s1600/20170401_080625.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/AVvXsEhlhMvfSyzLKHg1rMEFwMMy3-RVvy486gOlWw_6561N9ytNANgeB1dXGJJhe5PEm9S3nESIEJiwAEMY6laz4v3kiiJwLqE9GNfFzTlTW97mvKR-AGoWgCukChxJezZ9pJOyE2iSy9xfWRo/s320/20170401_080625.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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She just lost her 16th tooth. (she's counting)</div>
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And can you believe, the Tooth Fairy forgot to come the night she placed her tooth out and wrote a letter! (#parenthoodfailure)</div>
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The next evening, Caroline came up to me, "Mom, I'm just gonna put this in your room so you won't forget again."</div>
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(hahahaha!)</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm0Mc3GsAji5BDVvyxYIr18UJDiyV8h2LyI7TLMKsfO3G1zibhchqWxrCsAniYv2nl_OdQBJertT5sVbtJqfsHh2PnwDXVqtuR2TJp4nNYz2qq7w4RwMNKp2qw52R-_wIIemBllmnXNkU/s1600/20170329_161424.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm0Mc3GsAji5BDVvyxYIr18UJDiyV8h2LyI7TLMKsfO3G1zibhchqWxrCsAniYv2nl_OdQBJertT5sVbtJqfsHh2PnwDXVqtuR2TJp4nNYz2qq7w4RwMNKp2qw52R-_wIIemBllmnXNkU/s320/20170329_161424.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">*SO* happy the recorders came home</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Another parenthood milestone was the day the school sent home the recorder last week and my ears went <i>ouch!</i><br />
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But y'all know my Caroline. She's an excellent musician.<br />
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So thankfully, it didn't take too long before all the ear-piercing shrieks turned into controlled, decipherable notes. <br />
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Whew.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGhJqqxorcJSiUHnd8Ns95GOjlqfytzZbMrn5KB0Bbyn9S7A11dqbIHTpcclit9TopPNVfAa11HU6YojtccRZQtKG0xhkUNeBG8kkl38ezI7OYQ6c0T-G1Wjq9VoxXgdg-7EqCQHhA-rs/s1600/20170321_072313.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGhJqqxorcJSiUHnd8Ns95GOjlqfytzZbMrn5KB0Bbyn9S7A11dqbIHTpcclit9TopPNVfAa11HU6YojtccRZQtKG0xhkUNeBG8kkl38ezI7OYQ6c0T-G1Wjq9VoxXgdg-7EqCQHhA-rs/s400/20170321_072313.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">her first persuasive essay</td></tr>
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And you know what? I'm not the only one thinking about "big things."</div>
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When other classmates were writing persuasive essays about "why we should have a class pet" or "why we should get an ice cream party," my sweet girl decided to write "Why We Should Help the Homeless."</div>
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I could not be a more proud mama.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgByJalNEillwZvwJ4XuwH39e-tKgQEkTRY6Aw6cVTDQeA8irWAF8rb_hiMr5Wq4K3kxf_kbQjiJNVOa4TB3qSadhw59S-1vF7Df3Tnv3azXNDdKAAprnsBtiFaZtwbiPbodnaRiw7H0fo/s1600/20170330_121105.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgByJalNEillwZvwJ4XuwH39e-tKgQEkTRY6Aw6cVTDQeA8irWAF8rb_hiMr5Wq4K3kxf_kbQjiJNVOa4TB3qSadhw59S-1vF7Df3Tnv3azXNDdKAAprnsBtiFaZtwbiPbodnaRiw7H0fo/s320/20170330_121105.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
I'll update you all on all the other stuff going on, but wanted you all to know about the truly <i>BIG</i> things in our life.<br />
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<br />Marc & Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00002706240827876109noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6564303822661210562.post-33936389742030263262017-03-06T11:11:00.003-08:002017-12-14T17:54:50.523-08:00waiting is the hardest part...The other day I decided to publicly share our <a href="http://crazyforcaroline.blogspot.com/2017/02/old-life-new-life.html" target="_blank">journey and transition from old life into new life</a>. I shared how as a family, we generally now know what we need, but in practicality, we don't know what it's going to look like or what the path is to get there.<br />
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In some ways, it feels like I'm locked in one of those escape rooms. You know what I'm talking about? It's like, I <i>know</i> there's a way out of this old life, but it's as if there's a series of puzzles to solve or doors to unlock before we can figure out how to get through to the other side. Nothing is "opening up" at this point.<br />
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I don't know what school either of my children will be attending next year, and that feels HUGE and overwhelming.<br />
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We've elected to take Caroline out of the private school she's attended since kindergarten in order to put her into a small, magnet public school that specializes in the performing arts, but it's an "invite" system, and I don't know when we'll find out if she'll get in. So we wait.<br />
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I found a preschool I liked for Jameson, but of course, his classroom is already full for next year. Thankfully the director is open to trying to work it out with us, but again, we're waiting to see if and how it can happen.<br />
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I don't know if or when we'll be selling our current house. We're nowhere near ready to move to the River House (that feels like forever away...), but the house market will be heating up very soon, and the likelihood of us selling this house next fall or winter isn't high. So that brings up more questions... what if we sell the house before we're able to move in to the River House? If that's the case, where do we LIVE in the meantime? And how can we get the River House completed sooner?<br />
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We're in the middle of a semester of ministry, so it's not like we have time to work on the house. So we pay our contractor and wait as he works.<br />
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Our dream of a multi-ethnic church here in Lynchburg seems like a long way off. We're doing all we can on many fronts to help find a church planter, but ultimately, there's a lot of waiting involved..<br />
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So naturally, what does anyone do when they're struggling with waiting? I googled "how to wait" and found a silly wikipedia how-to article. (Am I the only one who does this kind of stuff?)<br />
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But the article's suggestions actually weren't too bad.<br />
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1. Occupy your time.<br />
2. Don't try too hard.<br />
3. Wait with other people.<br />
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1. Occupy your time. Check. No problem there. Between two kids, a campus ministry, a historic house renovation, a worship directing job, a band, a racial reconciliation group, etc., I'd say there's no problem filling up my time.<br />
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2. Don't try too hard. Not really sure what this actually means. Don't try too hard to wait? Okay, sure. I won't try too hard. (???)<br />
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3. Wait with other people. <br />
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THIS. <br />
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In all of our uncertainty about what's next for us, I'm finding that it's life-giving just to bring others into the wait with us. <br />
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It's why I'm typing this blog now. <br />
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I need others to make this wait not feel so unbearable. I need others to commit to pray for our family, that God would guide us in all of this crazy uncertainty of schooling, housing, and the need for a multi-ethnic community. <br />
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So much feels up in the air right now. <br />
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Tom Petty was right. Waiting is the hardest part.Marc & Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00002706240827876109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6564303822661210562.post-12877366335235335272017-02-28T10:21:00.000-08:002017-02-28T10:26:20.035-08:00old life, new life...It's become apparent to Marc and I in recent months that we're in a transition phase in our journey right now. <br />
