tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17292516559137363842024-03-24T00:20:55.530-07:00Heather Morse Alexander Stories filled with fun and grace.Heather Morse Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04598710189713611407noreply@blogger.comBlogger108125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729251655913736384.post-67586517491927218622023-12-17T07:24:00.000-08:002023-12-17T08:08:04.660-08:00Creativity...<p>I've been thinking a lot about creativity lately.</p><p>About inspiration, style, perfection and the beauty of imperfection.</p><p>I began a journey into watercolor painting this year.</p><p>After a few awful attempts (not awe-full...truly dreadful), I thought all was lost. Not my thing. </p><p>But I didn't give up. </p><p>I watched a bajillion videos on YouTube and Pinterest. They were very helpful!</p><p>One day I painted lavender - it looked just like lavender! Everyone, anyone can paint lavender. But that success gave me the gumption to keep going. </p><p>Little by little, my painting has improved. </p><p>Little by little, I've gained confidence.</p><p>Little by little, I've loosened my grip on perfection and embraced the irregularity of color and form.</p><p>Watercolor painting has become something I love to do. A relaxing way to start and end my day. I'll never be an arteeeest, but a few people, mostly family members, have asked for paintings...which is amazing.</p><p>Taking up something like painting (an art form I never thought I could or would do), has made me much more aware of my surroundings. </p><p>I see differently.</p><p>Nature is even more beautiful.</p><p>God's creativity is even more evident...amazing.</p><p>This realization reminds me that God cares about every little detail. Not in a human perfectionistic kind of way, but in a loving, generous, "Here, let me remind you how much I care about every little thing." kind of way. </p><p>That translates to my life as well. All the joys, hurts, and concerns in my life, He cares deeply about. If he cares about the color in the veins on a leaf lying on the sidewalk with 1,000 other leaves, He certainly cares about the details that we care about. </p><p>What a loving Father!</p><p>If you haven't ventured into a creative practice of any kind, I encourage you to find something and give it a whirl. </p><p>Creativity is not just the picking up of a paintbrush or baking a loaf of bread or planting a bonsai. A creative practice extends into how we see. How we take in the beauty around us. How we appreciate the creativity of others, and ultimately--most importantly, grows our relationship with God as we appreciate all He has created.</p><p>I believe God placed creativity in all of us. Whether it's the ability to put together an outfit, decorate a home, writing in any form, gardening, organizing, even organizing people to work together takes creativity, not to mention art in all forms and mediums. </p><p>Here is my Christmas card this year...yes, I painted that, but don't look too closely. I'm still learning. I did not do the lettering. Thanks, Canva! :)</p><p>Have a beautiful, creative Christmas everyone!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUXMKaTZQovJiNQCtZlcCtnKNmmRs2SyvXesGixW66Ojm-3ReLer7j3860jub_yK0PH5G7pz_MuTG-2oJTf39re97p4f00ehOGdLnIaqOpH0OL0UY6CWKf3Taznrk5wB158ze5lxv79w1oYMIbFGiQjf06ZFZG1g5eY-EApmTq4sayvVfqU-p-bFvSQjM/s1500/Peace%20on%20Earth.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="1500" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUXMKaTZQovJiNQCtZlcCtnKNmmRs2SyvXesGixW66Ojm-3ReLer7j3860jub_yK0PH5G7pz_MuTG-2oJTf39re97p4f00ehOGdLnIaqOpH0OL0UY6CWKf3Taznrk5wB158ze5lxv79w1oYMIbFGiQjf06ZFZG1g5eY-EApmTq4sayvVfqU-p-bFvSQjM/w400-h400/Peace%20on%20Earth.png" width="400" /></a></div>Heather Morse Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04598710189713611407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729251655913736384.post-53732430739207180862023-06-26T15:12:00.000-07:002023-06-26T15:12:22.900-07:00The (en)courage(ment) Project - Book #3 <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3_YDGy5JCIB6ouj1qtOPb14q4zhkj-QOeDl0h7eMULg_cjtzK5l2FD3JJuhMBzIhiXKaavbJrVei2SXZA5GsN-LmP4LoZseeiQAVWlrQfOd910kxuPf5hdDfE-8BVO7tAoc8Yrk92xCG1J6s346L03YpSCWQMi2ZFzfF46sOa5XLqudKCVJbjn78YAEY/s1650/(en)%20courage%20(ment)%20For%20those%20who%20weep..png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1275" data-original-width="1650" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3_YDGy5JCIB6ouj1qtOPb14q4zhkj-QOeDl0h7eMULg_cjtzK5l2FD3JJuhMBzIhiXKaavbJrVei2SXZA5GsN-LmP4LoZseeiQAVWlrQfOd910kxuPf5hdDfE-8BVO7tAoc8Yrk92xCG1J6s346L03YpSCWQMi2ZFzfF46sOa5XLqudKCVJbjn78YAEY/w400-h309/(en)%20courage%20(ment)%20For%20those%20who%20weep..png" width="400" /></a></div><br />I'm happy to announce the third installment of The (en)courage(ment) Project!<p></p><p>For those who weep.</p><p>My dad passed away in 2017. I've been navigating the journey of grief for over 5 years now. </p><p>I didn't know what to expect from the grief journey. I'd never lost anyone so close to me. Every stage has been new and surprising. Thankfully, time really does ease the pain of loss ... but grief will always linger. It is the price of love.</p><p>One day, a few months after his passing, I found a book in an antique store: Little Talks for Those Who Weep. </p><p>It was a comforting little volume filled with a pastor's thoughts and scripture. Nothing I didn't already know. Nothing new. Nothing particularly mind-blowing.</p><p>But it held reminders.</p><p>Gems from God's Word.</p><p>Encouragement to carry me through the rough patches.</p><p>Comfort.</p><p>It inspired me to create my own book of encouragement for those who weep...because not everyone can go on the hunt for a precious little antique book.</p><p>I hope my little book, filled with vintage photos, scripture, quotes, and my own thoughts about grief, will help you or someone you love navigate the journey. </p><p>We can't skip over it.</p><p>We can't go around it.</p><p>We must go through it.</p><p>I've created a companion for those who weep.</p><p>May it be a blessing to your grieving heart.</p><p>A secret: Giving encouragement away fills the heart with joy ... easing the burden of grief. You can find this book in my Etsy shop ... you will receive <u>two books for the price of one</u>. Keep one and give the other away. </p><p>Spread encouragement, reap joy!</p>Heather Morse Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04598710189713611407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729251655913736384.post-60952211239362099092023-05-26T07:49:00.001-07:002023-05-26T07:50:37.277-07:00Sourdough Motherhood<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUaMhYuNU-l5ffDmzTWrtsQ6CNdaOrIZO8FXu6jo8eXpXjuTEvEJWXu9Yuvv9_9_yNZOgm6EqX9Cylel_4gE41Iemn-MNQ9kUr5SysW60L9CyeVV8ULzolW0vI1SO2FOkmFJVJJcY2z5hf3qzXQmGbCEqrcz13l7L8YZpywjeECqS4YK_31hX8Fnx5/s1080/Untitled%20design-3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUaMhYuNU-l5ffDmzTWrtsQ6CNdaOrIZO8FXu6jo8eXpXjuTEvEJWXu9Yuvv9_9_yNZOgm6EqX9Cylel_4gE41Iemn-MNQ9kUr5SysW60L9CyeVV8ULzolW0vI1SO2FOkmFJVJJcY2z5hf3qzXQmGbCEqrcz13l7L8YZpywjeECqS4YK_31hX8Fnx5/w400-h400/Untitled%20design-3.png" width="400" /></a></div><p>I've recently noticed the similarities between baking sourdough bread and motherhood.</p><p>Both require a slow, careful process.</p><p>In the throes of motherhood, a tantrum can send us off a cliff of overreaction. Schedules can rob a mom of patience. Exhaustion will shorten a temper in no time flat. All of those things (and more) suck the joy out of motherhood and pile on guilt.</p><p>And that brings me to the art of sourdough bread.</p><p>I tried making sourdough bread 1,532 times before I was successful. </p><p>I wanted what I wanted when I wanted it (just like a 2-year-old...or a tired mama). </p><p>But sourdough is a process. A two-day, slow, tender test of patience to produce a beautiful brown, chewy loaf of goodness. A successful loaf is always worth the time and attention it requires.</p><p>I failed 1,532 times because I rushed. I reacted. I was distracted. I didn't plan ahead. </p><p>Mothering little ones takes the same kind of care.</p><p>Planning, preparation, tenderness, patience. </p><p>"I don't have time for that!" </p><p>Sloooow dooooown.</p><p>I finally wanted to succeed enough that I decided to take a breath and take it slow and plan for sourdough bread. With so many steps in the process, one must be disciplined (I don't like that word). But I realized another thing in the process...I enjoy watching and feeling what happens to a dough ball as the starter worked its' magic. It's interesting. It's satisfying. It's rewarding. The result was amazing. SO worth the time and attention. </p><p>The same can be said of slowing down and paying attention to mothering. Listening to the little voices constantly seeking your attention, stopping what you're doing to watch the wonderful thing <i>they</i> can do, noticing how your slower reactions change the dynamic and encourage softness in them. </p><p>Rushing through the sourdough process produced hard and heavy loaves. Rushing through motherhood produces hard, heavy days.</p><p>I made that loaf in the picture. You'll notice that it's not the most beautiful loaf you've ever seen. That's okay. Perfection is a myth. We're all doing our best around here.</p><p>I didn't mother my kids perfectly, either. No one can. But we can always keep learning and trying and working to do better.</p><p>So be encouraged, mama. Allow yourself more time. </p><p>Cut some things out of the schedule (just do it). </p><p>Remove distractions (that phone). </p><p>Take a breath. </p><p>Slow down. </p><p>Pay attention to the process and enjoy the sweet, warm goodness of sourdough motherhood.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhnW_uvvdLbw_pKKuuQgC1cIToMXevrv5Iy0StHs9oFwzlH3BIYCdwg1QIS71GWjp1Rn_8OggRCRCxwNy4hOEM76wRev9Yxk1G9Uf5fWiUxgp13ZhlTv0ZlHSF0PmepROoK5tyun5rlY7P6GaRPTgMz-apfoJvuYe6x35OnhPsBW7w_dhxybmCq1P0/s1080/You're%20doing%20great,%20Mama..png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhnW_uvvdLbw_pKKuuQgC1cIToMXevrv5Iy0StHs9oFwzlH3BIYCdwg1QIS71GWjp1Rn_8OggRCRCxwNy4hOEM76wRev9Yxk1G9Uf5fWiUxgp13ZhlTv0ZlHSF0PmepROoK5tyun5rlY7P6GaRPTgMz-apfoJvuYe6x35OnhPsBW7w_dhxybmCq1P0/s320/You're%20doing%20great,%20Mama..png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p></p>Heather Morse Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04598710189713611407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729251655913736384.post-32195818919316460302023-05-12T08:51:00.002-07:002023-05-12T15:45:53.763-07:00Happy Mother's Day!<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijquOCa2JLnGyfyg30htwIoV-GaL1uEbbn59-y7-FkgyFPD0Sul5YvZT6Q422BGjyii1-7url735APD1QklI0szNeImeSPUytPmvtaWT_IQEmJGmzsvaL1VCv_4vaUdJHxrKISiPczYYO58V14oTOqAw_X7RZMzopiMFkmAhSCHKcMcgI6Q7N7HWJw/s2849/2A148B66-32A1-4ED0-ACF5-273093A16894_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2210" data-original-width="2849" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijquOCa2JLnGyfyg30htwIoV-GaL1uEbbn59-y7-FkgyFPD0Sul5YvZT6Q422BGjyii1-7url735APD1QklI0szNeImeSPUytPmvtaWT_IQEmJGmzsvaL1VCv_4vaUdJHxrKISiPczYYO58V14oTOqAw_X7RZMzopiMFkmAhSCHKcMcgI6Q7N7HWJw/w400-h310/2A148B66-32A1-4ED0-ACF5-273093A16894_1_201_a.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>This is my mom....and me and my siblings.<p></p><p>She's smiling, but I'll bet she's exhausted. Three kids aged 5 years and under. This photo represents some of the hardest years of mothering.</p><p>I had three kids aged five years and under too. First I had boy/girl twins, then 5 years later another daughter. I love, love, loved being a mom of littles, but there were many moments when I lost my joy...all the joy of motherhood. Oooooh, honesty there.