tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2652597996450378932024-02-20T23:46:08.414-06:00flow gently sweet aftonCordeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07188629303493516074noreply@blogger.comBlogger203125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-265259799645037893.post-44914301632493415962016-01-04T16:56:00.000-06:002016-01-05T00:07:23.952-06:00Holding All Things Lightly"So. I'm applying for my ten-year visa," she said over the phone.<br />
"Ten years?!?" I said. I couldn't wrap my mind around those two little words that began to rip my comfortable, familiar world to pieces.<br />
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I always knew she would go back to India, but I tried not to think of it. I pushed that pesky little thought to the back of my mind, far, far out of reach. My big sister had gone to India for a few short months (that seemed so much longer) this summer and I knew (deep down, we all knew), God had used that visit to place this country and these people on her heart forever. In this city, only 0.58% of the population are Christians. My sister had seen dirty streets, shabby lean-to's, and the hungry eyes of barefoot children huddled together. She had heard the loud shouts at the marketplace and the piercing honks of grimy rickshaws. She wouldn't, she couldn't, forget. Now she was on the phone late one night telling me that the Lord was calling her to go back. She knew He was inviting her to live among them and tell anyone who would listen of the Great Story of the One who loves without end, who washes our filthy hearts, adopts us, cleanses us, and makes us new creatures who <i>want</i> to love Him back. But deep down, I wished she would stop. I didn't want to hear anymore of the country that was robbing me for a very long time of my sister. A little part (maybe a big part) of me hoped for just a moment that she might say she was mistaken, that she might say that God was certainly calling her to stay here in a small town in Northeast Mississippi where we had spent most of our lives and where we knew people and had a precious church family and we were happy and things were good.<br />
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But she only said she was certain this was where the Lord was leading her: to India. And she would, she must, follow.<br />
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If I were the good, selfless Christian that I wish I could say I am -- if I really looked like Christ, I would have thrilled at hearing this news over the phone. I would have felt that heavy, sweet weight of joy that my sister would happily obey God's call to sell all of her livelihood, and leave her home, her church, her family, me, and all that she had ever known, to go and share Jesus with a people who do not know Him.<br />
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But I only felt weak. My hands shook a little and I looked around for a glass of water to wet my suddenly dry mouth. I couldn't get those images out of my head: one less chair in the dining room for our Christmas eve dinner, that sense of something, <i>someone </i>missing at the birth of my brother and sister-in-law's baby or my birthday or my little sister's high school graduation. All of those milestones, those events, those things that make life -- well, life. Katie wouldn't be there anymore. How could my sister no longer be a part of my life, of so many lives?<br />
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She was the one I had watched go from an eye-rolling teenager who didn't want much to do with God into a woman full of gentle kindness who pored over the worn, marked-up pages of her little Bible and worshipped the Lord with her entire life. She loved - and she loved well. She loved well in her serving in the church, in her quietly reaching out, in her giving, in her painting, in her pottery-making. She did not love Jesus only on Sunday, but on Monday morning on her way to work, on Tuesday night when there were dishes to be washed, and on Thursday afternoon when there was someone who needed a word of encouragement or a listening ear. No, she is not perfect, but she strives every day to be more like Jesus even in the small things. And I can see that. Everyone who knows Katie can see that.<br />
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I watched this transformation of hers and I wanted to know this God she served and loved with all her heart. God, in His great mercy, showed me Himself and I was changed, too. My sister was always pointing me back to Jesus and encouraging me never to slack in my walk with the Lord but always to strive to know Him more, to love Him more. She is like a second mother, a best friend. She listened to my complaints and rejoiced with me in my joys. She loved me fully. She was always one of the first ones I called when I was upset or crying or frustrated and she would always be patient, listen, and gently, sweetly remind me of what Jesus says, of His goodness, His faithfulness to keep all of His promises.<br />
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And now she is moving to the other side of the globe. I don't know for how long and I don't know when I'll see her again. I won't be able to reach by phone at all times of the day. She'll be 10 1/2 hours ahead of my life. I can't drive home and give her a big hug around the neck. I won't be able to.<br />
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The Lord calls us to hold all things with an open hand. Nothing is ours, but has only been leant to us for a time. Katie is not mine and my time with her may be very short. I don't know. But I do know Who holds her. She is the Lord's and if the Lord has told her, "GO," then I will not stand in the way.<br />
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I know and am really thankful for the loving people who gathered around and assured us that God goes with her across the ocean. And that He loves her far, far better than any of us ever could. I know that that should make me feel so much better. But, honestly, right now it's just so very hard to wrap my selfish mind around it. My heart cries out, <i>Yes, yes, but </i>c<i>ouldn't God use her to do great things <b>here</b>, with us, where it's safe and comfortable?</i><br />
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Corrie ten Boom, the woman who lost everything, father, sister, brother, friends, in the Holocaust during World War II said, "Hold everything in your hands lightly, otherwise it hurts when God pries your fingers open."<br />
I can't tell you how much it hurts. It hurts to watch the sister I love so much sell her life -- her clothes, her desk, her dresser, her books, nearly all of her worldly possessions. It hurts to see price tags on everything she owns and watch people pick through it. It hurts to watch her pack everything she owns into one tiny blue suitcase. It hurts to even think about saying goodbye to my sister for who knows how long. It hurts to think of watching her taking her one way ticket and her life across the ocean to a busy, dirty city in India where people don't want to hear the Gospel. It hurts, God, it hurts so much.<br />
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But, oh, He is worthy. The God she is moving to India for is so, so worthy. He is worthy of all - my possessions, my time, myself, even my sister.<br />
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God, give me grace to hold things lightly.<br />
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Cordeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07188629303493516074noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-265259799645037893.post-11500517160631555422015-03-11T15:50:00.000-05:002015-03-11T15:51:47.367-05:00The rare, strange thing is to hit the mark<table align="CENTER" bgcolor="#ffffff" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; width: 601px;"><tbody>
<tr><td><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Since it's Spring Break and I'm not in New York City this year, I thought I might revive this old blog with a quote from one of my favorite authors. I'm nearing the end of this fascinating book. Don't tell me how it ends, please.</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">“Nonsense!” said Gregory, who was very rational when anyone else attempted paradox. “Why do all the clerks and navvies in the railway trains look so sad and tired, so very sad and tired? I will tell you. It is because they know that the train is going right. It is because they know that whatever place they have taken a ticket for that place they will reach. It is because after they have passed Sloane Square they know that the next station must be Victoria, and nothing but Victoria. Oh, their wild rapture! oh, their eyes like stars and their souls again in Eden, if the next station were unaccountably Baker Street!”</span></blockquote>
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<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> “It is you who are unpoetical,” replied the poet Syme. “If what you say of clerks is true, they can only be as prosaic as your poetry. The rare, strange thing is to hit the mark; the gross, obvious thing is to miss it. We feel it is epical when man with one wild arrow strikes a distant bird. Is it not also epical when man with one wild engine strikes a distant station? Chaos is dull; because in chaos the train might indeed go anywhere, to Baker Street or to Bagdad. But man is a magician, and his whole magic is in this, that he does say Victoria, and lo! it is Victoria. No, take your books of mere poetry and prose; let me read a time table, with tears of pride. Take your Byron, who commemorates the defeats of man; give me Bradshaw, who commemorates his victories. Give me Bradshaw, I say!”</span></blockquote>
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: none; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br />- G.K. Chesterton, <i>The Man Who Was Thursday</i></span></td></tr>