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(By the way, I'm so thankful that he and I are united in this. I don't think I could stay sane right now if we weren't on the same page!)<br />
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Through a great deal of soul searching and some really helpful counseling, we've been able to understand ourselves and our family's needs and desires more clearly. <br />
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We've been through alot of change since moving to Lynchburg 8 years ago. <br />
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Who we used to be is not exactly the same as who we are now. Life molds you and shapes you, you know? Different experiences, different environments and different relationships bring new perspectives. <br />
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So we're finding ourselves to be a little caught between our old life and our new.<br />
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(I suppose I should probably clarify for those who we haven't seen in a long time, we haven't gone off the deep end in any way. We're still very much the same Marc and Amy, ha ha!)<br />
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But we're Marc and Amy that God is leading on a journey into some new places that we've never ventured before. We've realized we need some things to change (not just for the sake of change) in order for our family to thrive. I run the gamut of emotions about this- everything from fear to sadness to excitement to follow where He's going to guide us.<br />
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The other day I was finding myself completely overwhelmed, crying to Marc on the couch about our situation. As he listened to my fears, he picked up the nearest crayon and a paper and scribbled out this picture to help me see our situation:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBAsUwKh8l3NGbY_TTA_RCQWXoUkLG1iV3kgYMZe9IxlqaMS90J2ISrKATOcGaH15N4hHQVz040b00DJVpOPSCHxoVvep3BY5O2dcYYRun1vBneoBdE4zJV8oZI61EQybHiJiebVz2R2U/s1600/20170228_101257.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBAsUwKh8l3NGbY_TTA_RCQWXoUkLG1iV3kgYMZe9IxlqaMS90J2ISrKATOcGaH15N4hHQVz040b00DJVpOPSCHxoVvep3BY5O2dcYYRun1vBneoBdE4zJV8oZI61EQybHiJiebVz2R2U/s640/20170228_101257.jpg" width="360" /></a><br />
"This is our old life, Amy. And these were the things that our heart was attached to in that life. <br />
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We lived across town in a suburban, homogeneous neighborhood.<br />
We had one child.<br />
That child went to this school.<br />
We went to this church.<br />
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And now, we are entering into a new life.<br />
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We live downtown in a very diverse neighborhood, both racially and economically.<br />
We have two children, who both have different needs and challenges.<br />
We don't think the old school will be the best fit for our family anymore.<br />
We don't think our church will be the best fit for our family long-term.<br />
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And Amy, we're in a hard transition process of cutting those ties in the old life and replacing them to fit the new life.<br />
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First we adopted Jameson.<br />
Then we moved downtown. <br />
(And now we're working to move again to the River House, just a block away.)<br />
We're looking to change schools next fall.<br />
And we're dreaming of bringing a multi-ethnic PCA church plant to downtown Lynchburg.<br />
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Whew! Same town, but a very different "new life."<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigN_QYU7jyw4HnHzo9p5gbXBOAZ8AXj5Fc7vHHIz5nFjWcweeNSHeAJ2ELar9_VeowOdW3c4uxal-Tw2MVGAcC_Bhq1h8xc58Q9M97Pe08AMpsitKHEKWJ4sjFwakI5DKY8_g10vOztMs/s1600/20170226_104111.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigN_QYU7jyw4HnHzo9p5gbXBOAZ8AXj5Fc7vHHIz5nFjWcweeNSHeAJ2ELar9_VeowOdW3c4uxal-Tw2MVGAcC_Bhq1h8xc58Q9M97Pe08AMpsitKHEKWJ4sjFwakI5DKY8_g10vOztMs/s400/20170226_104111.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crown and Joy Presbyterian Church (Richmond, VA)</td></tr>
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The elders at our church were so gracious to give me a month off of my job as worship director. (I've led worship for 15 years now, so it's a welcome short break!)</div>
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And each Sunday, we've been visiting different PCA multi-ethnic churches in our region. (Washington DC, Richmond, Charlotte, etc.)</div>
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Similar to our experience in St. Louis, these multi-ethnic churches have been so life-giving to us. It just feels like it "fits" us on so many levels. We love our current church dearly, but you guys, my son calls it the "white church." He doesn't have a mirror there, someone that looks like him and knows his realities in life, someone that he could look up to and model after. I love that there's a growing network of multi-ethnic churches in our denomination (as well as homogenous culture churches who are recognizing their unintentional biases and are working to transition towards becoming more diverse), and I've come to understand that in order for us to thrive, our family needs to have a supportive, diverse church body in our city.<span style="text-align: left;"> </span></div>
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So we've begun that process! We're praying for God to do this while <i>we're</i> active about doing it. (I used to be apart of the "just wait on God" crowd as I sat around and waited for things to fall in my lap, but now I see the kingdom so differently... how does God work? Through his people praying <i>and</i> being faithful and active to GO and do.) </div>
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We're networking, we're making calls. </div>
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We're praying. We're building relationships. </div>
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We're telling people and our presbytery about our hope for our city. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkIF5kXnP2i5gDmiOCQi5fuw-nAK0lAW1IkcQWXVF7zoLkb8ogSxrnX_I2SoKH-1k6j7WzuXhCQ7Cm0rZxOHIFZ2igCPG9vzBq98WMYUHi3GnyL705XLamPu5FYyZDqsWuO_bPu160cII/s1600/20170220_094919.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkIF5kXnP2i5gDmiOCQi5fuw-nAK0lAW1IkcQWXVF7zoLkb8ogSxrnX_I2SoKH-1k6j7WzuXhCQ7Cm0rZxOHIFZ2igCPG9vzBq98WMYUHi3GnyL705XLamPu5FYyZDqsWuO_bPu160cII/s400/20170220_094919.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(sorry I can't figure out how to rotate the photo)</td></tr>
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I've also gathered some friends from different churches and different ethnicities around town and we've begun a small discussion group called "Be the Bridge to Racial Unity." (I posted the Week 2 questions above, but <a href="https://beabridgebuilder.com/" target="_blank">here's their website</a> if any of you are interested.) It's an easy 8 week curriculum for churches that we're using and meeting every other week. </div>
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I just felt like we needed a place to begin these much-needed conversations in our city. I'm learning what a loooong, slow road racial reconciliation is, but I've already seen small glimpses of God slowly opening eyes just as He did mine, and that is SO exciting. </div>
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This group has been a safe place for people to share their hurtful experiences with race as well as a safe place for others to listen and ask questions in order to learn, too. </div>
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I'm excited to see what God will do in and through this group, but for me personally, it's been another piece of the puzzle in the "new life." </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">River House</td></tr>
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I guess what I'm learning is that we are much like the River House right now. </div>