</p><p>Can I be more honest with you? That's normal. I felt overwhelmed. I felt like I couldn't stand another minute of seemingly senseless tears and tantrums. I wanted to turn in my Mom card and sit on a beach anywhere but where I was at that moment. </p><p>Let me repeat. That's normal.</p><p>Since becoming a Nana, I've grown to understand a lot about those years. In the coming posts, I'll share those things with you. </p><p>But now, with Mother's Day a couple of days away, I want to encourage you with this:</p><p>You can do it. You are a good mom. A perfect mom? Nope. No one is. Look away from social media and accept that you are exactly who God picked for your kids. You are the perfect mom for <i>them</i>. No one else, no matter if they fix fancy snacks, or keep their laundry washed, or have a clean car, or if their kid's hair is styled perfectly...no one else can do for your kids what you can, and no one else knows what they need as completely as you do. Rest in that this weekend. You are enough for them. </p><p>And they love you.</p><p>You are doing good, important work and growing right along with your kids.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggKZb58w1gm4fUZJGxDiiVgDkddYAe_9U3IGH_BSNiT8NekONhhBfXH6OcItsu2xKZYZVROk7KgCw5NDrjY_TSuK-x62IylmEKQe3QbiZI-KVFcuRf-ycxG08HTBPoSZbhi0xWAf8InpGki4KdM3OHRcaKc4GfyZRnlBe69nJuwts_CsBvNekvH65H/s1650/16.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1275" data-original-width="1650" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggKZb58w1gm4fUZJGxDiiVgDkddYAe_9U3IGH_BSNiT8NekONhhBfXH6OcItsu2xKZYZVROk7KgCw5NDrjY_TSuK-x62IylmEKQe3QbiZI-KVFcuRf-ycxG08HTBPoSZbhi0xWAf8InpGki4KdM3OHRcaKc4GfyZRnlBe69nJuwts_CsBvNekvH65H/s320/16.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIXvx_-pm1RbLfAc0YzNvzdGjtSRUcYIceIAyHsFivDFwR6Kki3MLpUuATmxTmQBd3tlFc71PDg3J5yPGT44YcoQwJhJpc1n5kuaSAq0G8FwRxzvS8f06wyJikA1sC1SyHIwy6cnSe17x3YFtgw4GBCK1aQK8clz7K6GVX5Z0Gf_qfTq-WhZytDJu8/s1650/17.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1275" data-original-width="1650" height="247" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIXvx_-pm1RbLfAc0YzNvzdGjtSRUcYIceIAyHsFivDFwR6Kki3MLpUuATmxTmQBd3tlFc71PDg3J5yPGT44YcoQwJhJpc1n5kuaSAq0G8FwRxzvS8f06wyJikA1sC1SyHIwy6cnSe17x3YFtgw4GBCK1aQK8clz7K6GVX5Z0Gf_qfTq-WhZytDJu8/w320-h247/17.png" title="These images are from my (en)courage(ment) book for moms." width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These images are from my (en)courage(ment) book for moms.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>More encouragement coming soon...</p><p>Happy Mother's Day to my mom and to all the moms out there.</p><p>I see you!</p>Heather Morse Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04598710189713611407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729251655913736384.post-1390918979258392402023-05-08T18:19:00.001-07:002023-05-12T15:46:35.897-07:00Summer's Coming!<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPkMjtrnMM8YIoVTrgDVRL6xCpMWeI63ohj6BS-quU7vcbnitYna6KaAy37kNVZNwfzGZKUeZLVQbesozlQXtakzSkJeWHn51Yf-6AbdU9L6Fyxy8OAlzYuP9TGpDu0Rw4tThlGHV1-C8xpTKiaMkWtfN69ujHXIpVbnHTWpt8RhoyGAYvNgM_latx/s1080/Writing%20Prompts%20for%20kids!.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPkMjtrnMM8YIoVTrgDVRL6xCpMWeI63ohj6BS-quU7vcbnitYna6KaAy37kNVZNwfzGZKUeZLVQbesozlQXtakzSkJeWHn51Yf-6AbdU9L6Fyxy8OAlzYuP9TGpDu0Rw4tThlGHV1-C8xpTKiaMkWtfN69ujHXIpVbnHTWpt8RhoyGAYvNgM_latx/w400-h400/Writing%20Prompts%20for%20kids!.png" width="400" /></a></div>Summer is coming!<p></p><p>You know what that means, mamas.</p><p>It means the kids will be home, forgetting all they learned in school. But you can help by encouraging them to write.</p><p>Or maybe you homeschool and need some fresh writing prompts to inspire your kids.</p><p>I can help! I created a writing prompt book just for kids ages 6-12. It's full of fun prompts to keep your kids writing during the sultry days of summer.</p><p>If you want a book you can hold in your hands, you can find it <a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/889481521/writing-prompts-book-for-kids?click_key=546bf90a26222692a293b6c0c5ee3c0f3f9d4680%3A889481521&click_sum=60ccc34a&ref=shop_home_active_2&sts=1" target="_blank">here.</a></p><p>If you want an instant download, a pdf, you can find that <a href="https://www.etsy.com/listing/1117667460/scripturient-for-kids-pdf-download?click_key=e608c7b4b60d7bfde3bdb886ca6688d78ce00e22%3A1117667460&click_sum=dc027c3f&ref=shop_home_active_4&sts=1" target="_blank">here.</a></p><p>Moms have reported to me that their kids love the prompts and have fun using them. They are wholesome, with some prompts that are faith-based and no hint of current social issues. </p><p>Get yours today!</p><p>**Use coupon code THANKYOU to save 10%**</p>Heather Morse Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04598710189713611407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729251655913736384.post-16868735957710724422023-05-07T15:58:00.009-07:002023-07-12T20:33:23.836-07:00Let Me Re-Introduce Myself...<p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwfK9kirwn0f8QcnwfBl8YpH-r-mjqSt8u2aIaxm8_bimM8XnpYXp7nYRgCJeboWRSW2Mm-HBy-wNHNCRSJ7NjLC4MNgdMjLJ7Z-ZHPVVS1IV9AFve1z9s_vp4jp8sE9fJUwwMP8Xiygr19jCOEfJgECHq2PuKvEa43g2ShOtQ5vA_xBa4H-LOR25z/s1600/c01a4ddc-6a22-4b89-961b-caffd313ccea.JPG" style="margin-left: 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/AVvXsEhwfK9kirwn0f8QcnwfBl8YpH-r-mjqSt8u2aIaxm8_bimM8XnpYXp7nYRgCJeboWRSW2Mm-HBy-wNHNCRSJ7NjLC4MNgdMjLJ7Z-ZHPVVS1IV9AFve1z9s_vp4jp8sE9fJUwwMP8Xiygr19jCOEfJgECHq2PuKvEa43g2ShOtQ5vA_xBa4H-LOR25z/w300-h400/c01a4ddc-6a22-4b89-961b-caffd313ccea.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">I am Heather Morse Alexander.</span></div><p></p><p>Wife, mom of three, nana of two boys, with another boy due in December, disciple of Jesus, encourager, writer, artist, bookworm, vintage photo hoarder, flea market enthusiast, gardener, baker, plant lover, antique shop peruser, coffee drinker, and beachcomber. </p><p>I've recently combined four of my favorite things: Encouraging, writing, art and vintage photos. They all combined into what I like to call The Encouragement Project.</p><p>So far, I've produced two (en)courage(ment) books. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw6bGRTyLCsstWN61igMh9Sq446Sn0G5ouHxOUdTP4OAwbBph30Cywf2FYg5CrmTUVamlJZqfdOFiOyz7FT-IpvIDDwb6R9MhfuLsXdA53dQep2R8KAzdf2nqFJsMwgd-JAYUQnXHDk-G7-APAWtNNzu_d96bYsbOdrRt4Xu7slDipqep_J51NW7Zi/s3024/IMG_0643_Original.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2485" data-original-width="3024" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgw6bGRTyLCsstWN61igMh9Sq446Sn0G5ouHxOUdTP4OAwbBph30Cywf2FYg5CrmTUVamlJZqfdOFiOyz7FT-IpvIDDwb6R9MhfuLsXdA53dQep2R8KAzdf2nqFJsMwgd-JAYUQnXHDk-G7-APAWtNNzu_d96bYsbOdrRt4Xu7slDipqep_J51NW7Zi/s320/IMG_0643_Original.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>This one is a general encouragement book for everyone because we all need encouragement. Am I right?<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDBhG64cFx0YAjGz7oXfX_Pf4sPRZfvUT6hYSExnAfpOAVSg2Yb8pLoyF9wQ4G3JLkS055AsdOsyMX9P1MH6lNOPFbLcyaWwcY0mquhvz1TI9CyyIOlib0EcOStcqLUPPctiG71El4S3oFrKiHHPg-YDcRJr_OwzRPTE3GpzJwKtLEdmSFPL-j0lBW/s3170/IMG_0722_Original.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3170" data-original-width="3024" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDBhG64cFx0YAjGz7oXfX_Pf4sPRZfvUT6hYSExnAfpOAVSg2Yb8pLoyF9wQ4G3JLkS055AsdOsyMX9P1MH6lNOPFbLcyaWwcY0mquhvz1TI9CyyIOlib0EcOStcqLUPPctiG71El4S3oFrKiHHPg-YDcRJr_OwzRPTE3GpzJwKtLEdmSFPL-j0lBW/w305-h311/IMG_0722_Original.JPG" width="305" /></a></div>This one is for new moms...or moms of littles. Moms probably need encouragement the most!</div><div><br /></div><div>I have also written a middle-grade novel that I am currently in the process of querying. I love the creativity and work of writing a book, but querying makes me shrink like a wool sweater in the dryer. I am determined to do it, though. (Prayers appreciated!)</div><div><br /></div><div>Two topics that I'm incredibly interested in writing about on this blog are motherhood and grandparenting. I love both so much, and now that I am a Nana, I am seeing mothering from a completely different angle, and it is amazing and enlightening. Stay tuned for posts about that.</div><div><br /></div><div>I hope you enjoy what you find here. Welcome!</div><div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p></div>Heather Morse Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04598710189713611407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729251655913736384.post-50694904794144174832022-01-14T06:07:00.002-08:002023-05-11T07:04:55.018-07:00Connection<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjDVDN_kX0r15rApjycXkU60LPhLviGscCpjd5h7K0lFWFAOXwGJniEDvN3r6v55EXXIaPzmCXrvzO3HdKKONK7GJeJe6nJhfJtnYL-2XBVzVsNEVIDyS5xXUkh4SfTLNMr--O-b_1eWlXDREErh21YsQyDvuiJZZ2bZe9hoW4gl4kTiiwbdxkMGpnB=s2000" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="2000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjDVDN_kX0r15rApjycXkU60LPhLviGscCpjd5h7K0lFWFAOXwGJniEDvN3r6v55EXXIaPzmCXrvzO3HdKKONK7GJeJe6nJhfJtnYL-2XBVzVsNEVIDyS5xXUkh4SfTLNMr--O-b_1eWlXDREErh21YsQyDvuiJZZ2bZe9hoW4gl4kTiiwbdxkMGpnB=w400-h400" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>The above photo is a collection of what I'm calling Connection Cards.</p><p>Connection has become exponentially important over the past two years. </p><p>Face to face chats, pen to paper communication, or a good old fashioned phone call...that's connection.</p><p>Connection is life. Without it, we wither. </p><p>About a year ago I left social media. </p><p>Here's one of my biggest take-aways:</p><p>When I was on social media, and I'd see one of my "friends" out in the real world, we had little to talk about - we'd already shared our highlights online. We'd quickly exchange small talk and go about our day. "Gee it was good to see so-and-so," I'd think.</p><p>Now, we stop and share what's going on in our lives. We catch up. I really don't know how they are and what they've been up to - and I'm curious. I'm interested. I want to know! It's a real-time face-to-face "like" - much more satisfying than a number on a screen.</p><p>Curiosity is a big piece of connection. I feel like that's been lost over the past decade. We already know the highlights, so we don't ask anything, we've lost a lot of the skills of conversation and dare I say, how to be real-time interested in another's life. </p><p>So, I present Connection Cards...available in my Etsy shop. www.artbyheather.etsy.com</p><p>They're a place to start...write a little note to someone and brighten their day. Connect. </p>Heather Morse Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04598710189713611407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729251655913736384.post-55655472964355615882021-12-24T06:35:00.007-08:002022-01-16T05:17:24.063-08:00Merry Christmas!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiArrS_eqLecmUV0alNQB44x6xW0aILHZV4lTVWmarR9GOx3hKHZsaMrX1xf_AbGlW_TEJOUtv4a-rB-IG8ugKNS3z_fJsF6junmJ8epKu8mzhr7UdYjbYITciUbPKGkQeHqLR0Wl3-4-xSKItANfjE4sKSrmD9u4LE65qe4UQIMOh8t0cmq1cVLd_6=s1080" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiArrS_eqLecmUV0alNQB44x6xW0aILHZV4lTVWmarR9GOx3hKHZsaMrX1xf_AbGlW_TEJOUtv4a-rB-IG8ugKNS3z_fJsF6junmJ8epKu8mzhr7UdYjbYITciUbPKGkQeHqLR0Wl3-4-xSKItANfjE4sKSrmD9u4LE65qe4UQIMOh8t0cmq1cVLd_6=w400-h400" width="400" /></a></div><p>We just returned from an early Christmas celebration with family. </p><p>There's just nothing better than having all your kids together in one place...can I get an amen?