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Cordeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07188629303493516074noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-265259799645037893.post-65563413043575599712013-11-12T16:59:00.001-06:002013-11-12T16:59:40.453-06:0018 Little ThingsWell, old friend. It's been a while. If anyone's still out there, here are 18 things you should consider making time for (via <a href="http://thoughtcatalog.com/brianna-wiest/2013/11/18-things-everyone-should-start-making-time-for-again/">Thoughtcatalog</a>).<br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">1. Writing things by hand. Letters to friends, lists for the store, goals for the week, notes for lovers, thank you cards and memos to coworkers. Digital communication is easy and convenient but ask anybody: there’s a huge difference between texting someone to say that you love them and hope they have a great day and writing it on a note and leaving it next to their bed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">2. Savoring time to do nothing. Taking a cue from pre-industrialized society and cultures that enjoy siestas and long, drawn-out, sit-down teas that serve no other purpose than to spend time enjoying the time you have.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">3. Thinking before responding. We’ve become too conditioned to require things immediately. Someone asks a question, and we have to respond that second. Such was not the case before instant messaging and comment threads. A sign of true intelligence and confidence, I think, is someone who takes time to consider the question at hand in a little more depth, and then offers a response.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">4. Cooking a nice meal just for the sake of doing so. It really trains you to defy your need for instant gratification and of course puts you in touch with something that’s very human and can be lovely if done right.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">5. Getting really dressed up for no other reason than just wanting to.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">6. Books. Actual hard copy books that you can scribble notes in and mark off sections of and smell ink through and hear the sound of turning pages and bending spines while you read.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">7. Making phone calls to relatives for no other reason than to just say hi, and to ask how they’re doing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">8. Disconnecting from technology frequently enough that we won’t be anxious and feeling like we’re missing something when we try to do so for an extended period of time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">9. Celebrating things with long, multiple course dinners that we hold for people as opposed to just drinking ourselves into an oblivion and being belligerent (that has it’s time and place, of course, but having thoughtful, celebratory dinners is a dying art).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">10. Cleaning because it’s satisfying and doing things like painting walls or getting fresh flowers just because it’s therapeutic.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">11. Spending time with kids, and doing kid things with them. They just know what’s up.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">12. Answering things in a timely fashion, not putting off invitations and requests just because we can.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">13. Making sure relationships are actually based on time spent with one another. People seem to be sustaining them through only digital means with increasing frequency and I can understand how that’s important if it’s temporarily long distance but in general, physically being with people is the only thing that will give you that sense of human connectedness.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">14. Just sitting and listening to music. We’ve made music background noise in our everyday lives, but now and again we should just sit and enjoy it like people used to.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">15. Traveling by train, or if that’s not possible, at least exploring places that you pass everyday. Especially if you live in a big city, there are always little hidden gems around that you won’t believe you lived without seeing while they were a block away from you all along.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">16. Putting personal health and well-being first, as it often falls to the wayside in importance. This means, aside from the obvious, taking those personal days and using them to just relax. We’ve made such a quirky commodity out of enjoying napping and relaxing, as though doing so makes us boring and old. It doesn’t, it’s healthy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">17. Planning something, especially with someone else, as simple as dinner or as grandiose as a long vacation next year. You always need something to look forward to.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">18. Stopping to talk to people throughout the day. Connecting with them genuinely, as such interaction is really important but is becoming increasingly less common. Turning our phones off when out to dinner (who even turns them <em style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">off</em> anymore?) and learning to not spend <em style="background-color: transparent; border: 0px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">all</em> of our time documenting whatever we’re doing for social media. It often takes away from the experience itself.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">P.S. if you're interested at all, my Freshman Comp class has a blog where we all write weekly. Check out the freshopotami <a href="http://freshopotamusanonymous.com/">here</a>.</span></div>
Cordeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07188629303493516074noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-265259799645037893.post-57347429503604050362013-08-02T10:18:00.000-05:002013-08-02T10:21:38.944-05:00I will delight myself in Your commandmentsI know "coffee and the Word" has become a vastly overused, typical "Christian girl" phrase. But, when it comes down to it, is there really anything sweeter?<br />
It's a delightfully slow summer morning here at home. The locusts, crickets, and birds hum their morning tunes outside my window, creating a summer symphony. As I sit in my room with a warm red mug of, yes, <i>coffee</i> in my hand and the living Word of God in my lap, I am overwhelmed with thanksgiving.<br />
Who am I to hold the words of the living, powerful Creator and Sustainer and Ruler of all things?<br />
<i>Yet He has chosen to give these words to men--to us--to me.</i><br />
Why? I don't know, except that He has <i>chosen</i> to do so. All we can do is read and <i>live</i>. In light of this living Word, <i>how shall we then live?</i><br />
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Psalm 119 is full of thanks to God for the gift of His words and commandments. The Psalmist writes in Psalm verses 10-11:<br />
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<i>"With my whole heart I have sought You;</i></div>
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<i>Oh, let me not wander from Your commandments!</i></div>
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<i><b>Your word I have hidden in my heart,</b></i></div>
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<i><b>That I might not sin against You.</b>"</i></div>
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In verses 47-48:</div>
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<i>"And I will<b> delight myself in Your commandments,</b></i></div>
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<i>Which I love.</i></div>
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<i>My hands also will lift up to Your commandments,</i></div>
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<i>Which I love,</i></div>
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<i>And I will <b>meditate on Your statutes."</b></i></div>
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And again in verses 103-105:</div>
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<i>"<b>How sweet are Your words to my taste,</b></i></div>
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<i>Sweeter than honey to my mouth!</i></div>
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<i>Through Your precepts I get understanding;</i></div>
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<i>Therefore I hate every false way.</i></div>
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<i>Your word is a <b>lamp to my feet </b></i></div>
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<i>And a <b>light to my path</b>."</i></div>
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You can either choose to<b> neglect</b> or <b>delight</b> yourself in the Word of God today. Which will it be? </div>
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The Psalmist cries out,"My soul faints for Your salvation, but I hope in Your word. <b>My eyes fail from searching Your word.</b>" He was so much in the word that his eyes literally began to grow weak from searching it! Do yours?</div>
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About the Scriptures J. C. Ryle says,</div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">"I want people to fill their minds with passages of Scripture while they are well and strong, that they may have sure help in the day of need. I want them to be diligent in studying their Bibles, and becoming familiar with their contents, in order that the grand old Book may stand by them and talk with them when all earthly friends fail. From the bottom of my heart, I pity that person who never reads their Bible. I wonder how they expect to draw their consolation in their time of need."</span></blockquote>
Cordeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07188629303493516074noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-265259799645037893.post-55365419254252041112013-05-03T11:00:00.002-05:002013-05-03T11:02:00.557-05:00What is Love?An interview with musician Josh Garrels. Listen to his music <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q1wy6MGoG7Y">here</a>. Read their blog <a href="http://sarnwenandaldaron.blogspot.com/">here</a>.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="281" mozallowfullscreen="" src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/28337517" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="500"></iframe> <a href="http://vimeo.com/28337517">Josh Garrels IN:5 // Love</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/in5">IN:5</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.<br />
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Cordeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07188629303493516074noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-265259799645037893.post-17294849021091626642013-05-02T20:00:00.002-05:002016-01-02T20:30:59.806-06:00Do you ever wonder what life would be like without the internet?<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: left;">It has become such a huge part of my daily life that it's hard for me to even think far back enough to a time when I </span><i style="text-align: left;">didn't </i><span style="text-align: left;">use the internet. Of course, you can't forget the dial-up days. Anyone who has ever used dial-up will have the familiar sound ingrained in his mind throughout all eternity. Even now I'm trying to think of how to type out or even make the sound with my mouth. I can't do it. Imagine trying to describe it to your grandchildren . . . </span><i style="text-align: left;">without sounding like a dying rooster</i><span style="text-align: left;">. Impossible.</span></div>
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My point is: I'm aghast (I love that word) at how much I waste--yes, <i>waste</i>--on the internet, and more specifically, social media. </div>
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This begs the question, <i>why?</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<span style="color: #f1c232; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Why Do We Waste Time On Social Media?</span></div>
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<span style="color: #93c47d; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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Pride. Pride says <i>'I am so great that I want the whole world wide web to know it.' </i>So whether it's my clever statuses, pictures I feel are attractive, or things that make my life look awesome, I'm striving toward one goal: <b>self-worship</b>. We want to put our best foot, face, and whatever else forward, whether we have to lie about our lives or photoshop our faces to do so.</div>
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Before you post, ask yourself <i>why</i>. And more importantly, <i>Does this glorify my Heavenly Father? Is my life truly consumed by Him--even my social media?</i></div>
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<span style="color: #f1c232;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #f1c232; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;">What If There Was No Internet?</span></div>
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It just makes me wonder how much I could actually accomplish if it were never invented.</div>
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I'm tempted to glorify the past. I envision the Good Old Days: those sweet, simple times long ago when everyone was well-behaved, worked hard, completed all that they intended to do, and even had enough time leftover to leisurely rock back-and-forth on the front porch rocking chair with a good book in hand while they gingerly sipped on their sweet tea. Oh, and as they lived and moved, there was an ethereal golden glow over everything and everyone.</div>
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<br /></div>
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But life wasn't like that. Men, women, and children <i>still found ways to waste time. They still found ways to feed the monster Pride that dwells in every heart.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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I'm writing this for you, dear reader, so <i>that you would not excuse yourself from sin simply because you live in highly-technolgically advanced world, <b>as if your generation were an</b> <b>exception</b>. </i></div>
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We have no excuse. Although sin may look outwardly a bit different than it did 50, 100, 200+ years ago, it is still at its very core<i> sin</i>. And yes, even time-wasting is a sin.</div>
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<span style="color: #f1c232; font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small;">Does This Mean That I Have To Delete My Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Tumblr, etc.?</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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I am <i>not</i> commanding you to delete every social media account you have right this very minute. </div>
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I <i>am</i> asking you to consider how much time you spend on each and every social media account you have.</div>
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I <i>am</i> asking you to be careful that you, as a Christian, are putting off the aroma of Christ both on and off the internet.</div>
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I <i>am </i>asking that you would beg God to be captivated--wholly and completely caught up with Himself. </div>
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Christian, strive to be true to the character of Him whose name you claim -- Christ's.</div>
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<i>"Look to Jesus, believers, and that will keep you true to Him!"</i> - Horatius Bonar</div>
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Cordeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07188629303493516074noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-265259799645037893.post-13322380288678168942013-04-09T11:13:00.001-05:002013-04-09T11:18:11.047-05:00'You are My people'I woke up to a dark, cloudy sky that made me want to stay in bed forever, which is <strike>how I feel basically every morning</strike> a feeling I never, <i>ever</i> experience, I assure you. Mornings like these remind us how lucky we were to have a day like yesterday. . .<br />
<br />
The sun was shining, the birds were whistling, and I was driving home with the sun roof open and the Punch Brothers singing. I couldn't resist a run in this blissful spring, <strike>slightly sweltering</strike> warm weather. Still <strike>huffing, puffing, and gasping for breath</strike> breathing hard, I <strike>crawled</strike> walked onto the back porch to see Jer shooting his bow, Jonathan slowly, rhythmically swaying in the hammock, and Macy close behind, her tail wagging violently.<br />
I had to pause and thank the Lord - for the chance for my boys to just be boys (something so many boys completely miss out on these days); for the good old south in April; for days like today; for God's overwhelming love in every little thing, even when I am ungrateful and presumptive. His blessings are all around me and <i>continue</i>, whether I have thanked Him or not.<br />
Can you imagine such selfless love in a human? Just think of it: a man or a woman who continues to pour out love <i>even when that love is not the slightest bit reciprocated</i>? That is surely a rare thing, if not an entirely impossible thing. Picture the greatest, kindest, most selfless human being ever to walk the earth. Observe as he not only cares for the dirtiest, scummiest, most self-absorbed human being that ever lived, <i>but he takes him into his home, adopts him, <b>and loves him as his own son - even when that son goes about his business and forgets this man's unspeakable kindness</b></i>. Now multiply that x 100 and you'll get some faint idea of God's love for us.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
In Hosea 2:23, the Lord says to a rebellious, stiff-necked Israel<span style="font-family: inherit;">:</span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">"<span class="text Hos-2-23">And I will have mercy on her who had not obtained mercy;</span><br /><span class="text Hos-2-23">Then I will say to those who were not My people,</span><br /><span class="text Hos-2-23">‘You are My people!’</span><br /><span class="text Hos-2-23">And they shall say, <i>‘</i>You are my God!’”</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="text Hos-2-23">It was too perfect not to soak in every last bit of sunlight. I pulled out my paints and the boys rotated to the trampoline. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span class="text Hos-2-23"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Today, in spite of the clouds, there is so much to be thankful for. Have you thanked Him for His many kindnesses? Look around you and be thankful. The true child of God ought to be the happiest being in all the world.</span> </span></span></div>
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Cordeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07188629303493516074noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-265259799645037893.post-25020578767628079702013-04-04T10:56:00.000-05:002013-04-04T10:56:29.186-05:00Happy Thursday<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Cordeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07188629303493516074noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-265259799645037893.post-67518697613856074772013-03-20T13:15:00.001-05:002013-03-20T23:21:54.438-05:00Life lately<br />