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God has laid a great foundation and structure. </div>
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He's given us a beautiful family. </div>
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And He's continuing to work and "frame in" the places in our life He wants to restore. </div>
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Just like the River House, I can acutely feel in my soul how we're in the process of taking the old life and rehabilitating it into a new one. </div>
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He's working towards one day making it a beautiful finished product. </div>
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We just can't see His plans.</div>
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<br />Marc & Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00002706240827876109noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6564303822661210562.post-28063614763988413542017-02-20T13:49:00.002-08:002017-02-28T10:21:43.182-08:00white mama at the black barbershop: a busted chin and a lollipop...Exhale. <br />
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It's been one of those days.<br />
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In the midst of alot of stress... ministry situations, fund raising (our main supporting church just had to cut their yearly giving to RUF from $10,000 to $0...that's not stressful...), confusion over schooling for our children next year, etc., I just needed one more thing on my plate.<br />
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So how about a fluke fall onto the floor which landed a gash and a busted chin?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDK9VheqXBZGMio8TTt0NaKNIkU9ohq5D9eoXW7vjy69tpvO_V6UspdpOX3bhYzGCOPwsWU7Jgf0WByIJ12bainnNjaIMRVZEkI9N034r4cfp32yfMuZMMl3UV3Yd6RHvSxJa26wYJXHo/s1600/20170215_144533.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDK9VheqXBZGMio8TTt0NaKNIkU9ohq5D9eoXW7vjy69tpvO_V6UspdpOX3bhYzGCOPwsWU7Jgf0WByIJ12bainnNjaIMRVZEkI9N034r4cfp32yfMuZMMl3UV3Yd6RHvSxJa26wYJXHo/s400/20170215_144533.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
It was one of those motherhood rite-of-passage moments. Where I, with wet hair and half dressed, am simultaneously grabbing my purse and rushing out the door to the doctor, holding a tissue against Jameson's chin to stop the bleeding.<br />
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And thankfully, it only needed a little cleaning and some glue to put the skin back together. (No stitches this time, thank you, Jesus.)<br />
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This white mama doesn't do well with blood, so I'm still trying to calm down.<br />
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So we got the chin all fixed up, just in time to head to a hair cut.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_gcaNkRMZ5obHP7NCNHq6SKxVtWcCE3Lp7jYBbrpJwsUO3dTO0lBz-669kkN7sc3JDbWHKZbG-tDL_e4FBKMLJaXit95-G4i91A-HpAVxKvXA4r1zqKAVpo7L2EFCo4YL9L_a0Ax2aXo/s1600/20170215_145421.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_gcaNkRMZ5obHP7NCNHq6SKxVtWcCE3Lp7jYBbrpJwsUO3dTO0lBz-669kkN7sc3JDbWHKZbG-tDL_e4FBKMLJaXit95-G4i91A-HpAVxKvXA4r1zqKAVpo7L2EFCo4YL9L_a0Ax2aXo/s400/20170215_145421.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
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<span style="text-align: start;">New barbershop. New barber.</span></div>
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A glued up chin.</div>
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A mini Simon Says game in his hands.</div>
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He was so tired from all the morning's "excitement"</div>
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and I saw his eyes getting heavier and heavier...</div>
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...until they couldn't stay open any longer.<br />
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Zzzzzzzzzzz.<br />
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HOWEVER cute and peaceful that may be, Jameson's now at the age that if he naps EVEN FOR JUST A FEW MINUTES, he'll be up until 10pm at night.<br />
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(And though I love my kids, I don't want to be with them at 10pm.) <br />
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So Trell, the barber, had just the trick to entice him to wake back up: a lollipop.<br />
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That did the trick. For whatever reason, Jameson hasn't been as fussy with a male barber like he was with our female one. (I guess it's a pride thing...) He doesn't ask me to sit in the chair with him, either. <br />
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We're definitely moving up.<br />
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But he still doesn't want to talk, either. Trell tried to ask him questions, and this white mama SO appreciated it. My son needs all the opportunities he can get to interact with black men in his life.<br />
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"Come on, Jameson," I encouraged him. "You've gotta talk. That's what you do in a barber shop."<br />
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"That's right!" Trell said. "And then eventually one day when you're old enough for your mama to start dropping you off, then you and me can REALLY talk." Hahahahahaha <br />
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We made it to the end of the cut, and isn't my baby so handsome?? He is going to be a heart breaker, y'all.</div>
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As much as I like how trim and styled this hairstyle looks,</div>
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(and my goodness, it's SO much easier to style)</div>
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I've gotta admit, I'm missing his curls on top.</div>
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But after the busted chin incident,</div>
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it was so, so good just to see him SMILE again.</div>
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<br />Marc & Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00002706240827876109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6564303822661210562.post-6657863648396298402017-02-09T18:52:00.000-08:002017-02-10T17:54:47.723-08:00the days are long but the years are short...Seeing as how this blog is my kids' "baby book" of sorts, here's what life is looking like these days...<br />
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Jameson is my silly guy, with a small streak of mischievous.<br />
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Still obsessed with Star Wars and potty humor, of course.<br />
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One day I let him take a bath in my tub. <br />
A minute later, I turned around and<br />
somehow he had found a way to fill the entire tub with bubbles.<br />
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Caroline just switched from dance to gymnastics.</div>
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(She was doing handstands during ballet class, so I took that as our cue to leave...)</div>
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Y'all, I can't believe my baby girl is about to turn 9 next week! How can this be?!<br />
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She is so, so smart and outgoing. A social butterfly of her school, neighborhood, and our church. She continues to be a natural leader.<br />
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She's also on the intense side and needs help lightening up sometimes. :)<br />
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We've entered the 3rd grade girl drama, so much of our conversation is centered on who was mean today at recess, who's not speaking to who, and how to be a good friend.<br />
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It's kinda crazy to watch the world grow larger to your child as she grows older. New, bigger challenges arise. New fears and anxieties arise. Many times I find myself lost as to what parenting well looks like at this age. <br />
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Jameson's not in gymnastics class, but occasionally on Saturdays, he and Caroline go to "open gym" and he loves it.</div>