</p><p>We spent two days doing Christmassy things in North Carolina...playing, baking, laughing, eating--all the best things...it was delightful. </p><p>I adore those people. They make my heart sing.</p><p>I hope your Christmas is filled with all the best things: Love, laughter, family (if you can stand 'em), friends, good food, fun surprises, and most importantly, peace, joy, and more peace.</p><p>May you know the most valuable gift of the season: Jesus. May His perfect peace fill your heart--edging out the fear peddled by the world. </p><p>I love the words of the second verse of Joy to the World:</p><p>He rules the world with truth and grace, and makes the nations prove, the glories of His righteousness and wonders of His love. </p><p>Amen.</p><p>Merry Christmas!</p>Heather Morse Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04598710189713611407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729251655913736384.post-34029873521412474672021-06-02T06:17:00.004-07:002022-02-07T06:44:25.342-08:00A Continuous Feast!<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XlD2fttcHzc/YLeEcRRk8xI/AAAAAAAAMDc/jPebvPHTkaM5LOwlAs1EhCQZQxlf3txVACLcBGAsYHQ/s1080/All%2Bthe%2Bdays%2Bof%2Bthe%2Boppressed%2Bare%2Bwretched%252C%2Bbut%2Bthe%2Bcheerful%2Bheart%2Bhas%2Ba%2Bcontinuous%2Bfeast.%2BProverbs%2B1515%2B%2528NIV%2529-2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XlD2fttcHzc/YLeEcRRk8xI/AAAAAAAAMDc/jPebvPHTkaM5LOwlAs1EhCQZQxlf3txVACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h400/All%2Bthe%2Bdays%2Bof%2Bthe%2Boppressed%2Bare%2Bwretched%252C%2Bbut%2Bthe%2Bcheerful%2Bheart%2Bhas%2Ba%2Bcontinuous%2Bfeast.%2BProverbs%2B1515%2B%2528NIV%2529-2.png" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">Proverbs 15:15<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">All the days of the oppressed are wretched, but the cheerful heart has a continuous feast. (NIV)<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">Our enemy (human and spiritual) would like nothing else than to keep us in a state of oppression—in fear—to keep the soundtrack of anxiety and anger repeating through our mind. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">Why? Because it makes our days wretched, evil, miserable—keeps us in bondage.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">But wise King Solomon, who asked God for wisdom and received it in abundance, gives the answer to oppression: But a cheerful heart has a continuous feast.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">But, I deserve what I’m due…an apology, things made right…I deserve to be angry!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">Then you’re free to stay in the first part of the verse.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">But a cheerful heart, <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">A heart that chooses to ignore those who tell you, “You can’t,” or “You’re less than,” and a heart that rejects being lumped in with people who look like you, but aren’t you, THAT heart enjoys a continuous feast.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">A heart that forgives when no one apologizes, a heart that rejects the lie that forgiveness is a pass—a heart that understands forgiveness heals the forgiver and heaps burning coals on the head of the oppressor, THAT heart is filled to overflowing.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">A heart that rejects hate, even when hating feels justified—a heart that understands that hate in all of its forms is straight from the pit of hell, THAT heart is at peace.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">A heart that builds, rather than tears down—that unifies, rather than divides, THAT heart is filled to overflowing with love.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">A heart that rejects the world’s economy of getting what we deserve, and embraces God’s economy where wealth is found in emptying oneself for others, THAT heart will have more bounty than it can store.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">It’s time for us to live in the second part of that verse. The first part is too burdensome to bear. We cannot change other people, but wise King Solomon knew that we can change our perspective, our attitude, ourselves. We can see others through the lens of God’s love, and reject the lens through which others choose to view us.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: start;">Enjoy the continuous feast, friends!</p></div>Heather Morse Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04598710189713611407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729251655913736384.post-39527628244321253602021-02-12T06:58:00.002-08:002021-02-12T06:58:10.572-08:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Lq_dYcxq0B4/YCXAT27GIbI/AAAAAAAAJzQ/_9HmZOLqVyYjI1tGDsbJc5wKOAO76wbMwCPcBGAYYCw/s1080/Finally%252C%2Bbe%2Bstrong%2Bin%2Bthe%2BLord%2Band%2Bin%2Bthe%2Bstrength%2Bof%2Bhis%2Bmight.%2BEphesians%2B6_10.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Lq_dYcxq0B4/YCXAT27GIbI/AAAAAAAAJzQ/_9HmZOLqVyYjI1tGDsbJc5wKOAO76wbMwCPcBGAYYCw/w400-h400/Finally%252C%2Bbe%2Bstrong%2Bin%2Bthe%2BLord%2Band%2Bin%2Bthe%2Bstrength%2Bof%2Bhis%2Bmight.%2BEphesians%2B6_10.png" width="400" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I’ve shared this story with several people and I am compelled to put it out into the ether to encourage others too.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">All of the turmoil in our world started having a physical affect on me last fall. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Tummy trouble.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Big time.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I saw a doctor and endured a battery of tests…they could find no reason for my issues.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><u>But I knew what it was all along.</u> <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">It was stress.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Worry.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Anxiety.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">With every anxious thought, my stomach clenched…I felt it real-time.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I’ve never struggled like that before.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">My heart grieved and my gut responded.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">This went on for a few months.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Then I had a dream.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">A vivid, sensation-filled dream.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Some may consider it a nightmare. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I never did.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">The dream lasted all of 10 seconds as most dreams do. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">This is what I dreamed:<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">My hand gripped a doorknob.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">My heart was filled with joy.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I was smiling inside and out – eager to burst through the door.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I never saw what was on the other side, but I know it was probably my family, friends, the people who bring me joy.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I pushed open the door, joy spilling over now, and began to take a step inside. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">WHOOSH!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Someone grabbed me around the waist and propelled me backwards, away from the room I was about to enter.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I was moving so swiftly backwards that my arms and legs flailed in front of me.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Faster, faster, faster.<br /><br /><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">My only thought was: “Here we go…” <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Fight or flight. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I was determined to fight to survive.<br />I took three quick, panting breaths and I woke slightly, but the dream continued.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">As I’m moving backwards, legs and arms flapping in front of me, I was pulled through a wall. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I didn’t crash through, <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I went through it as if a ghost.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">It was then that I knew I was dealing with an evil spirit …a demon…the enemy—<u>pulling me swiftly from joy (typical)</u>.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I was filled with relief. (Yes, you read that right.)<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">My only thought: <i>I have Christ in me.</i><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">“NO!” My voice was firm and confident.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">And the backward motion immediately stopped and I stood.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Free.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I woke up.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">The reality of what happened filled me.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I was in the midst of a power struggle.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Not the power struggle that was giving me tummy trouble—witnessing the struggle of our country, our families, and our churches.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">It was a power struggle within myself.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><u>I struggle to believe I have the power of Christ in me.<o:p></o:p></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Honestly, I don’t think I’ve truly believed it, nor acknowledged it until now.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">All of this (the virus, the oppression, the deceit, the division, cancel culture) is a spiritual battle.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Nothing new.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Same old battle, closer to home.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i>But I have Christ in me. <o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i>I am powerful.<o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i>I do not need human strength, ingenuity, or intellect to defeat the enemy.<o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><u>I have all that I need.<o:p></o:p></u></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">As I lay there, processing, truth seeped into my heart. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Into my soul.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I began to pray.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I prayed differently, though.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I didn’t ask God to do this or that.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><u>I prayed against the enemy of my soul.<o:p></o:p></u></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">As I prayed, my heart was calmed, confident.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I eventually fell back to sleep and woke the next morning, well-rested, the dream still vivid in my mind and heart.