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<br />Cordeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07188629303493516074noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-265259799645037893.post-39078589735174250582013-03-14T23:57:00.001-05:002013-03-20T13:16:28.196-05:00Little happeningsToday my alarm went off. Silently. And when my eyes finally popped open, I jumped out of bed. 10 minutes before I was supposed to leave my house.<br />
Once I scrambled out of the door, I scraped the ice off of my car and opened the door. <i>Only it didn't open. </i><br />
As I shivered in the cold, I realized: I locked my keys in the car (again). <br />
<br />
Today I walked across West Main Street to eat at Subway. Crossing a "busy" street in a small town may seem like a small feat to you, but to me it was quite the adventure.<br />
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Today a man in his eighties tried to convince me to get a Big Mac from McDonald's with him.<br />
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Today I learned a new word. In Spurgeon's <i>Morning + Evening</i>, he says, "Let your conversation be <b>redolent</b> of heaven."<br />
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<h3 style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><span class="vk_ans vk_dgy">red·o·lent</span> </span></h3><div class="vk_sh" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">/ˈredl-ənt/<span class="speaker-icon-listen-off" data-s="redolent.mp3" id="speaker_icon" style="margin-bottom: 1px; margin-left: 6px; margin: 0;"></span></span></div><table class="vk_txt ts" style="margin-left: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-top: 20px; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td><div class="vk_gy vk_sh"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Adjective</span></div><div><table class="ts"><tbody><tr><td style="padding: 0;"><ol style="padding-left: 19px;"><li class="vk_txt" style="list-style-type: decimal;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Strongly reminiscent or suggestive of (something): "names redolent of history and tradition".</span></li><li class="vk_txt" style="list-style-type: decimal;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Strongly smelling of something: "the church was old, dark, and redolent of incense".</span></li></ol></td></tr></tbody></table></div></td></tr><tr><td style="height: 10px;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</span></td></tr><tr><td style="padding-right: 5px; vertical-align: top;"><div class="vk_sh vk_gy"><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Synonyms</span></div><div><table class="ts"><tbody><tr><td><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">fragrant - odoriferous - odorous - aromatic - scented</span></td></tr></tbody></table></div></td></tr></tbody></table><br />
Today the whole family gathered in the living room for lovely music, laughter, and conversation.<br />
<br />
Today I learned once again that Romans 8:28 is absolutely and completely and wonderfully true. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlhJtTrMIwtv9SI7wf7fav2yga_os84veHnZl-l5OJUYuDzaZ26JVCXvj1Pj22qmuFkweVJgPDJ0wLtU219pXVlXa3cKp-iuDstBF-67GIrvtjpw-LwbhkBvfUEwFt3GZy16xF-LOkAW8/s640/blogger-image--1264290866.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlhJtTrMIwtv9SI7wf7fav2yga_os84veHnZl-l5OJUYuDzaZ26JVCXvj1Pj22qmuFkweVJgPDJ0wLtU219pXVlXa3cKp-iuDstBF-67GIrvtjpw-LwbhkBvfUEwFt3GZy16xF-LOkAW8/s640/blogger-image--1264290866.jpg" /></a></div>Cordeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07188629303493516074noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-265259799645037893.post-13593176437421364902013-03-06T23:05:00.000-06:002013-03-07T23:06:07.840-06:00Today I realized . . .. . . How much I really believe I will miss my job at the old hearing center, <i>especially</i> the sweet people I meet and grow to know and love.<br />
<br />
. . . How happy little things like new knobs for my drawer can make me.<br />
<br />
. . . And how much one new lamp can brighten up my bedside -- and in turn, my entire bedroom. I picked up this new lamp when I went to Hobby Lobby <i>intending to come home with only lace. </i>But when I saw this lonely little blue lamp with a shade covered in French poetry, it called my name and I simply couldn't resist.<br />
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And on another note: I was flipping through an old journal tonight (and yes, it was embarrassing) and found this entry from June of 2009:<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
O God, how many times have I said unto Thee, 'Take my life and let it be, consecrated, Lord, to Thee!' and not meant it? How many times have I sung it or said it unto You to take my life and let it be for Thee, but said in my own heart, 'Don't take my life, for I want to live it for myself'? Have I ever said this and <i>truly</i> meant it?<br /><i>"Having already said,'Take my life, for I cannot give it to Thee,' let us now say, with deepened conviction, that without Christ we really can do <b>nothing</b> -- 'Keep my life, for I cannot keep it for Thee."</i> (Frances Havergal, <i>Kept For the Master's Use</i>)<br /> What a freeing thing it is to learn that it does not depend on me! It is Christ, Christ -- all of Him! </blockquote>
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Cordeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07188629303493516074noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-265259799645037893.post-59687117816674725022013-03-02T23:09:00.002-06:002013-03-02T23:09:39.103-06:00"We know nothing of religion here: we think only of Christ."As C. S. Lewis is one the best and brightest authors, I'm going to share a few quotes from his book, <i>The Great Divorce</i>.<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"There have been men before now who got interested in proving the existence of God that they came to care nothing for God Himself . . . as if the good Lord had nothing to do but <i>exist</i>. There have been some who were so occupied in spreading Christianity that they never gave a second thought to Christ. You see it in smaller matters. Did you never know a lover of books that with all his first editions and signed copies had lost the power to read them? Or an organizer of charities that had lost all love for the poor? <b>It is the subtlest of all the snares</b>." (Ch. 9)</blockquote>
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~ </div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"There are only two kinds of people in the end: those who say to God, "Thy will be done," and those to whom God says, in the end, "Thy will be done." All that are in Hell, choose it. Without that self-choice there could be no Hell. No soul that seriously and constantly desires joy will ever miss it. Those who seek find. To those who knock it is opened." (Ch. 9)</blockquote>
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~ </div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: left;">
"We know nothing of religion here: we think only of Christ." (Chapter 5)</blockquote>
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~ </div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"No natural feelings are high or low, holy or unholy, in themselves. They are all holy when God's hand is on the rein. They all go bad when they set up on their own and make themselves into false gods." (Ch. 11)</blockquote>
<div style="text-align: center;">
~ </div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"'Oh, of course. I'm wrong. Everything I say or do is wrong, according to you. </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
'But of course!' said the Spirit, shining with love and mirth so that my eyes were dazzled. 'That's what we all find when we reach this country. <b>We've all been wrong! That's the great joke. There's no need to go on pretending one was right! After that we begin living.</b>'" (Ch. 11)</blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: center;">
~ </blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"There is but one good; that is God. Everything else is good when it looks to Him and bad when it turns from Him." (Ch. 11) </blockquote>
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Cordeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07188629303493516074noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-265259799645037893.post-79459325780388967142013-02-25T18:58:00.001-06:002013-02-25T18:59:23.435-06:00<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/270638258829641822/" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="625" src="http://media-cache-lt0.pinterest.com/550x/12/75/3b/12753b51fc5531ea3b1b91d25fe1830a.jpg" width="500" /></a></div>
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Source: <a href="http://pureblyss.tumblr.com/post/42731155789/elizabethtown-via-tylerknott-typewriter" style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px; text-decoration: underline;">pureblyss.tumblr.com</a> via <a href="http://pinterest.com/courtcram/" style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px; text-decoration: underline;" target="_blank">Courtney</a> on <a href="http://pinterest.com/" style="color: #76838b; text-decoration: underline;" target="_blank">Pinterest</a></div>
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Cordeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07188629303493516074noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-265259799645037893.post-1029269741867237982013-02-19T17:15:00.000-06:002013-02-19T17:15:41.739-06:00The Lady of Shalott<div style="text-align: center;">
<pre> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; white-space: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: monospace; font-size: small; white-space: pre;">Part I.</span></span></pre>
<pre>On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And thro' the field the road runs by
To many-tower'd Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.
Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Thro' the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four gray walls, and four gray towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.
By the margin, willow-veil'd
Slide the heavy barges trail'd
By slow horses; and unhail'd
The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd
Skimming down to Camelot:
But who hath seen her wave her hand?
Or at the casement seen her stand?
Or is she known in all the land,
The Lady of Shalott?
Only reapers, reaping early
In among the bearded barley,
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly,
Down to tower'd Camelot:
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers "'Tis the fairy
Lady of Shalott."
Part II.
There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.
And moving thro' a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot:
There the river eddy whirls,
And there the surly village-churls,
And the red cloaks of market girls,
Pass onward from Shalott.
Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,
An abbot on an ambling pad,
Sometimes a curly shepherd-lad,
Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad,
Goes by to tower'd Camelot;
And sometimes thro' the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two:
She hath no loyal knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.
But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often thro' the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, went to Camelot:
Or when the moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed;
"I am half-sick of shadows," said
The Lady of Shalott.
Part III.
A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley-sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A redcross knight for ever kneel'd
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.
The gemmy bridle glitter'd free,
Like to some branch of stars we see
Hung in the golden Galaxy.
The bridle-bells rang merrily
As he rode down to Camelot:
And from his blazon'd baldric slung
A mighty silver bugle hung,
And as he rode his armour rung,
Beside remote Shalott.
All in the blue unclouded weather
Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather,
The helmet and the helmet-feather
Burn'd like one burning flame together,
As he rode down to Camelot.
As often thro' the purple night,
Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, trailing light,
Moves over still Shalott.
His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow'd
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flash'd into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra lirra," by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.
She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces thro' the room,
She saw the water-lily bloom,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look'd down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack'd from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
The Lady of Shalott.
Part IV.
In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale-yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining,
Heavily the low sky raining
Over tower'd Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And round about the prow she wrote
<i>The Lady of Shalott</i>.
And down the river's dim expanse--
Like some bold seër in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance--
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.
Lying, robed in snowy white
That loosely flew to left and right--
The leaves upon her falling light--
Thro' the noises of the night
She floated down to Camelot:
And as the boat-head wound along
The willowy hills and fields among,
They heard her singing her last song,
The Lady of Shalott.
Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darken'd wholly,
Turn'd to tower'd Camelot;
For ere she reach'd upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.
Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
A corse between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and burgher, lord and dame,
And round the prow they read her name,
<i>The Lady of Shalott</i>.
Who is this? and what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they cross'd themselves for fear,
All the knights at Camelot:
But Lancelot mused a little space;
He said, "She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott."</pre>
<pre> </pre>
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<pre>-- Alfred Tennyson, <i>The Lady of Shalott </i></pre>
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Cordeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07188629303493516074noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-265259799645037893.post-52670897655105005652013-02-14T23:01:00.000-06:002013-02-19T17:18:14.317-06:00Marianne<br />
<a href="http://www.strangegirl.com/emma/quiz.php" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="I am Marianne Dashwood!" height="300" src="http://www.strangegirl.com/emma/quizmarianne.jpg" width="200" /></a>Just when you think, 'Look, I'm a grown up,' you see one of those personality quizzes you used to spend so long clicking away at on Facebook, desperate to know which TV show character best describes you, which Disney princess you're just like, or which Austen man is your best match for you. (Yes, yes, I did take that quiz.)<br />
I saw the Jane Austen heroine personality quiz and I was a goner. But you know what? It's still just as exciting as it was when I was 13. And looking at this result you wouldn't think it, but my results have certainly improved since those I'm-really-bored-so-I'll-just-get-on-Facebook-and-complete-personality-quizzes-days. But that's another story for another time.<br />
<br />
I thought this one was too funny not to share. Katie and I joke that she is Elinor and I am Marianne. I'm pretty sure I got the short straw on this one.<br />
<br />Cordeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07188629303493516074noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-265259799645037893.post-57751690705795708572013-02-06T15:01:00.001-06:002013-02-14T23:03:15.260-06:00They shall sing in the ways of the LordI know to many of you this blog has long been dead. But I'd like to think he's only been sleeping, gone on an extended vacation; hibernating; but still very much alive.<br />
And in the hope of awakening this old Blog o'Mine, I'd like to share a page out of Spurgeon's Morning + Evening from February 1st that I've found to be such a help to me and, I hope, to you as well.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>"They shall sing in the ways of the Lord."</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Psalm 138:5</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="normal" id="d0201am-p3" style="text-align: justify;">
The time when Christians begin to sing in the ways of the Lord is
when they first lose their burden at the foot of the Cross. Not even
the songs of the angels seem so sweet as the first song of rapture
which gushes from the inmost soul of the forgiven child of God. You
know how John Bunyan describes it. He says when poor Pilgrim lost
his burden at the Cross, he gave three great leaps, and went on his
way singing—
</div>
<table class="verse" id="d0201am-p3.1" style="margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; text-align: left;">
<tbody>
<tr>
<td><div class="t1" id="d0201am-p3.2">
<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Blest Cross! blest Sepulchre! blest rather be</span></i></div>
<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></i><br />
<div class="t1" id="d0201am-p3.3">
<i><span style="font-family: inherit;">The Man that there was put to shame for me!”</span></i></div>
</td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>
<div class="normal" id="d0201am-p4" style="text-align: justify;">
Believer, do you recollect the day when <i>your</i>
fetters fell off? Do you remember the place when Jesus met you, and
said, <i>“I have loved thee with an everlasting love; I have blotted
out as
a cloud thy transgressions, and as a thick cloud thy sins; they
shall
not be mentioned against thee any more forever.”</i> Oh! what a sweet
season is that when Jesus takes away the pain of
sin. When the Lord first pardoned my sin, I was so joyous that I
could
scarce refrain from dancing. I thought on my road home from the
house
where I had been set at liberty, that I must tell the stones in
the
street the story of my deliverance. So full was my soul of joy,
that
I wanted to tell every snow-flake that was falling from heaven of
the wondrous love of Jesus, who had blotted out the sins of one of
the chief of rebels. <b>But it is not only at the commencement of the
Christian life that believers have reason for song; as long as
they
live they discover cause to sing in the ways of the Lord, and
their
experience of his constant lovingkindness leads them to say,</b><i> “I
will bless the Lord <b>at all times</b>: his praise shall <b>continually</b>
be
in my mouth.”</i> See to it, brother, that thou magnifiest the Lord <i>this day</i>.