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He's getting so tall these days.</div>
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Though he's able to reason more now at 4,</div>
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it's so difficult to persuade him to do every little task.</div>
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Get on your shoes. </div>
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Go use the potty. </div>
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Wash your hands. </div>
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Get your coat on.</div>
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The struggle is real.</div>
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Recently we surprised the kids with a trip to the trampoline park and every day they still ask to go back.<br />
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It was like the best hour of their life. ha ha ha ha<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who do you think won this battle?</td></tr>
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We've only had one snow this year thus far! The kids LOVE to sled down the hill behind our house.</div>
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10% of Liberty University students are sick with the flu this week, so we are keeping our fingers crossed it doesn't reach our house. (!!!)</div>
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Can I just freeze time still right now?? Be still my heart. May he always want to carry his baby around in public.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">oh, I love him</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">But really, how many lightsabers does one need?</td></tr>
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The days are long, but the years are so short.<br />
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Every day I want to cuddle and kiss them.<br />
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God, give me grace to be their mama.Marc & Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00002706240827876109noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6564303822661210562.post-51742978730190745092017-02-06T17:39:00.003-08:002017-02-06T17:44:12.673-08:00river house #12: wall of windows and a homeless ministry<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQT60dNtXjzXAULNjPnoUxbMJqzQama5r0CsKgDUV8We-YcwRF3GDXOHLTdKgB2A3mcMX7aA80os-mOZW34N8U_ZgvIxSEjWLxnQ2qd_c_OUnDS3fe31bWbcj7l3JqVYXH389l-9uxXDQ/s1600/20170126_172000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQT60dNtXjzXAULNjPnoUxbMJqzQama5r0CsKgDUV8We-YcwRF3GDXOHLTdKgB2A3mcMX7aA80os-mOZW34N8U_ZgvIxSEjWLxnQ2qd_c_OUnDS3fe31bWbcj7l3JqVYXH389l-9uxXDQ/s400/20170126_172000.jpg" width="400" /></a>Y'all, this River House is going to do me in. My hair is going gray and this project is probably why.<br />
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Don't get me wrong, I love it. I have the vision, and I'm ready to see it come to life! I wish I was moving in tomorrow!<br />
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But oh, the days and weeks just drag on, and it feels like our wallets are empty and we are still in framing.<br />
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This project has become so much bigger than just a house. Oh no, it's giving us stories. It's giving us connections. It's giving us ministry.<br />
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It was a sad and discouraging day when we had to let our former contractor, Mr. Larry, go. The bills were just getting too high. And through friends of ours who are also in the business of renovating properties, God brought us Mr. Jim.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQgW38xJuC2t9eYuHdGeRIutSCgyLuWo-MtlbK56vVg87EE-MZ2f8f_QRFk6T5mh17MpUBsd7drb2wp0bUHm8pAFNNVOAgfdNdGyOFyNhPalwFIRY4MEXMfxjI9YF8P9E968PwGcRXZ5w/s1600/20170115_145321.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQgW38xJuC2t9eYuHdGeRIutSCgyLuWo-MtlbK56vVg87EE-MZ2f8f_QRFk6T5mh17MpUBsd7drb2wp0bUHm8pAFNNVOAgfdNdGyOFyNhPalwFIRY4MEXMfxjI9YF8P9E968PwGcRXZ5w/s400/20170115_145321.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mr. Jim</td></tr>
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"Mr. Jim," as our kids call him, is our new contractor and we love him already. <br />
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10 years ago, Jim lost his son at age 16 to suicide as a result of childhood bullying. Through that tragedy, he admits he lost his marriage and he lost his faith. <br />
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But every year on the anniversary of their son's death, Jim and his former wife (they're still best friends) host a party in his remembrance. And this year, being the 10th anniversary, was the biggest yet. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipFUmLiljE1qKw5NV4RTcAhJgbjVxVdbcGMty_jsuhfSsh_RYIKWRQeW3MnWksr4ZPJC8RCaNO8ackWytGYK_U7CzOToNnPg3H1U3vUvEwvLilhmii3ID91zJjDbnUQasYiRhdl2Kz5K8/s1600/20170115_142926.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipFUmLiljE1qKw5NV4RTcAhJgbjVxVdbcGMty_jsuhfSsh_RYIKWRQeW3MnWksr4ZPJC8RCaNO8ackWytGYK_U7CzOToNnPg3H1U3vUvEwvLilhmii3ID91zJjDbnUQasYiRhdl2Kz5K8/s320/20170115_142926.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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They hired magicians for the kids, they had pinatas and lots of food and candy. We were so honored to attend, and we are praying for Jesus to carry Mr. Jim through so much pain.</div>
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In just a short time, Mr. Jim has made quite a splash at the River House. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLeYcdrEj3z4QlHtl6YdprEaDCz2oonH0ti8S0zfYwqKYNEZoYWK9ACjcEOd3KA-lFji5a6Cf5xmN8dzDFf_PWjvTiYiVvt_In48QsV_RBoP94As218bgMs877P1VDL9v502xvKcmKJHk/s1600/20170117_192342.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLeYcdrEj3z4QlHtl6YdprEaDCz2oonH0ti8S0zfYwqKYNEZoYWK9ACjcEOd3KA-lFji5a6Cf5xmN8dzDFf_PWjvTiYiVvt_In48QsV_RBoP94As218bgMs877P1VDL9v502xvKcmKJHk/s400/20170117_192342.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Remember the large great room that didn't even have windows yet?<br />
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(Designing the focal wall of windows for a river house is a little intimidating to say the least...)<br />
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Here it was the night before windows....<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5lSiGsIzChRV9O3lsCCPSI-Mx9pTPtaxC5nYVNjHX5L_WwhT3GZsmMXCzCro0QovJgcqA0e_5uOYqNc0c_Qe2J9qBBizcOdfKR0q6Bq6spuXZ9pPFXMrIzX4Z8Fqfusz8H57z4Evrej8/s1600/20170119_110206.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5lSiGsIzChRV9O3lsCCPSI-Mx9pTPtaxC5nYVNjHX5L_WwhT3GZsmMXCzCro0QovJgcqA0e_5uOYqNc0c_Qe2J9qBBizcOdfKR0q6Bq6spuXZ9pPFXMrIzX4Z8Fqfusz8H57z4Evrej8/s640/20170119_110206.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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And here it is AFTER. The windows took my breath away when I walked in and saw the view for the first time. The picture doesn't do it justice. </div>
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NOW it looks like a River House.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIsPVINX7109x-eNDRuysLqvUvDe7vtEAxxYVGGn7xSMpfAUPjoosGMc1UOEbMUyUvQ4s48EDHVwM2nChXMFMtXbsYzKE0jnVu1XQb-G88RFwg4UVFGZlnhnkoLBydYqsH3rWU2rDM_Rs/s1600/20170119_110107.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIsPVINX7109x-eNDRuysLqvUvDe7vtEAxxYVGGn7xSMpfAUPjoosGMc1UOEbMUyUvQ4s48EDHVwM2nChXMFMtXbsYzKE0jnVu1XQb-G88RFwg4UVFGZlnhnkoLBydYqsH3rWU2rDM_Rs/s320/20170119_110107.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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Those windows are so great, you'll be able to see all the way to the back wall of windows as you walk in the front door.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzGaFI37BpBMYpBnsKisDm_ztJMiVXpWII1SodCgmfHJXCv-POhR_2PlpBCVHL1HfvlzZWxpMJm0N7CKOkDM2Kpm0sM5-xM7_n1Gcd56Atfztqo9aWT7X3mPTdxs6wy04Pmx1bcbDIAzk/s1600/20170119_110614.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzGaFI37BpBMYpBnsKisDm_ztJMiVXpWII1SodCgmfHJXCv-POhR_2PlpBCVHL1HfvlzZWxpMJm0N7CKOkDM2Kpm0sM5-xM7_n1Gcd56Atfztqo9aWT7X3mPTdxs6wy04Pmx1bcbDIAzk/s400/20170119_110614.jpg" width="225" /></a></div>