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Until that dream, I felt like a weak nobody, unable to do anything to change the brokenness, division, deceit, and the seeming surrender of believers and the church.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">But I’m not weak.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I have Christ in me.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Maybe you do too.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">If so, we are powerful.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Do you believe it?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">How do we harness this power?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Prayer.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i> </i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Pray against the enemy.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Pray against evil in specific ways.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Pray against fear.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Pray against confusion.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">SO IMPORTANT: Pray against deceitful speech and lies.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Pray FOR our leaders, in government and in the church.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Pray FOR wisdom.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Pray FOR clarity.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Pray FOR opportunities to share God’s love and encouragement, and the courage to jump on the opportunities as they come.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Pray FOR protection from fear when reasons to avoid those opportunities present themselves as valid. <u>When God calls, no fear (not even the fear of a virus) is valid</u>. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Finally, pray for other believers. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">The division is real, y’all.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Back to my gut. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Since my dream, my gut is calm, healthy, restored.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">This truth from God’s word reminded me that <u>my striving is useless in this war</u>:<span style="color: #202124;"> </span><span style="background-color: white;">For though we live in the world, we do not wage war as the world does. </span>The weapons we fight with are not the weapons of the world. <u>On the contrary, they have divine power to demolish strongholds.<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;"> </span></u>(2 Corinthians 10:3,4)<span style="background-color: white;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">When God corrected my perspective, my understanding of what was <u>true</u> and <u>important</u>, my heart healed, and my gut followed.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I’m so thankful.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I hope this encourages you to pray in a new way with new confidence—to boldly utilize the power of Christ in you. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">To <u>go</u> and <u>do</u> with power—the power of Christ in you! <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">The enemy is no match for the omnipotence of our God, <u>or the power of Christ in you</u>!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Amen? Amen!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p>Heather Morse Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04598710189713611407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729251655913736384.post-76990963883528135972020-12-27T15:23:00.001-08:002023-05-12T15:49:05.427-07:00Scripturient: A Book of Writing Prompts<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y2rwflJfd_8/X-kSdZBwIyI/AAAAAAAAJaQ/CuwFbE_dtX0V6RkEp93FvJZv-PWkm1y7gCLcBGAsYHQ/s2000/Copy%2Bof%2BPrompts%2Bto%2Binspire%2Bsensational%2Bstories.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="1294" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y2rwflJfd_8/X-kSdZBwIyI/AAAAAAAAJaQ/CuwFbE_dtX0V6RkEp93FvJZv-PWkm1y7gCLcBGAsYHQ/w259-h400/Copy%2Bof%2BPrompts%2Bto%2Binspire%2Bsensational%2Bstories.png" width="259" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Scripturient: Having a strong urge to write.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Pictures, prompts, words, and quotes to inspire sensational stories.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Do you love to write?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Are you a new writer?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Are you a seasoned writer who needs a little inspiration?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Are you stuck in a work-in-progress?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Do you have writer's block?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Maybe you just want fresh ideas.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This little book - 32 pages of inspiration - offers hundreds of story starters, fun ideas, vintage photo prompts, snippets from old books, memoir prompts,and lots of creative writing inspiration!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">You can find the book here: <a href="http://www.artbyheather.etsy.com">www.artbyheather.etsy.com</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Got kids?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I've got you covered!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ize6XkXW0Wo/X-kSlmtoazI/AAAAAAAAJac/j70tq2nzDnI91B5yZIdadFISc5hL3V4zwCPcBGAYYCw/s1080/Writing%2BPrompts%2Bfor%2Bkids%2521.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ize6XkXW0Wo/X-kSlmtoazI/AAAAAAAAJac/j70tq2nzDnI91B5yZIdadFISc5hL3V4zwCPcBGAYYCw/w400-h400/Writing%2BPrompts%2Bfor%2Bkids%2521.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Don't miss Scripturient for Kids! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /> <p></p>Heather Morse Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04598710189713611407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729251655913736384.post-90310232132516536722020-11-24T14:44:00.003-08:002023-05-12T15:49:44.141-07:0020 Things I'm Thankful For in 2020.<style class="WebKit-mso-list-quirks-style">
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</style><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wTmVL6aFCe0/X72MTPlukUI/AAAAAAAAJTM/1Crlnn78o8g6G-jTXJ74LUuXg29pgRR9QCPcBGAYYCw/s940/Copy%2Bof%2BWrite%2Babout%2Bthe%2B20%2Bthings%2Byou%2527re%2Bmost%2Bthankful%2Bfor%2Bin%2B2020.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="788" data-original-width="940" height="335" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wTmVL6aFCe0/X72MTPlukUI/AAAAAAAAJTM/1Crlnn78o8g6G-jTXJ74LUuXg29pgRR9QCPcBGAYYCw/w400-h335/Copy%2Bof%2BWrite%2Babout%2Bthe%2B20%2Bthings%2Byou%2527re%2Bmost%2Bthankful%2Bfor%2Bin%2B2020.png" width="400" /></a></div><o:p> </o:p><p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->1.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->My precious grandson. Beckham Arthur is a long-awaited blessing. Becoming a grandma, a nana is sweeter than I’d imagined. He fills my thoughts and my heart with joy. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->2.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Prayer. Access to the Almighty. The fact that the Holy Spirit prays on our behalf when we do not know how to pray is stunningly precious to me. I cannot chat with my governor or my president, but I can bend the ear of the Almighty who rules overall. He cares deeply about what we bring to Him, and I can scarcely fathom it.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->3.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->God’s Word. A treasure trove of hope. A powerful weapon against the enemy of our souls. I’ve read it more this year than ever, but it’s still not enough. The Bible is a gift from God—a precious guide for the journey of this life. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->4.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->My husband. My guy who loves to travel and be out-and-about has been stuck at home with me most of the year. I’ve rather enjoyed the time alone with him. We’ve found new ways to get away and a new rhythm. I’m so thankful for how hard he works for us every day.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->5.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->My kids. All five of ‘em. The pride I feel when I think of each of my kids is overwhelming. They’re smart, kind, funny, and I love them all immensely. Every moment I’m blessed to spend with them is a joy and privilege.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->6.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Fellowship. In a world where human interaction is considered risky, fellowship is in short supply. For those who need it (me), it’s been a joy to gather in divine appointments—encouraging others, being encouraged, easing the burden of fear and isolation.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->7.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Freedom. It’s something we take for granted until it’s threatened or lost. We lost a lot of freedom this year. I am more grateful than ever for the freedoms I’ve enjoyed all of my life. I pray that freedom will continue for my children and grandchildren.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->8.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->My best friend. I haven’t seen her for almost a year, but she has been an ever-present friend—a perspective-giver—a non-judgmental reader of rants. And she needs me back, which is just as important as her being there for me. Love you, Lora.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->9.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Friends. It’s been a rough friend year. I haven’t seen so many of them for ages. Others get together often. I’m thankful for all of my friends, most especially those who pray. Lifting you up and being lifted in prayer is such a blessing.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->10.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->The Grace Writers—also friends. I love you, ladies. You are a joy. I appreciate your faith, your stories, your creativity, and your encouragement. It’s been over six years of fun, and I hope we meet for 60 more…(or less). <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->11.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Making do. This spring, the shut-down kept us mostly home. I had to re-learn how to make do. I expanded my cooking repertoire and redecorated my house almost solely with spray paint. It was actually fun, and oh, so creative. I strive to continue that mindset.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->12.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Truth. Not my truth or your truth, THE truth. I appreciate constructive conversation and debate where the desired end is truth, no matter who is right or wrong. I honestly don’t mind being proven wrong when the truth is discovered like a hidden treasure.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->13.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->My home. I’ve been stuck in it more this year than I ever have, and I am thankful. Before 2020, its deficiencies annoyed me more often. This year, I appreciate every nook and cranny. It’s been a haven—a safe, clean place to invite others to fellowship.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->14.