</div>
<div class="t1" id="d0201am-p4.2" style="text-align: justify;">
<i>“Long as we tread this desert land,</i></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<i>
</i></div>
<div class="t1" id="d0201am-p4.3" style="text-align: justify;">
<i>New mercies shall new songs demand.”</i></div>
</blockquote>
Cordeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07188629303493516074noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-265259799645037893.post-3513291152691524852012-11-23T16:21:00.000-06:002012-11-23T16:25:32.964-06:00thankful<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #999999; line-height: 17px;">We live in an abundant, prosperous, free, yet greedy and discontent nation. But despite knowing nothing but poverty, these Ugandan's children's voices resound with thanksgiving.</span></span></div>
<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 17px;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://3.gvt0.com/vi/uZ7C_nggZ48/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/uZ7C_nggZ48&fs=1&source=uds" /><param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /><embed width="320" height="266" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/uZ7C_nggZ48&fs=1&source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true"></embed></object></div>
Cordeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07188629303493516074noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-265259799645037893.post-71481926188408753702012-11-13T14:20:00.001-06:002012-11-14T23:03:49.264-06:00of a cold November eve<div style="text-align: left;">
As the chilling air grows fiercer and fiercer out-of-doors, inside, protected from the harsh November winds, the fire dances, glistening before her eyes. The light is mesmerizing, the warmth, delightful. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
She is curled up in a chair, which has been edged, little by little, closer to the brick fireplace. In her lap lay the worn pages of a precious book, a book so precious it cannot possibly be read too many times.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Now, let us take a step back. There is a brood of children, grasping plastic swords, running in circles around her, shouting excitedly and rather haphazardly in gay (but awfully loud) voices.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Now zoom back in. The fire is still crackling. Idyllic.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Pan out again: reality.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Zoom: picture perfect.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Pan: life.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Life is not like the movies. It's not even always like the pretty pictures we post on Instagram. There's so much more to it than that. There is depth to life that cannot be portrayed in a picture. Life...is real. Yet even the most real thing we know, is not real. Life is but a picture of eternity, a shadow of true reality.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
So, yes, life is so much more than a picture. But eternity -- true life with a living God -- is far more real and better than anything we could ever know here in this life.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I am so thankful for evenings like this one, rowdy siblings and all. But I am also thankful that this is not our home. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Heaven is our home.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b>Nota Bene: Happy 200th post, Flow Gently Sweet Afton!</b></div>
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Cordeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07188629303493516074noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-265259799645037893.post-30929605782125870882012-10-12T18:46:00.002-05:002014-03-16T19:37:18.348-05:00Aren't you glad I didn't say pumpkin?<div style="text-align: center;">
Nothing says fall like a warm cup of pumpkin spice latte and a delicious slice of cinnamon bread from Starbucks.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
So what if it's 80 degrees outside and I just turned on the A/C? I say <b>it is fall. </b>(Darn you, Mississippi, and your pathetically bipolar weather patterns. Just make up your mind already.)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Well, it's the thought that counts, right? And the <i>thought</i> of fall makes me giddy. Fall is the smell of the sweet olive tree as its enchanting fragrance wafts through the entire yard and back again; the first smell of a crisp fall day as I <strike>rush like a madwoman</strike> meander on down to my car on my way to work because <strike>I'm late again</strike> I'm so caught up in the beauty around me; the last smell of the evening when the stars are out and everything is still. Fall is pumpkin lattes, pumpkin pies, and a million other things we can stuff a pumpkin in because it's fall and it's an unwritten mandate passed down from the pumpkin fairies of ancient days (and everyone knows that a pumpkin fairie always has her way) that everything consumed in October-November <b>must contain pumpkin</b>. Fall is crisp mornings, cool nights, beautiful trees and crunchy leaves, good books and warm fires. <strike>Sniffly noses</strike> Scarves, <strike>cold feet</strike> boots, <strike>weight gain</strike> cozy sweaters, and <strike>being stuck inside with nothing to do because it's cold outside</strike> fuzzy blankets. Fall's fingers, however, extend beyond nature. Fall means family, fellowship, camping, bonfires, stargazing, cider-drinking, and merry-making. Fall is nearly impossible to describe, oh, but so lovely to experience.</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
But really, fall is the best. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
No one said it as well as Anne of Green Gables, as she gave a happy sigh and said,</div>
<br />
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<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Happy October, friends!</div>
Cordeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07188629303493516074noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-265259799645037893.post-20552667675711608432012-09-14T16:26:00.000-05:002012-09-17T15:20:43.551-05:00Yet I will rejoice in the Lord<div style="text-align: center;">
It wasn't easy to choose to stay at home and take on a full-time job when it seemed like just about everyone else was moving away and starting their freshman year of college.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Honestly, every morning is a struggle. But the struggle is sweet when it is from, with, and for Jesus.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I have learned so very much about things I never thought I didn't know. Funny how we don't know so much that we don't even know we don't know. If that makes any sense at all.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Anyway, I've learned everything from how to [magically] fold cardboard into a perfectly-shaped shipping box, how to balance finances, how to convince telemarketers that we're not interested, and even just how to use the drive-thru at the bank. I'm experiencing things I've never done before. And I'm thankful for that. But more than anything else, I'm thankful for the precious lives I am able to come across, speak to, and encourage. I'm thankful for the stories and laughs, the wisdom and the advice they have given me.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I'll share one story a sweet lady told of her great-grandson.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
~ </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
When she was taking him to his Kindergarten class one day, he spoke up, pleading, </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"Mamy, would you <i>pwease</i> tell Ms. Julie (his teacher) that I'm sick and can't come today?" </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"But, dahlin' (it didn't matter who she was addressing, to Mamy, everyone is dahlin'), you're not sick."</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"Yes, I am. I, I... I had a heart attack!"</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Mamy stifled a laugh and decided to play along with him. She called Ms. Julie and told her what he had said. His teacher then said, </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"Well, in that case, we'll have to send for an ambulance right away."</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
When Mamy relayed the message to the backseat, he said, "Tell her it's too late! You and Mamma done buried me already."</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
~</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Throughout this year, Habakkuk 3:17-18 has been such a comfort: </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Though the fig tree may not blossom,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Nor fruit be on the vines;</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Though the labor of the olive may fail,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">And the fields yield no food;</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Though the flock may be cut off from the fold,</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">And there be no herd in the stalls - </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">Yet I will rejoice in the Lord,</span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">I will joy in the God of my salvation.</span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<br />