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Jim also put the window in that will go above my tub. I can picture it now.... ahhh....</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvPm1jxfWhiYvhyphenhyphenumIdQ8JI9BLcQln1P7Cn5ynGXKz3-f8f4If0wGAwEMcTAKJdrMTogbj280wiRnjLpl2LsMfSj82La7hljQi4z4yXRt65ewyQ4vUqDmC1HNjMEujsL6JFprmKhNcYrg/s1600/20170113_160928.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvPm1jxfWhiYvhyphenhyphenumIdQ8JI9BLcQln1P7Cn5ynGXKz3-f8f4If0wGAwEMcTAKJdrMTogbj280wiRnjLpl2LsMfSj82La7hljQi4z4yXRt65ewyQ4vUqDmC1HNjMEujsL6JFprmKhNcYrg/s320/20170113_160928.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beginning of fireplace wall</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKO7mXecaXd7RcIyOxs1oQnzi9LYcpjGK64xk6-GpFxxaEn044eKLL8rVI8kRp36mwIDCgrWoySmJ6X3JkZanAHlEvBC82u450G2B873Gyl5fSbaI8YcdyLaQiqV-ebNbQYBda6H-s2H4/s1600/20170119_221715.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKO7mXecaXd7RcIyOxs1oQnzi9LYcpjGK64xk6-GpFxxaEn044eKLL8rVI8kRp36mwIDCgrWoySmJ6X3JkZanAHlEvBC82u450G2B873Gyl5fSbaI8YcdyLaQiqV-ebNbQYBda6H-s2H4/s400/20170119_221715.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">getting essentials together for the homeless man</td></tr>
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It turned out that Mr. Jim had compassion on a homeless man who happened to stop by one day and ask for work. But after he worked at the house all day, we caught the man trying to sleep on the dirt floor under the house. (so, so sad. He just wanted to stay out of the cold.) It's a long story, full of twists and turns over the next few nights, but I'll just say that a ministry to the homeless wasn't exactly in my plans when I bought this house...</div>
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Obviously God had other plans, and it was a good opportunity to wrestle with what it looks like to live out the Gospel we claim to believe... especially when the person literally shows up in your house.</div>
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It was a very tangible reminder that our own Savior himself entered this world with no place to lay his head. He, too, was relegated to a dirt floor. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVU-bnseDwjLmRBkJCswtDU84Lbl5DS86xDX_IYlOiw6RgAiyj5mSdRdcivCtX7TopsjyzaKjH0ox_MVF6EWDcv7F5dP4TLlzFNUbGeZiMMQioPRd6vTr_lqdMMuYIffqaAWt8TNKyq_M/s1600/20170121_102348.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVU-bnseDwjLmRBkJCswtDU84Lbl5DS86xDX_IYlOiw6RgAiyj5mSdRdcivCtX7TopsjyzaKjH0ox_MVF6EWDcv7F5dP4TLlzFNUbGeZiMMQioPRd6vTr_lqdMMuYIffqaAWt8TNKyq_M/s640/20170121_102348.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Great Room</td></tr>
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So this is where the open Great Room currently stands. Isn't it GORGEOUS? Can you envision it?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR7ozLzlP5IRFfZqGV83_msSpiCChsu6llQ7PZ9AeJfooZarz_EcJa5L_83imRFQ69ZFQNf2PHpaq4VFBTUtjsvBmuo9_DhshARYHqu-g8DAdK4PK7y_eWrE0-O-wmxufTqa3B3HbAuAc/s1600/20170121_115340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR7ozLzlP5IRFfZqGV83_msSpiCChsu6llQ7PZ9AeJfooZarz_EcJa5L_83imRFQ69ZFQNf2PHpaq4VFBTUtjsvBmuo9_DhshARYHqu-g8DAdK4PK7y_eWrE0-O-wmxufTqa3B3HbAuAc/s400/20170121_115340.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking into the dining room and kitchen</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNQFVOP6RNICUJXAkOb28bLxuDWOM31iOdieTyovYtrAiInCjFqp4ZA0ol46yfNDVl9JzKtZG1HhhlYrqvu_ogamPWfED_kGso83aU0FGQFO8rTPDWyJWs3VG-eKeRsWblRuIo0KdYBo8/s1600/20170121_124549.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNQFVOP6RNICUJXAkOb28bLxuDWOM31iOdieTyovYtrAiInCjFqp4ZA0ol46yfNDVl9JzKtZG1HhhlYrqvu_ogamPWfED_kGso83aU0FGQFO8rTPDWyJWs3VG-eKeRsWblRuIo0KdYBo8/s400/20170121_124549.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Burn, baby, burn</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik7p8NvvtK0QOdvXCmnV7cB9UYO9oRKldi8FRja8AKRJGqddFyS1mm8z1wvF0PV08wUEetipolG7GYK9vgiVZqZln6ljYzN-BA2-iHKKrIqka8AlxlNGQ1gIj-QswCMN4akKs053cyLUs/s1600/20170121_121530.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik7p8NvvtK0QOdvXCmnV7cB9UYO9oRKldi8FRja8AKRJGqddFyS1mm8z1wvF0PV08wUEetipolG7GYK9vgiVZqZln6ljYzN-BA2-iHKKrIqka8AlxlNGQ1gIj-QswCMN4akKs053cyLUs/s400/20170121_121530.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
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Instead of hauling a bunch of wood scraps to the dump, we decided to burn it one day. (I'm not sure we realized the fire would get so big??)<br />
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The kids absolutely loved playing "firemen" with the hose, though!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT4BdFrRbMtCHfbGb4K3u6n7pzE62ckQepLg1MxAfFvBrlCQqbqQIMtwGDIvovtqmB-8KmkxxDeJP9lkSEU6mZbCf7CxqJobmm2XQd5GOl15f7xITiB5SP6wLEhC_GKINkY8niBlmg3Dk/s1600/20170119_110116.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT4BdFrRbMtCHfbGb4K3u6n7pzE62ckQepLg1MxAfFvBrlCQqbqQIMtwGDIvovtqmB-8KmkxxDeJP9lkSEU6mZbCf7CxqJobmm2XQd5GOl15f7xITiB5SP6wLEhC_GKINkY8niBlmg3Dk/s400/20170119_110116.jpg" width="225" /></a><br />
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If anyone has a crew of construction workers and about $100,000 sitting around,</div>
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we'll take it...</div>
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To be continued.</div>
Marc & Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00002706240827876109noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6564303822661210562.post-68639654162219733932017-02-02T19:03:00.000-08:002017-02-06T09:25:30.188-08:00michael brown is living in my house...Back from a much needed, life-giving conference in St. Louis. <br />
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Our denomination hosts a yearly "Justice and Reconciliation" conference at New City Fellowship in St. Louis, which is an amazing multi-ethnic congregation doing great things in their city.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEa64-NVg8Xrohw5TBJFvCFRmgiGX6l42RvIAjrXvhwWGuz3KV85apTmtsJJh52A69etHNR3GeEN9i3wxRfrnKXZxl8I_cyTtpmyOnN9KrGGHUECv-cgsb7bUzzzGL8nkFRSkxXvVNwFA/s1600/20170125_125017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEa64-NVg8Xrohw5TBJFvCFRmgiGX6l42RvIAjrXvhwWGuz3KV85apTmtsJJh52A69etHNR3GeEN9i3wxRfrnKXZxl8I_cyTtpmyOnN9KrGGHUECv-cgsb7bUzzzGL8nkFRSkxXvVNwFA/s400/20170125_125017.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Welcome to St. Louis!</td></tr>
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Marc and I have been trying to get to this conference for the past two years, and this year we just HAD to make it happen.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhuIMETMTd2eb28ibwztCXNSGXg7JA4w81_6vuIRyF50sOXto2Ndk6a33oP7BvsUApyy8yrfwZpDChFm-riE2g4uDianj1F7bYNGQN8WulrZgcf-YhdE51ttLxuhep5Q93Fuf4i1gPq3E/s1600/20170123_154715.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhuIMETMTd2eb28ibwztCXNSGXg7JA4w81_6vuIRyF50sOXto2Ndk6a33oP7BvsUApyy8yrfwZpDChFm-riE2g4uDianj1F7bYNGQN8WulrZgcf-YhdE51ttLxuhep5Q93Fuf4i1gPq3E/s400/20170123_154715.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Florissant Ave. in Ferguson, Missouri</td></tr>
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Upon arriving town, the first place we headed was the small town next door, Ferguson. Since the events of Michael Brown's shooting there and the subsequent over-militarization of the police against protesters, I've had this strong desire to go and see it for myself.</div>
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Because it was two and a half years ago when I watched a live stream night after night on my computer. I struggled to understand the racial complexities of the situation from both sides. My heart was breaking to see the lengths people were going in their desperation and pleas for justice. The situation looked like a scene I had only seen in a movie from the 1960's. And this was 2015. </div>
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I watched many of my facebook friends respond hastily with condemnation and hateful words towards the situation. They rushed to judgment, bypassing empathy altogether. Was anyone asking questions? Was anyone seeking to understand? There's a ton of complexity when it comes to this stuff. There's a ton of history that plays into it as well. And all of that didn't seem to matter in the heat of the moment.</div>