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Travel. I did travel a bit this year—flying only to visit my precious grandbaby and kids. I canceled more trips than I took, but I am thankful for the times we got away and explored the world a bit closer to home. I’ll never take for granted the blessing of travel.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->15.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Boldness. It wasn’t until my 40s that I allowed myself to be bold. A circumstance called for it, and boldness came forth. 2020 called forth more boldness from me, and I find I’m hungry for it in others. I want a decisive boldness. It’s time. It’s out there, and I am constantly seeking it.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->16.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Vintage photos. I love the peek into the past, the stories they bear, the humor, and even a profound truth. Back in the day, people only took photos of things they cherished, memories, places, people. Now we photograph every moment, missing them in the process. Old photos speak volumes. I try to listen.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->17.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Time. I don’t know how much I have. No one does. But in a year when we were pummeled by the fear of death, the preciousness of time has come to the fore. I’m not afraid of death, but I do fear squandering the time I have. Since we never know the length of our days, Lord, help me use them for Your glory!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->18.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Health. I was waiting in line at the pharmacy at Costco. The old, sickly woman in front of me had a loud voice and, when asked, gave her date of birth. She was one month older than me. I was shocked and grateful. Yes, I have the aches and pains of a half-century of life, but I’m thankful for the health I have, aches and all.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->19.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->The Church. I used to think I went to church...this year, I’ve learned what it means to be the church. I’ve scarcely stepped foot inside a church building, but the church is more important than ever. I used to be the donut lady, I miss that, but now I see how important it is to be the church to people who need people. To provide fellowship, to encourage, to keep in touch when you can’t actually touch. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->20.<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Treasure hunts. We spent a lot of time at the beach this year. We discovered the joy of hunting for agates. They’re beautiful, mysterious, colorful, and sometimes hard to find. The joy of searching is almost as fun as the finding. That’s true of so much in life…the ultimate treasure hunt. May we never stop seeking the good in every year…especially the challenging ones. <o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Heather Morse Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04598710189713611407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729251655913736384.post-10185493876321041832020-11-18T07:35:00.008-08:002020-11-18T07:35:53.434-08:00Homesick<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T1djNmLETg4/X7U6298nlYI/AAAAAAAAJSE/1j1Iq52_1iMnA0Z58LDKfR-8hSSbGxt0gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1080/Copy%2Bof%2BHomesick....png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T1djNmLETg4/X7U6298nlYI/AAAAAAAAJSE/1j1Iq52_1iMnA0Z58LDKfR-8hSSbGxt0gCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/Copy%2Bof%2BHomesick....png" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">When I was a little girl, I liked to go to my friend’s houses, but I <i>loved </i>my home.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">The excitement of a new place wore off quickly, and I was left with a pit in my stomach.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I was homesick.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Homesickness is that empty ache that only stepping through your familiar front door can assuage.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I feel that ache now, in my living room, fire in the fireplace, rain pattering on my window.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I look outside to the windy world, and rather than feel secure in my warm house, <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I am anxious.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">The storm is angry. Rain pummels the roof. Trees bend in the gales. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">A branch flies through the air.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">It’s dangerous out there.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">My gaze recedes to my reflection.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I see worry as water pounds the glass.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">On my face, a familiar, persistent, empty ache.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I’m in my home, safe and sound. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Lord, why?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Are you? He asks.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Are you home?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">It’s not the storm that makes me anxious.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Our world is changing.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"> <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Lord, our world is changing.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I know, child.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Then I recognize that pit in my stomach.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">It’s not the angst of my world spinning out of control, as I think it is.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">It’s not.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I’m homesick.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I’ve clung too tightly to this place.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I associated heaven with death, not home.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Suddenly I remember,<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">This is not my home.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Home is where my father is and where my Father is.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Home is a place prepared especially for me.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">When I was a little girl, heart longing for home,<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">A kind grown-up would let me call my mother.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">We’d talk, and I’d feel a bit better.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">“Make the most of your time with your friend,” she’d say.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">“You’ll be home soon.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">My Father in Heaven says the same thing.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Your journey isn’t finished, dear child.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Share your gifts until I bring you home.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I remember the feeling of crossing the threshold of my home after a long weekend at camp or a sleepover at a friend's house.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I had fun with my friends,</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">But there was joy in returning home.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I feel it as an adult too.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I cherish visits with my children and now my grandson,</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">And journeys to new places.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">But the satisfaction of dropping my bags on my floor, in my house,</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">And the comfort of breathing in the familiar scent, </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">tearing off my coat and plopping onto the sofa--well, there's nothing like it.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">What will it feel like to cross the threshold of my eternal Home?</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">It's a thought too wonderful to imagine.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">My citizenship is in heaven (Philippians 3:20).</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">For now, the ache will persist,<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">But the promise of Home is comfort.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Lord, help me to embrace the ache.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Use my gifts for Your glory all the days of my life,<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Until I’m finally Home.<o:p></o:p></p>Heather Morse Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04598710189713611407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729251655913736384.post-33937648450969819252020-10-06T08:53:00.002-07:002023-05-12T15:51:04.599-07:007 Reasons Why I Left Facebook<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lQW1tsNMG1M/X3yS5_KpEwI/AAAAAAAAJFY/L1aKKcs1mnsW7BkqFSX_gumdpsgo3haZACLcBGAsYHQ/s1080/7%2BReasons%2BWhy%2BI%2BLeft%2BFacebook..png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lQW1tsNMG1M/X3yS5_KpEwI/AAAAAAAAJFY/L1aKKcs1mnsW7BkqFSX_gumdpsgo3haZACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/7%2BReasons%2BWhy%2BI%2BLeft%2BFacebook..png" /></a></div><p>It took me a while to jump onto Facebook. </p><p>I wasn't completely sold on the whole social media thing.</p><p>But when I finally did, about five years after all of my friends, I found the connection to people I'd lost touch with over the years was a great thing. But I fell into all the typical social media nonsense. The frequent posting, the collection of fake friends, the updating of my goings-on. Why?</p><p>It took a few years to begin to see the drawbacks.</p><p>I deactivated my account and haven't looked back. </p><p>I don't miss it one little bit.</p><p>Here's why I left:</p><p>1. It's a time-waster. </p><p><span> I didn't spend hours and hours at a time on Facebook. I spent pockets of time scurrying down rabbit holes--time I should have spent on other things. I wasted time doing absolutely nothing with no reward whatsoever. If I could get that time back over all the years I was a Facebook user, who knows what I could accomplish!</span><br /></p><p><span>2. It's toxic.</span></p><p><span><span> The relative anonymity of Facebook is fraught with the license to insult, malign, and judge. I found myself typing hurried reactions to news stories...and for what? I deleted almost as many comments. Did I really think my comment could change an opinion? It's a silly release of frustration that amounts to nothing. I was a courteous commenter...other comments I read were utterly malicious and truly horrid. We're all entitled to our opinions, but I realized I don't need to type them for strangers.</span></span></p><p><span><span><span>3. Friends are not friends.</span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span> Not at all. I realized that I am not a person who needs hundreds of friends and Facebook really brought that home for me. Friend is not just a word for me. If you're my friend, I really care about you. I was uncomfortable having hundreds of "friends" who really didn't know me from a stranger on the street. It was disingenuous. The number of friends one had on Facebook seemed to be a badge of honor and I just didn't buy that.