<br />Cordeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07188629303493516074noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-265259799645037893.post-31478262130568743532012-07-31T23:08:00.000-05:002012-10-12T19:04:12.529-05:00on life in Grown-up LandIf I said that I've been meaning to post, would that make up for my silence? No?<br />
What if I said that I've been really busy, graduated high school, and started a full time job?<br />
Fine, then. Moving on.<br />
<br />
Well, I looked through some "old" pictures the other day. Most of these pictures were taken earlier this year, some late last year. No, they're not old pictures. I think I'm the one that's old. I feel it. I feel like that was years ago and I've already grown up so much since then (which is probably the biggest indication that I really have not grown up in the least).<br />
But really, I do feel as if I've <strike>been ruthlessly shoved into</strike> entered the Big-Scary-Realm-of-Grownups, also known as the "Real World," while I would much rather live happily in Neverland where there is no such thing as responsibility, business, bills, clocking in or out, short lunch breaks, morning commutes, bookkeeping, or taxes. There's also a whole lot more fun, family time, food, and sleep (although, I admit, I would miss the paychecks of Grown-up Land). Ah, well. We can't have everything we want. (Unless we were in Neverland.)<br />
<br />
On another note, I have so many secretarial tales that I can't wait to share with you. I get to visit with some of the most interesting (old) people. My job certainly has its perks.<br />
<br />
For now, here are some instagrams from life leading up to today:<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">last days of school</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">graduation weekend</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Courier New', Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">everything since</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Memorial Day: hike in Tishomingo and an outdoor movie</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">my Daddy-O doing a couple of his favorite things. At the same time.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the sun rises early. in case you didn't hear.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Chelsea's shower</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Camp Moriah 2012</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">good times with these kiddos and Rach</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">4th of July</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">post Friday night Frisbee!</td></tr>
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Cordeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07188629303493516074noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-265259799645037893.post-48509915865623210822012-06-30T22:40:00.001-05:002012-07-02T10:34:58.832-05:00An Excerpt From the Week In Which I Played Mommy<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;"></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: small;">As I drove out of the George's parking lot, everyone was happily sipping on his milkshake (except Rachel who chose a cone, unfortunately, as we will see), and I was wholly unsuspecting of what the near future held. It was dark and the headlights were bright as we sang and danced and I drove--simultaneously singing and dancing. You can't do one without the other, unless of course, you just sang, or danced, or drove, or drove and sang, or drove and danced, or danced and sang. Anyway. Back to our story. We laughed and giggled and had a fantastic time while we consumed an inordinate amount of calories disguised as a perfectly spun chocolate milkshake sent from heaven above. I guess Rachel had gotten a little too into the laughing contest because by this time, she wasn't laughing at all, but screaming "Ahhh!! There's ice cream all over me!" and so on and so forth. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: small;">Sure enough, she was right. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: small;">There was ice cream on the floor of my car, on the passenger seat of my car, on her pants (which were in my car), on the dashboard of my car, even on the window of my car. I was the epitome of calm and almost entirely forgot these travesties were occurring in my car. As these thoughts ran through my head, Rachel was scrambling out of her seat and somehow perched entirely on her two hands, closely resembling a monkey in its natural habitat. This image was not a little bit funny. It was a lot funny. The ice cream had slipped right out of the cone and into her seat. This left her no choice but to stuff the rest of the cone into her mouth. She had no choice, guys.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: small;">Meanwhile, there was a voice from the backseat. "Um? I think my pants are wet." It was Will. <i>Is this real life? </i>I thought for the thousandth time. Unfortunately, all I could do from the wheel was to glance back and tell him everything would be okay. And breathe. I couldn't forget to breathe. Rachel had to surrender her ice dream endeavor to check his pants. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: small;">Dry. <i> </i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: small;"><i>Praise to the heavens! </i>There was only one problem: a hole in his milkshake, and ice cream dripping all over the backseat. Oh yeah, did I mention we were in my car? </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: small;"><i>This too shall pass. </i>I kept my eyes on the road and thought of things to be thankful for.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: small;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">The sky is not falling.</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: small;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">The aliens have not invaded.</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: small;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">My tires are not flat.</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: small;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">His pants are still dry.</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: small;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">So are hers.</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: small;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">So are mine.</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif; font-size: small;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Rachel's…were.</span></i></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Pretty soon, I felt fairly cheered up and you might say my middle name is Calm. And Awesome. But that's another story for another time.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">Soon enough, everyone was fairly wiped off and only a little sticky and we were singing, dancing, and laughing yet again. We made it home alive and well. And there's only the faintest bit of ice cream residue on my passenger seat.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia,'Times New Roman',serif;">I'm glad I'm not a Mommy yet. I'll stick with my full-time job, thank you.</span></div>
</span>Cordeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07188629303493516074noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-265259799645037893.post-39844789564865049102012-05-26T12:34:00.001-05:002012-05-26T12:35:29.491-05:0040 Hour Project: 4 Year Roundup<div style="text-align: center;">
That's 160 hours total for all you homeschoolers out there.</div>
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<ul>
<li> <b>Freshman year</b> - <i>Christendom</i>: I made a calligraphy booklet full of Bible verses and quotes.</li>
<li><b>Sophomore year</b> - <i>Early America</i>: I copied Johannes Vermeer's <i>The Little Street</i>. This was one of my first paintings and I really enjoyed it.</li>
<li><b>Junior year</b> - <i>Modernity</i>: This is probably my least favorite project out of all four years. My first (and possibly last) attempt at Impressionism. I used a picture of a tree/scenery that Katie took in New Orleans as my guideline. My intention was to bring out the colors and layer on the paint. (If you look closely at the tree, there is a lot of texture on the trunk from the globs of paint I put all over it.) But it really just looks amateur and unrealistic. After adding so much color, eventually the colors all came together and turned gray. Just check out the grass. Needless to say, Impressionism is not my forte. In spite of my failure (or perhaps because of), Monet and Renoir will always be among my favorites.</li>
<li><b>Senior year</b> - <i>Antiquity</i>: Antiquity is one of the hardest years to find good project you can actually spend 40 hours working on. At the last minute, a few sketches of ancient architecture was all I could come up with. I really intended to draw <i>several</i>. But sketching the perspective of the Roman Colosseum correctly turned out to be no easy task. In the end, I only finished the Colosseum and the Parthenon. (And really, no sketch is ever "finished." Especially mine.) Adding all the cracks and little details in the Parthenon was pretty fun, though.</li>