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Ferguson impacted me deeply. I felt the fear that black mothers all over the country feel for their boys. They know the statistics, they know the realities all too well. And yet, as I was drawing nearer in solidarity to my dark-skinned brothers and sisters, I was simultaneously feeling more rejected and alienated by those in my own culture.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4FLOIztZYjQNkhxcEOj2GkSMy5RnXw703z5A9vVNYbEJf7UOV8axhLLXSI7fgQsOiOw7dUPToSZRNg-V8wzcOFZh9STz5ygH_l_v97y9AUDIw_3KlCRV7YDJRj-KRujOUjmgUZNT8ly4/s1600/20170123_154146.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4FLOIztZYjQNkhxcEOj2GkSMy5RnXw703z5A9vVNYbEJf7UOV8axhLLXSI7fgQsOiOw7dUPToSZRNg-V8wzcOFZh9STz5ygH_l_v97y9AUDIw_3KlCRV7YDJRj-KRujOUjmgUZNT8ly4/s400/20170123_154146.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I don't think my white friends and family intended to be hurtful. I honestly think most are blissfully ignorant, and they're uncomfortable or unsure when it comes to speaking on matters of race. (perhaps that's because in our culture, we've bought into the lie that race isn't something that <i>should </i>be discussed.) </div>
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But the blank faces, the minimizing, the same predictable defenses are not only hurtful, they are tiring, too. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj09znRPPEk0DNdqek3fe8OvxLxodgttU9bY3AvKaEbBS-ZhyphenhyphenAp80TFQhqZakTEw4P3WpiDZk2dfXvnMaKI7VwKyz3z6LNYfSSKX8p727WcGwXJO2oRqPxxTGlzIxJLc_7-iOUwcVVivso/s1600/20170123_154059.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj09znRPPEk0DNdqek3fe8OvxLxodgttU9bY3AvKaEbBS-ZhyphenhyphenAp80TFQhqZakTEw4P3WpiDZk2dfXvnMaKI7VwKyz3z6LNYfSSKX8p727WcGwXJO2oRqPxxTGlzIxJLc_7-iOUwcVVivso/s400/20170123_154059.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two years later, fresh roses were laying upon the scene of Michael Brown's death</td></tr>
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When you love someone, you can't help but see the world through their eyes. In a way, it's like God has woken me up. He's ripped blinders off of my eyes and allowed me to see things for the first time. </div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqbp80nrT_QQwfQl9jzXePLqLYuHmV88NVvtOOgWh3KE1RRgpBrIgikibp7fY7MLjVPmvxuA6WMYfqPq1Ql1-pw9WSgRwzu9Sq_fWNo8kYYbV2vady1UgrzjWNTwn4CLkmR-oJKYwKJ7Q/s1600/20170124_170439.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqbp80nrT_QQwfQl9jzXePLqLYuHmV88NVvtOOgWh3KE1RRgpBrIgikibp7fY7MLjVPmvxuA6WMYfqPq1Ql1-pw9WSgRwzu9Sq_fWNo8kYYbV2vady1UgrzjWNTwn4CLkmR-oJKYwKJ7Q/s320/20170124_170439.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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Take this quick example from our church's Sunday School children's curriculum. (It's used in a gazillion churches in America each Sunday morning.) </div>
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Look at it through my son's eyes. </div>
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Look at it through a historical lens. (Jarius' daughter wasn't blonde, I can tell you that.) </div>
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What does this subtly teach our children? </div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">It's simultaneously a beautiful thing and a terrible thing to go through what my counselor calls "major identity shifts."</span> </div>
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"Major identity shifts" are not so easily done when you're in a community that doesn't share them with you. Honestly, we've endured the stress of feeling alone in our situation. There is not a single PCA black man in our city for my son to emulate. Not one. There are dynamics of raising a black son that most folks in our circles don't understand. </div>
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So part of St. Louis was going to gain some support, even if it would be long-distance. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMX_bcNJ0ycPfBA80DIAzATaZh2du-ivMdSClgXceOsGjMg2J9kaLnKGERlDOB4PFFFvcSBLefmnuIsd3RVcdG0Jh4nhHqZfO-UpPCZJBxHNYnymSJwnbq_kkZFyw44MwpnGIzszrYatA/s1600/20170124_110349.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMX_bcNJ0ycPfBA80DIAzATaZh2du-ivMdSClgXceOsGjMg2J9kaLnKGERlDOB4PFFFvcSBLefmnuIsd3RVcdG0Jh4nhHqZfO-UpPCZJBxHNYnymSJwnbq_kkZFyw44MwpnGIzszrYatA/s400/20170124_110349.jpg" width="400" /></a>When I got to the Justice and Reconciliation conference, I quickly met the African American woman that I've forever idolized on social media. I'll never forget her words to me upon hearing that I'm an adoptive mama to a brown skinned boy who was forever changed by Ferguson:<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">"Michael Brown is living in your house. The advancement of the disadvantaged is now your family crest."</span><br />
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Yes. Wow. <br />
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(I literally stopped her from saying another word while I wrote that down.)<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNh3FL85ZRR7wO6c4BsCbVeT1SzV77jAOb2xup792ggIeR4ckrUqbC0jos76BLBdDdYEfhtXW6CKWNNpjpzKhWaQI8_wzXtCAc5bc57PdndhOjdk_mkd_vknGMw9Ji83P_JTZz3oYVN7I/s1600/20170124_144522.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNh3FL85ZRR7wO6c4BsCbVeT1SzV77jAOb2xup792ggIeR4ckrUqbC0jos76BLBdDdYEfhtXW6CKWNNpjpzKhWaQI8_wzXtCAc5bc57PdndhOjdk_mkd_vknGMw9Ji83P_JTZz3oYVN7I/s400/20170124_144522.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I spoke with another black woman who is a licensed counselor and dean at a seminary about raising a black son, and she, too, spoke truthfully to me about many things, like the need to teach Jameson about interacting with the police in order to save his life. <br />
<br />
One by one, each person I met at the conference just "got it." They gave me the encouragement I needed to hear.<br />
<br />
I didn't feel so crazy anymore. <br />
<br />
These people loved Jesus, and they longed to see the power of the Gospel reconcile Jew and Gentile, black and white, native american, hispanic, poor and rich. They knew the power of Jesus' kingdom and how it can break through the Sunday morning segregation, and they were actually <i>doing </i>the multi-ethnic community of which we dream.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgam1k5FklLQ4xhXPr7n1RP64HcyB2BDrMQc1fBTs7U7aJjBlVVVHa9lClNtAeZJRzpJrJh1yLuExTRDFn0rH2MbvfER1V9A5lNrkP51CqCGsddLeiOpqm-L_QMYxknjPpR9j4AwNcB1E8/s1600/20170125_121239.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgam1k5FklLQ4xhXPr7n1RP64HcyB2BDrMQc1fBTs7U7aJjBlVVVHa9lClNtAeZJRzpJrJh1yLuExTRDFn0rH2MbvfER1V9A5lNrkP51CqCGsddLeiOpqm-L_QMYxknjPpR9j4AwNcB1E8/s400/20170125_121239.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">with our friend, PCA pastor Irwyn Ince</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />
<i></i><br />
We came to St. Louis on empty and we left feeling so full and recharged.<br />
<br />
<br />
We're eager to continue laboring unto the Lord in the area of justice and reconciliation where we are. I'm starting a small discussion group here in Lynchburg on racial unity. We're praying that God might bring a multi-ethnic PCA church plant to our city. <br />
<br />
And though there will be times we'll feel discouragement and have to remind ourselves that reconciliation is a long, slow work of God, at least we now know <span style="font-size: large;">we're not alone. </span><br />
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Marc & Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00002706240827876109noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6564303822661210562.post-7590294449694840552017-01-12T11:30:00.001-08:002017-01-12T11:34:41.811-08:00white mama at the black barbershop...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiqfHdQ3cRPbXxUrdU1_Is3YJ_Q8ciCPxIpTQA1z4PA5hx3SGUtWOkNGQpMlXDjGSxhsjbztW88YpcNnjD1XjqluS6sF0-t6lgrvcWteWzICoAQUSdequz97aZNEH8m0CPB2pJdX5JdJw/s1600/20170111_161220.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiqfHdQ3cRPbXxUrdU1_Is3YJ_Q8ciCPxIpTQA1z4PA5hx3SGUtWOkNGQpMlXDjGSxhsjbztW88YpcNnjD1XjqluS6sF0-t6lgrvcWteWzICoAQUSdequz97aZNEH8m0CPB2pJdX5JdJw/s320/20170111_161220.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
We were LONG overdue for a cut, y'all. <br />
<br />
Like, I tend to push times in between cuts anyways, but this time we were WAAAY overdue. <br />