</span></span></span></span></p><p>4. It's informative...and not in a good way.</p><p> I love my friends, but I don't want to know every detail of their lives. For some, Facebook is a "person to talk to"...it is assumed that everyone will want to know an exorbitant amount of daily information. Yes, I unfollowed them, but even that doesn't stop all the chatter. It was exhausting. When 2020 ramped up it became even more tiring. I was convicted that my opinions are different from some of my friends. I didn't want to risk the real relationships by posting controversy. It's just not worth it.</p><p>5. It's fake.</p><p><span><span><span><span> It is a rare person who posts photos of their failures, their struggles, or their flaws. And when they do, it's typically for a reaction of some sort. Why? Those are things <u>real</u> friends know all about. The fake culture of "my life is so perfect" is a source of despair for some with anxiety and depression. Teens are especially influenced in a harmful way by all the fake perfection. I just couldn't be a part of that anymore.<br /></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span>6. "Likes." </span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span> Did I care about likes? Honestly, yes. No one admits that, but there it is. There was a time when I was bummed if I had a low amount of likes for something I posted. (ugh) In the last year or two, that need waned. I realized it was a shallow search for approval. It doesn't matter what people think of what I post. It doesn't. Best realization ever. What matters is real relationships. What matters is what God thinks of my social media behavior. What God thinks of everything I do in my day. </span><br /></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span>7. Propaganda.</span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span> I watched a movie recently (after I left Facebook). It's called "The Social Dilemma." It was quite an eye-opener. I encourage you to watch it if you are a Facebook user...any social media user, actually. It really confirmed my conviction that I do not belong on Facebook. The misinformation and the manipulation of information Facebook feeds you, is shocking. I do my own research now...I seek to understand and inform myself rather than trust social media to do so.</span></span><br /></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span><span><span>Are there good things about Facebook? Sure. But I think it's important to weigh the good with the harmful--to examine how our life is influenced and how our use of social media influences others, for good and for harm. </span></span></span></span></span></p><p><span><span><span>As believers, we must consider how we're using our time and talent within social media to point others to the Gospel. Facebook was an effective platform for my writing, but I felt such a strong tug of the Lord to leave, I know He will provide another way. He doesn't <i>need</i> Facebook, and neither do I.</span></span></span></p><p>I left Facebook a couple of months ago. My biggest concern was the loss of connection with old friends, people I didn't want to lose touch with. I found that I haven't lost touch with anyone. Those real friends are readily within reach via text or email, and since I simply deactivated my account, I can still reach people on Messenger. I will eventually delete it, my messenger activity is less and less. Another concern was all the photos and some messages I didn't want to lose. <u>You can download everything in a file</u>. Easy peasy!</p><p>I can honestly say that I am utterly relieved to be free of Facebook. I'm not trying to convince anyone to leave, but if you're on the fence about leaving, I encourage you to take the leap into freedom.</p><p>Free is the best word to describe how I feel. </p><p>*I still use Instagram...very sparingly. It's easier for me to scroll past photos. Instagram also tells me when I'm all caught up so the rabbit hole syndrome is solved. I changed all of my settings to make my profile private, but I connect to other writers there, and that's been a positive benefit. For now, I'll stay there but who knows what the future holds. </p><p><span><span> </span><br /></span></p>Heather Morse Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04598710189713611407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729251655913736384.post-66083336341069464412020-09-03T07:29:00.001-07:002020-09-03T07:29:05.155-07:00Motherhood...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-a63kbPRitF4/X1D2kC5HXbI/AAAAAAAAI1Q/2lMK_Uz2qGcuDSOdST1ec0vU_ILT1WfkwCPcBGAYYCw/s1080/Childen%2Bare%2Bnot%2Ba%2Bdistraction%2Bfrom%2Bmore%2Bimportant%2Bwork.%2BThey%2Bare%2Bthe%2Bmost%2Bimportant%2Bwork.%2B-%2BC.%2BS.%2BLewis.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-a63kbPRitF4/X1D2kC5HXbI/AAAAAAAAI1Q/2lMK_Uz2qGcuDSOdST1ec0vU_ILT1WfkwCPcBGAYYCw/w400-h400/Childen%2Bare%2Bnot%2Ba%2Bdistraction%2Bfrom%2Bmore%2Bimportant%2Bwork.%2BThey%2Bare%2Bthe%2Bmost%2Bimportant%2Bwork.%2B-%2BC.%2BS.%2BLewis.png" width="400" /></a></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I recently read a biography of Susanna Wesley, the mother of Methodism. (<i>7 Women by Eric Metaxas</i>)</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I learned a lot about her.</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Her husband was a loser.</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Nine of her children died.</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">She lived in poverty.</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Her house burned down...twice.</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Life was not easy for Susanna Wesley.</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">But she focussed on the education of her children.</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">She made it her life's work to teach them about the Lord</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Susanna Wesley knew the sacred importance of motherhood.</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Her son, John, founded the Methodist movement, leading to a world-changing revival. The abolition of the slave trade, child labor in England, laws against cruelty to animals, caring for the poor, and many hymns we still sing today, can be directly credited to her children--and to her faithfulness in mothering them.</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">The author ends the story of her life this way:</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span> </span></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span> "Anyone believing that the life of a woman dedicated to her family must be less than optimal cannot know the story of Susanna Wesley. Despite poverty, illness, a difficult marriage, and heartbreak in endless forms, she used her intellect, creativity, time, energies, and will in such a way that can hardly be reckoned. The world in which we live owes much of the goodness in it to her life."</span><br /></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">This biography encouraged my heart as a stay-at-home mom.</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Susanna Wesley's life is an example of mothering through the trenches with a focus on the eternal.</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Though imperfectly mothered, her children understood the grace she grasped with both hands.</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Through adversity, she trusted God and wasted no opportunity to share her faith with her children.</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">So moms, be encouraged.</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">As you struggle through yet another challenging day,</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Or wonder if you're missing an opportunity to do something more,</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Or feel as if you've already failed,</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Or wonder if all of your efforts will be worth the sacrifice...</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Fear not.</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">You are doing important work.</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">THE most important work.</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br /></div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Psalm 127:3</div><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Children are a heritage from the Lord, offspring a reward from Him.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /></div>
Heather Morse Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04598710189713611407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729251655913736384.post-13480262365564626692020-08-24T07:14:00.001-07:002023-05-12T15:51:35.416-07:00A Transformation...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VAsDWuzwTx4/X0PLJ2ZSxMI/AAAAAAAAInk/kM9KUtyW3Qs1GaMnq4dRocRd63D2YidHACLcBGAsYHQ/s1080/YES%2521.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-VAsDWuzwTx4/X0PLJ2ZSxMI/AAAAAAAAInk/kM9KUtyW3Qs1GaMnq4dRocRd63D2YidHACLcBGAsYHQ/s640/YES%2521.png" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">The transformation is complete.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I knew I was about to be transformed, but I thought it would happen with intention and awareness. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">It didn’t.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Ever since I found out I would be a grandma, I knew my heart was turning to mush. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I anticipated the feelings of overwhelming love.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I thought the transformation would happen when I held my grandchild.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">It didn’t take that long…<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I sat at outdoor church with my friend, her baby, and three-year-old.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I held the baby and watched her daughter play. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Her daughter found a pile of that soft, cool dirt that feels so nice on your feet. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">She’d taken her shoes off and was running her toes through that wonderful dirt.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I encouraged her, “Is it soft? Doesn’t dirt feel good on your feet?”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Her mother wasn’t happy.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I was a little surprised when her parents whisked her away to clean her feet and hands. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I wasn’t surprised they’d do that, but it didn’t occur to me in the moment.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Then she was back in the dirt again, and I smiled, then caught myself. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">What am I doing?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">They just cleaned her up!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">It was at that moment, I realized. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">The transformation is complete. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">There is nothing a little one can do that isn’t adorable. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">They’re precious - especially when they’re covered in dirt when they shouldn’t be.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I didn’t mind.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I’m not mom. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">It was a little taste of grandma-life—a spectacular freedom—undeterred by time or decorum or rules imposed by parentals.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">The house my kids grew up in, fraught with rules and schedules, and “no,” is now grandma’s house. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: medium; line-height: 32px; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">The land of “Yes.”</p></div>