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</div>Cordeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07188629303493516074noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-265259799645037893.post-77062321085575290492012-04-26T09:34:00.002-05:002012-04-26T09:39:25.874-05:00Deuteronomy 6<div style="text-align: center;">
In verses 6-9, God instructs us how we ought to respond to the Word He, in His kindness, has given to us:</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span class="text Deut-6-6" id="en-NKJV-5093" style="background-color: white;">“And these words which I command you today shall be in your heart. </span><span class="text Deut-6-7" id="en-NKJV-5094" style="background-color: white;">You shall teach them diligently to your children, and shall talk of them when you sit in your house, when you walk by the way, when you lie down, and when you rise up.</span><span class="text Deut-6-8" id="en-NKJV-5095" style="background-color: white;"><sup class="versenum" style="vertical-align: top;"> </sup>You shall bind them as a sign on your hand, and they shall be as frontlets between your eyes. </span><span class="text Deut-6-9" id="en-NKJV-5096" style="background-color: white;">You shall write them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates."</span></b></span></div>
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<span class="text Deut-6-9" style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Believer, this is how you ought to live - with His Word hidden in your heart and always before your mind. Teach it, speak of it, think on it - <i>constantly</i>. I want to know this Book more than any other, and His words more than anyone else's.</span></span></div>
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<span class="text Deut-6-9" style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="text Deut-6-9" style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And how could I not? Verses 20-23 say:</span></span></div>
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<span class="text Deut-6-9" style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><span class="text Deut-6-20" id="en-NKJV-5107" style="font-size: 16px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">“When your son asks you in time to come, saying, ‘What is the meaning of the testimonies, the statutes, and the judgments which the <span class="small-caps" style="font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span> our God has commanded you?’ </span><span class="text Deut-6-21" id="en-NKJV-5108" style="font-size: 16px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">then you shall say to your son: ‘We were slaves of Pharaoh in Egypt, and the <span class="small-caps" style="font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span> brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand; </span><span class="text Deut-6-22" id="en-NKJV-5109" style="font-size: 16px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">and the <span class="small-caps" style="font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span> showed signs and wonders before our eyes, great and severe, against Egypt, Pharaoh, and all his household. </span><span class="text Deut-6-23" id="en-NKJV-5110" style="font-size: 16px; text-align: -webkit-auto;">Then He brought us out from there, that He might bring us in, to give us the land of which He swore to our fathers."</span></b></span></span></div>
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<span class="text Deut-6-9" style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Charis SIL', charis, Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="text Deut-6-23" style="font-size: 16px; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">As a believer, you are <i>separated unto God</i>. As a result, you look very strange to the world. As you should. God has set you apart and made you different. When they wonder at you and ask <i>why? Why are you so odd?</i> You should want nothing better than to tell of God's mercy and His great work in your heart! <i>This should be your answer: </i>That you <b>were</b> a <i>slave</i>. You <b>were</b> <i>dead in your sins and subject to the chains of this world. </i><b>But now</b> you have been transferred into the kingdom of the Son of His love! Now you are under the <i>happy bondage</i> of our good, kind Lord and Master. There is no happier position, no better place. </span></div>Cordeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07188629303493516074noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-265259799645037893.post-1631799313751323192012-04-08T19:24:00.002-05:002012-04-09T19:21:37.573-05:00Sunday afternoon musings<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3It8LuOvGJ4/T4IrBw3BA_I/AAAAAAAABmM/LWugoeBIH_w/s1600/photo%2814%29.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3It8LuOvGJ4/T4IrBw3BA_I/AAAAAAAABmM/LWugoeBIH_w/s320/photo%2814%29.JPG" width="320" /></a>One of the most steadfast Crampton traditions is the Sunday afternoon nap. Almost every Sunday without fail, if you're a Crampton, you're either asleep or bound to be as quiet as a mouse by 3 PM.<br />
Today happens to be one of those rare Sunday afternoons when I can't actually fall asleep. So I decided to be productive and pick up my room, listen to a sermon Conrad Mbewe preached a couple of weeks ago at Christ Church, and write on this sadly neglected blog of mine. (I'd give you the link to his sermon, but sadly, our website is being renovated at the moment.)<br />
Lately, life has been consumed by thesis research and writing, moot court prep (the court was a whole lot of fun to this lawyerly-inclined girl, by the way), reading the <i>Aeneid</i>, preparation for graduation, etc. Graduating actually involves more than I thought - pictures for yearbook, pictures for the slideshow, general information for yearbook, making/sending invitations, and more. And all of this requires a bit more time and effort than I had imagined.<br />
But I don't care as long as I graduate. And I plan to.<br />
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I know the general senior mindset is:<i> I'm a senior. I'm so cool. Look at those freshmen. Ha, ha. They're freshmen. I can't wait to graduate and get out of this town. I'm so cool.</i><br />
Yes, I'll admit that I've experienced some of those feelings. Yes, I'm excited about graduating.<br />
As happy as I am to finally finish not only these four years of high school, but twelve years of education. Twelve years. When I actually write it out, it's mind boggling.<br />
We seniors want to get out of here and move on with our lives. It's in the script.<br />
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But honestly, I'm gonna miss this.<br />
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I'm so thankful for my education. Yes, I've been homsechooled all my life. No, I haven't just sat in my pj's, watched TV, and gotten all A's from my mom. Granted, there have been many pj days. And I loved every one of them. But my education has not been a walk in the park, by any means. And I'm thankful for that. I'm thankful for the challenges, the struggles, and the learning experiences. I'm thankful for Dr. Grant, for Gileskirk, for Aristotle's rhetoric, for Dr. Hill's logic, for Doc Mo's biology, for Mrs. Tate's lit, for Mrs. Rachel's art/music, for Mrs. Culp's speech, and so, so much more!<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-F7Lm1724QUM/T4IrGXlKgNI/AAAAAAAABmc/_zKLvc-hv1k/s1600/photo%2813%29.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-F7Lm1724QUM/T4IrGXlKgNI/AAAAAAAABmc/_zKLvc-hv1k/s320/photo%2813%29.JPG" width="320" /></a>Dr. Grant has reminded us many times - and rightly so - that education does not end when we graduate high school or college. If we ever think we're truly educated, it's a good indication that our education has never begun.<br />
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I plan on taking the next year off; a "gap year," of sorts. Although, this "off" year will not be "off." I don't plan on this being a lazy year while I sit at home on the couch and watch my friends move out and attend various colleges across the country. I plan on working and saving money for next year (of course, finding a job comes first), making a dent in and perhaps completing my fast growing reading list, painting, crafting so many things I've pinned on Pinterest, practicing piano and learning daunting pieces I never would have even glanced at two years ago, soaking in the Word at Christ Church, and doing so many other things I probably won't have the chance to do at any other point in my life.<br />
This hasn't been an easy decision and it certainly was not my first choice. However, I believe this is where God would have me for now and I have no idea what doors may be opened this coming year.<br />
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Thy will, not mine, be done.</div>Cordeliahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07188629303493516074noreply@blogger.com3