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That's partly because the woman who'd been cutting Jameson's hair suddenly and unexpectedly lost her husband (so, so sad- my heart goes out to her), so I've just been a little lost about getting into a new barber.<br />
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But it was time. The hair was not getting any more manageable or detangling on its own... <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHgrY5O_mlvlMHs7NdByhKZdeWdDZwb9aVrQpCRle9lgbYNHPj4R6YROtYaL4Hj2NgOa6lnWoUeS3yIlpzphi8nplCdzs1ZCjp9GplE45AExxywN-hynycGpz6mrkGOXcc1fwp0ijYfH8/s1600/20170111_161525.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/AVvXsEjHgrY5O_mlvlMHs7NdByhKZdeWdDZwb9aVrQpCRle9lgbYNHPj4R6YROtYaL4Hj2NgOa6lnWoUeS3yIlpzphi8nplCdzs1ZCjp9GplE45AExxywN-hynycGpz6mrkGOXcc1fwp0ijYfH8/s320/20170111_161525.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
I expected the usual... he'd only comply if he sat in my lap to get the haircut. He'd fuss and push the clippers away.</div>
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But no.</div>
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Not a whimper.</div>
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He sat in his chair and "took it like a man"- ha!</div>
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(Caroline and I were beaming with pride in the background, though alot more hair came off than I expected...eek! That's okay, it's just hair. Thankfully, his will grow back.)</div>
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I asked him later why he didn't fuss at the barbershop like he usually does. "Mom, I like the boys there."</div>
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Well, okay. A barbershop it is then.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrqMdyOnHOcBzkfl3eO3PMsjHilzE4mWfK5zlJ-BLVrLN9yaNwJGPtpd1pwDxJ9M7r5XgZsPMcmS8jik19S4_2MC51LQd33juA5u1IPnrF49uq2IQMg90mEncS9q41Bpg_SGOngdgqhJE/s1600/20170111_163719.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrqMdyOnHOcBzkfl3eO3PMsjHilzE4mWfK5zlJ-BLVrLN9yaNwJGPtpd1pwDxJ9M7r5XgZsPMcmS8jik19S4_2MC51LQd33juA5u1IPnrF49uq2IQMg90mEncS9q41Bpg_SGOngdgqhJE/s320/20170111_163719.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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Being a white mama in the black barbershop used to come with some discomfort. I wasn't used to settings where I was the minority. But now, this white mama doesn't feel so lily white, and I honestly cherish the moments when my son can be in the majority, as it gives me a small idea of what he experiences every day. <br />
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When your child is a different ethnicity from their family, you're (hopefully) looking for opportunities for them to connect with others that look like them. <br />
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Jameson knows he's got brown skin, and he notices when people or characters in books look like him. (which is sad how difficult that can be... ) I want him to know who he is and where he comes from. I don't want my son to grow to be a white man in a black man's body. I want him to know how to navigate both white <i>and </i>black culture when he's grown. And since he's naturally going to have alot of white culture being in our family, I've got to be more intentional in bringing in the black culture. <br />
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I hear other parents touting themselves on the fact that their children "don't see color," and I wonder, what's so wrong with seeing color? <br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ9jDWGAac499VDobS9NuRXDkujH0LKtd-yVDnJzl39XXCOic4XLSpXrWATDTeihYEc_bNmkS-9VgrPQB3MHxtyg8uBPN7TUh4CyLTqUZFW6vqStMx9jXWjvpKOg6utTNkHh9lMiRTpxg/s1600/20170111_164107.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ9jDWGAac499VDobS9NuRXDkujH0LKtd-yVDnJzl39XXCOic4XLSpXrWATDTeihYEc_bNmkS-9VgrPQB3MHxtyg8uBPN7TUh4CyLTqUZFW6vqStMx9jXWjvpKOg6utTNkHh9lMiRTpxg/s640/20170111_164107.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="360" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Mom, I LOVE the barbershop."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Is there something inherently <i>wrong</i> or <i>shameful </i>about color that we wouldn't want our children to see it? <br />
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I want my kids to see color. I want them to see and recognize and talk with me about the ways God created people in all different countries and cultures in His image. It's good. It's beautiful. <br />
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Every culture has negative aspects and false stereotypes. Likewise, every culture displays beauty and God's glory as well. How is my son's culture more often portrayed? <br />
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In my ignorance, I often wondered why there were black churches or black colleges or black barbershops or a black history month or black anything... and yet now, it's all so, so clear. <br />
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This mama's heart can only take so much, y'all. There's so much I could say. There's so much pain and so much that needs to change in regards to racial reconciliation. <br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Lord, change our hearts and bring reconciliation to our brokenness. Help us to listen without getting defensive. Help us to be patient with those who don't see what we see. Help us to assess what is true, help us to admit our own fears and ignorance. Help us to see our sin and our own contributions to racism, whether personally or systemically. Help us to enter into real relationships with those who are different from us, not in order to rescue them, but in order to learn from them. Give us a vision of your Kingdom... every tribe and every tongue praising their Creator together... and help us to love Your Kingdom more than our own culture or our own country. Help us to care not only about what may benefit us, but what might bring shalom for those you loved... the poor, the needy, the broken, and the outcasts. Amen. </i><br />
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Marc & Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00002706240827876109noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6564303822661210562.post-43598280445714722742016-12-28T12:33:00.002-08:002016-12-28T13:06:47.226-08:00i want to see my birthmommy...As they grow, I'm watching my kids process their adoptions.<br />
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<div>
Like everything else in life, Marc and I don't shy away from having real, honest conversation about various topics with our kids. (Of course, keeping it age-appropriate.) Sometimes we initiate the conversations, but most of the time they just sort of happen at the most unplanned times.</div>
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Like yesterday.</div>
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The kids and I were riding in the car across town, and Caroline says, "I wonder if my birthmommy Megan will send me a Christmas gift?" </div>
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To which Jameson, in typical little brother, copy-cat fashion says, "I wonder if my birthmommy L will send <i>me</i> a Christmas gift?"</div>
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Then Caroline, in her typical big sister, type A personality quickly jumps in to factually correct Jameson's statement... "NO, Jameson, birthmommy L will <i>not</i> send you a Christmas present. But maybe your godparents will!"</div>
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I felt a twinge of pain for Jameson as Caroline's words left her mouth. It was not the thing to say, but it was true. His birthmommy won't be sending him a present. </div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCZLtuJQpOnHZtuIs5Cr1Ec1127tQvqVmZbC2cmhKWilbG96rYw8TWDNrZpxGyJ6s-LS-2B_7UWYO9wNoeKz0dSoMr2OCkuhxaFAdL0qkBQVDJ6-wGXqafP0X72hF3U0LSqhY3FplBOfs/s1600/DSC_0466.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCZLtuJQpOnHZtuIs5Cr1Ec1127tQvqVmZbC2cmhKWilbG96rYw8TWDNrZpxGyJ6s-LS-2B_7UWYO9wNoeKz0dSoMr2OCkuhxaFAdL0qkBQVDJ6-wGXqafP0X72hF3U0LSqhY3FplBOfs/s320/DSC_0466.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Caroline's birthmommy and Mommy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
While Caroline enjoys the luxury of having an open adoption with her birthfamily (we call, text, email, visit like extended family), Jameson's birthparents have chosen a mediated adoption, where all correspondence like pictures and updates go through the adoption agency. We don't have their address, they don't have ours.</div>
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<div>
"Who are my godparents?" Jameson asked.</div>
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"Aunt Tiffany and Uncle Ebed, silly!" Caroline retorted. (Tiffany is my school-age friend that agreed to be a "godparent" to Jameson in the absence of him having ongoing contact with a birthfamily.)<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCpVPPzuiqxIMwd50VoZd1DockfF_3u-uMl4Fkrn2h4yxKDmoRVSwCyEDh4UrjfvTkIwewhpmPPLbXqgfV1egiTOkURhwG67Rq0pTo0gUx01FfpTM46SOPmHhp6SOY0P2vMhyphenhyphenGU5ZSV-Y/s1600/DSC_0342.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCpVPPzuiqxIMwd50VoZd1DockfF_3u-uMl4Fkrn2h4yxKDmoRVSwCyEDh4UrjfvTkIwewhpmPPLbXqgfV1egiTOkURhwG67Rq0pTo0gUx01FfpTM46SOPmHhp6SOY0P2vMhyphenhyphenGU5ZSV-Y/s320/DSC_0342.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aunt Tiffany and Uncle Ebed</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Deciding to enter into this escalating conversation with a gentler tone, I explained, "Do you remember, Jameson? We called Aunt Tiffany when that little girl made fun of your dark skin. Remember that?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Mmm hmm."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Aunt Tiffany and Uncle Ebed know ALOT about having dark skin, so anytime you have a question or need to talk about something, we can call them! Mommy and Daddy know a little bit about it, too."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"No you don't," he said teasingly with a smile from the backseat. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We all giggled.<br />
<br />
"Well, I have a question," Jameson said, and I held my breath in anticipation at what he might say next.<br />
<br />
"Why do cars have wheels?" (HA HA HA HA HA HA!)</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
So we took a small rabbit trail for a minute to discuss wheels, of all things. And then Jameson said, "I want to see my birthmommy L. Can we just text her? What's her address?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My heart began sinking. "We don't have her phone number and we don't have her address. If we want to send her some pictures or write her a letter, we can send it to the adoption agency and they'll send it to her!" I felt a little like a used car salesman in the moment, like I was trying to make something which is <i>not </i>okay somehow feel okay. <br />
<br />
To a four year old, though, it seemed to work. He wasn't upset, just innocently curious.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Everyone's adoption is different," I told the kids. "There are actually 3 kinds of adoptions. The first is OPEN adoption. That's what Caroline has with her birthmommy Megan. And when your adoption is open, you can text or call, you know each other's address, and you can visit them like we visit birthmommy Megan when we go to Texas.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The second kind of adoption is called a semi-open, or a MEDIATED adoption, and that's what you have, Jameson. That's where you don't know your birthmommy's phone number or her address, and she doesn't know ours, but you can still get in touch with each other through the adoption agency. We were so lucky to get to meet your birthmommy once when you were 1 month old.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAVL8VnEUpfx2lD2_mAFUWNImJe9O1b3fQo2GyBNjCYA_IAJt_YOEcVsjs52HVz9FWnVqmnxcub4My1ieaS2Mjx9aI2tcF9qWAJNNOyq4T6kEccNXcPXsMQMSrpJyHvgAMWjWGF_51VwQ/s1600/DSC_0542.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAVL8VnEUpfx2lD2_mAFUWNImJe9O1b3fQo2GyBNjCYA_IAJt_YOEcVsjs52HVz9FWnVqmnxcub4My1ieaS2Mjx9aI2tcF9qWAJNNOyq4T6kEccNXcPXsMQMSrpJyHvgAMWjWGF_51VwQ/s320/DSC_0542.JPG" width="256" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Meeting birthmommy L</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The third kind of adoption is called a CLOSED adoption. That's where you don't know who your birthmommy is at all. It's like a secret."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"That's sad," Caroline said. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Well, I want to see my birthmommy again," Jameson repeated. <br />
<br /></div>
<div>
"I know, I want to see her, too, son." </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My heart yearns for this for Jameson. "Maybe we will soon! Would you like to write to her? What do you want to say to her?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
He started dictating his letter. "I'd say, 'Dear Mommy L, We have a brick house and a black car... and a white car. I love you. Jameson.'"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
(Sigh. Isn't that precious?)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"That's very nice," I told him. "She would love to know that."<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHMKdGJa8nsrbyVk2Ij5ovAKUo8-2wWgsODSTXEx9LPdGKX8bfaKNiRU96m2Ur8MZbP1Kz-sgsqS7U5GJofqBf1TYuBSoUQgaagpJTy0GD8xQ1NRWXFHy8evbKjqv92r7pv8OEhMzP2pQ/s1600/DSC_0522.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHMKdGJa8nsrbyVk2Ij5ovAKUo8-2wWgsODSTXEx9LPdGKX8bfaKNiRU96m2Ur8MZbP1Kz-sgsqS7U5GJofqBf1TYuBSoUQgaagpJTy0GD8xQ1NRWXFHy8evbKjqv92r7pv8OEhMzP2pQ/s320/DSC_0522.JPG" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Caroline's card to birthmommy L</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I could feel a quiet, longing in my son's silence in that moment. My eyes filled up with tears and I reflected upon my own life.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"You know, Jameson, sometimes when there's someone in our life we really want to see and can't, God actually gives us <i>other </i>people who can fill in those gaps. He's given you Mommy, Daddy, and Caroline. He's given you Aunt Tiffany and Uncle Ebed and so many other people who love you."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My heart could finish the next statement, though... <i>But I want to see my own mommy.</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
(Okay, I know, I know. I'm Jameson's mommy, and he knows it, too. Who's Jameson's and Caroline's real mom? ME. I got that. He's got that. She's got that. We're good. While the mommy/birthmommy thing may feel confusing to others, around here it is just called "normal"! ha!)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Adoption isn't a "once and done" event like we'd like to think. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's not like once a child is placed into a family, birthparents go away and are never thought of again, whether your adoption is open or closed. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI8esrgGz4QLXwREY6plEx7Qv3qeg26wvPowLZnmbaxlq0KTvtGdDjhukFMmN9y_x3XNfaBOChS-um2TVmusllzyX70t3aFoeQI5komPGL8SD-38ZLuprxP-w7_dmziA3bJp32IUseYjk/s1600/DSC_0460.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI8esrgGz4QLXwREY6plEx7Qv3qeg26wvPowLZnmbaxlq0KTvtGdDjhukFMmN9y_x3XNfaBOChS-um2TVmusllzyX70t3aFoeQI5komPGL8SD-38ZLuprxP-w7_dmziA3bJp32IUseYjk/s320/DSC_0460.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Caroline's birthfamily</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Birthparents play a valuable role in their children. Their DNA is in my family. For my children to know a birthparent is to know and understand themselves better. For Marc and I to know our children's birthfamily is to know our children better. It is such a gift. <br />
<br />
I just want the same for my son someday.<br />
<br />
"Mommy, I want Birthmommy L to have a open adoption," Jameson stated matter-of-factly. <br />
<br />
At this point, <i>I </i>was fighting back the tears, for I was feeling my son's loss that he has yet to fully understand.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Me, too. We can pray for that."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Now? Can we pray for that now?" his little voice asked.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Sure we can." </div>
Marc & Amyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00002706240827876109noreply@blogger.com2