Heather Morse Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04598710189713611407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729251655913736384.post-19585260952338165492020-08-12T08:17:00.003-07:002020-08-12T08:20:44.100-07:00Wake-Up Call<div class="post-body-container"><div class="post-body entry-content float-container" id="post-body-2228871349443707238" style="font-size: 14px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: 1.7;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 28px;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: lora, serif; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mlBe8_UGSVc/XzQHpkCLVuI/AAAAAAAAIbw/4TWWONMrMuwUtSHjnuThkYz1j8RApEUTwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1080/New%2BBlog%2BPost%2521.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mlBe8_UGSVc/XzQHpkCLVuI/AAAAAAAAIbw/4TWWONMrMuwUtSHjnuThkYz1j8RApEUTwCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/New%2BBlog%2BPost%2521.png" /></a></div><span style="font-family: times new roman;">Note: I originally wrote this post four years ago. It is even more relevant today.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: times new roman;">Who could have known the turns our country has taken in the last four years? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: times new roman;">We have yet another wake-up call...will we answer? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 28px;"><span style="font-family: times new roman;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman";">I’ve been very passionate about the election.</span><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman";"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman";">I’ve had strong opinions about the candidates—and my opinions have changed and re-changed as accusations and videos and emails have dropped like so many bricks.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman";">I’ve been upset and anxious and…I hate to admit, faithless. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman";">Until recently. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman";">At some point in the past couple of weeks I couldn’t stand it any longer.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman";">I had to let it go.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman";">I woke in the night and prayed…night after night.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman";">And peace has covered my anxious heart.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman";">Peace and a humbling conviction.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman";">The words that come to mind as I pray are…<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><b><span face="" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Be bold</span></b><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman";"><span face="" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman";">As I’ve pondered and sought answers I’ve discovered that we are in this predicament due to our own complacency. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman";">We dropped the ball.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman";">We shrugged our shoulders at depravity.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman";">We winked at sin.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman";">We have listened to false teaching.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman";">We have looked upon ugliness.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman";">And then we have the audacity to ask for favor in this election.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman";">Now that we find ourselves facing the consequences of our negligence, we ask God to save us?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman";">That’s one kind of bold, I suppose.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman";">Brazen is the word I would use.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman";">God doesn’t owe us the president of our choice. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman";">He gave us this incredible country founded by men of faith and principle.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman";">Maintained by bravery and ultimate sacrifice. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman";">We’ve let it rot.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman";">This election is what’s known as a wake-up call.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman";">Wake up, Christian!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman";">Stand up!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman";">Buck up!<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman";">No matter what the outcome of the election is, we have to get busy with the work we were put here to do.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman";">We have to stand up for righteousness. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman";">Tell the truth, even when it’s not easy.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman";">Love with grace.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman";">And…be bold.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="color: #313131; font-family: "times new roman";">2 Peter 3:8-12<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="color: #313131; font-family: "times new roman";">But do not forget this one thing, dear friends: With the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day. The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. He is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="color: #313131; font-family: "times new roman";">But the day of the Lord will come like a thief. The heavens will disappear with a roar; the elements will be destroyed by fire, and the earth and everything in it will be laid bare.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="color: #313131; font-family: "times new roman";">Since everything will be destroyed in this way, what kind of people ought you to be? You ought to live holy and godly lives as you look forward to the day of God and speed its coming.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="color: #313131; font-family: "times new roman";">It doesn’t matter who wins the election. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="color: #313131; font-family: "times new roman";">What matters is what we’re doing to share God’s saving grace with the lost.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman";">Our country did not end up in this condition because we were actively doing God’s work. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman";">We fell asleep on the job.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman";">I fell asleep on the job.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: lora, serif; line-height: 28px;"><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman";">I’m awake now.</span><span face="" style="font-family: "times new roman";"> </span></div></div></div><p><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /></p><div class="post-footer" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; color: #bf8b38; font-family: montserrat, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 50px 0px 0px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;"><div class="post-footer-line post-footer-line-1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(191, 139, 56); color: #bf8b38; font-family: montserrat, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 2.3; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><div class="byline post-share-buttons goog-inline-block" style="display: inline-block; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; position: relative;"></div></div></div>Heather Morse Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04598710189713611407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729251655913736384.post-36153471485255171302020-08-09T15:53:00.003-07:002023-05-12T15:52:16.220-07:00<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IxLkuq31gUQ/XzB-Yc1CjnI/AAAAAAAAIXE/onL8bWIF0qkcB6gN837aNyFbBnpVKk1kgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1080/The%2BRescue...%2BA%2Bstory%2Bof%2Ba%2Bdog%2BAnd%2Ba%2Bsavior..jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IxLkuq31gUQ/XzB-Yc1CjnI/AAAAAAAAIXE/onL8bWIF0qkcB6gN837aNyFbBnpVKk1kgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h400/The%2BRescue...%2BA%2Bstory%2Bof%2Ba%2Bdog%2BAnd%2Ba%2Bsavior..jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span face="" style="color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt;">Many years ago, something strange occurred in my neighborhood. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span face="" style="color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt;">A minivan parked on my street and a woman sat in the weeds, staring into the field.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span face="" style="color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt;">I noticed her as I took the kids to the bus stop. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span face="" style="color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt;">I waved. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span face="" style="color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt;">She waved back and continued staring.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span face="" style="color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt;">She was still there when I came home that afternoon.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span face="" style="color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt;">The next day another lady parked her car on the street, sat in the weeds, and stared into the field. Curiosity overwhelmed me. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span face="" style="color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt;">“Excuse me,” I ventured. “What are you doing?” As the words left my lips, they seemed a little abrupt, but I live in a small neighborhood in the country. It isn’t everyday strangers park their car on my street and sit outside in the rain and weeds, staring into a field.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span face="" style="color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt;">“I’m trying to rescue that dog,” she whispered, pointing.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span face="" style="color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt;">I hadn’t noticed the dog.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span face="" style="color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt;">In the middle of the field, a filthy mutt stood alone—his ears and nose raised as he peered above the tall grass. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span face="" style="color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt;">My kneejerk reaction was to climb through the barbed-wire fence and collect the dog so the lady could get on with her life. Two different women had spent two days waiting for the mutt to <i><span style="border: 1pt none; padding: 0in;">come to them</span></i>. As a busy mom of three teenagers, I couldn’t imagine spending <i><span style="border: 1pt none; padding: 0in;">one</span></i> day sitting in the weeds watching a dog, much less two.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span face="" style="color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt;">Instead, I asked, “Is it your dog?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span face="" style="color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt;">“No.” The woman’s eyes didn’t leave the field.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span face="" style="color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt;">“Whose dog is it?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span face="" style="color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt;">“We don’t know.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span face="" style="color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt;">“You don’t know?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span face="" style="color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt;">“The dog is timid and won’t allow anyone near. My friend rescues dogs, and we’re trying to gain his trust so we can give him a home.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span face="" style="color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt;">Don’t get me wrong. I love dogs. But this seemed a little over-the-top as dog rescues go.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span face="" style="color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt;">The two women spent <i><span style="border: 1pt none; padding: 0in;">two full weeks</span></i> sitting by the side of the road, staring into the field, waiting. I didn’t bother them—they didn’t <i><span style="border: 1pt none; padding: 0in;">want</span></i> to be bothered. Their sole purpose was earning the trust of the dog. They had food, treats, and water. Sometimes I watched them from an upstairs window. The dog inched right next to them, eating from a dish of food. I saw them touch the dog and stroke his back. But even while they had hands on him, they didn’t force him into the car.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span face="" style="color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt;">Honestly, I honored their patience but questioned their sanity. Who in their right mind would spend literally every hour of daylight for weeks on end to pursue a stray dog? Eventually, they all disappeared. I assumed the women succeeded.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span face="" style="color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt;">I’d forgotten about the women and the dog until recently. They came to mind, and I chuckled about the seeming silliness of it. Then I heard a whisper… <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span face="" style="color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt;">God offered His take on the situation.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span face="" style="color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt;">“You know, that’s what I do too.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span face="" style="color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt;">My inner chuckling abruptly stopped. I pondered what He meant. God sits in the weeds and waits for us? <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span face="" style="color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt;">Aaaah…yes, He does.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span face="" style="color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt;">God waits for us to accept His gifts of love, grace, and forgiveness. He is kind. He does not grab us against our will. He is gentle and patient—offering exactly what we need, adoption into His family. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><span face="" style="border: 1pt none; color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt; padding: 0in;">See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! (1 John 3:1)</span></i><span face="" style="color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span face="" style="color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt;">God loves us—he doesn’t leave any of us alone in the field of our unbelief. He wants everyone to have the choice to come to Him—to be rescued—or not. He waits in the weeds, the rain, the wind, in the stench of our filth, guilt, and shame. Do you see Him? Do you hear Him calling your name?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span face="" style="color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt;">About a week later, the dog reappeared in the field and the ladies to the side of the road. This time, they disappeared after a couple of days. Perhaps the dog was testing them. Do you really want me? Are you really who you say you are? Do you really care about my life? The ladies’ persistence proved their love.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span face="" style="color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt;">God’s Word says, <i><span style="border: 1pt none; padding: 0in;">For the wages of sin is death—</span></i>thankfully, it doesn’t end there.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><span face="" style="border: 1pt none; color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt; padding: 0in;">But the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord. (Romans 6:23)</span></i><span face="" style="color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span face="" style="color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt;">God proved His love when He sent His Son to die on a cross. He took the penalty for our sin, and all of our shame onto Himself.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span face="" style="color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt;">On Easter morning, He conquered death and rose from the grave. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span face="" style="color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt;">Jesus offers us the gift of eternal life. All we have to do is accept it.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><span face="" style="border: 1pt none; color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt; padding: 0in;">The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. Instead, he is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance.</span></i><span face="" style="color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><span face="" style="border: 1pt none; color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt; padding: 0in;">2 Peter 3:9</span></i><span face="" style="color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span face="" style="color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt;">We aren’t so different from that dog—we’ve all been a little lost, dirty, hungry, and skeptical. We all need to be rescued. This Easter, as we celebrate mostly alone, know that you are <i><span style="border: 1pt none; padding: 0in;">not</span></i> alone. God is reaching His hand to you. The weeds may be tall, but we only have the length of our one precious life to trust Him. Will you?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; vertical-align: baseline;"><span face="" style="color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt;">May you grasp how </span><span face="" style="border: 1pt none; color: #001320; font-size: 13.5pt; padding: 0in;">wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ. (<i>Ephesians 3:18)</i></span><span face="" style="color: #2f2e2e; font-size: 13.5pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 10pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: "times new roman"; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p>Heather Morse Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04598710189713611407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729251655913736384.post-6596317076542890822019-08-26T19:07:00.003-07:002019-08-27T07:28:34.657-07:00100-word Photo Story*<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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“He’s smart and handsome, and he’s traveled the world,” Shirley promised.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Mary wasn’t getting any younger. She was game for any date—blind or otherwise.<br />
She arrived at the grange hall at precisely six o’clock, dressed in her Sunday best.</div>
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“Hello, Mary.” Her boss strolled in the door behind her. “Did you finish the filing before you left work?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Yes, Mr. Dickson.” <i>Ugh. Why is he here?</i></div>
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Mary excused herself and escaped to the hallway. <i><o:p></o:p></i></div>
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Shirley appeared around the corner. “Mary, he’s here!” She pulled her by the arm and introduced her to her date—Mr. Dickson.<o:p></o:p></div>
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(97 words)</div>
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* I love old photos. Many of my stories are inspired by them. I invite you to write your own stories...and share them with me in the comments (100 words or less). You may use the caption or tell a completely different story! Have fun!</div>
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Heather Morse Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04598710189713611407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729251655913736384.post-25643101912538513382019-08-20T15:20:00.002-07:002019-08-21T18:19:01.646-07:00The Perfect Verse.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I like to write the scriptures...literally.<br />
The other day, I copied this verse:<br />
<br />
Hebrews 12:13...make straight paths for your feet, so that what is lame may not be put out of joint but rather be healed.<br />
<br />
It spoke to me.<br />
I wasn't sure why.<br />
I use a study bible, but there were no notes on that verse.<br />
Plenty on the verses before and after, but that verse floated in mystery.<br />
After reading it five or six times, I moved on.<br />
But I pondered it that day and the next.<br />
<br />
I recently wrote a new little prologue for my novel.<br />
Two pages of fun before the first chapter of the book.<br />
I liked it, but something was missing.<br />
<br />
How do I make it fit...make it comfortable?<br />
I prayed about it.<br />
Lord, I know this is right, but it seems out of place just sitting there before the first chapter.<br />
It's a whisper of hope.<br />
My readers need it before diving in.<br />
As I prayed, it hit me...<br />
Start with scripture.<br />
But what verse?<br />
I thought about it.<br />
And then I remembered the verse that jumped off the page.<br />
They jumped and jumped, and I couldn't figure out why.<br />
Now I knew.<br />
<br />
My main character has been hurt.<br />
She is nurturing bitterness as a prized possession.<br />
But what does Hebrews 12:13 say?<br />
"Make straight paths for your feet, so that what is lame may not be put out of joint but rather healed."<br />
<br />
Knock me down with a feather.<br />
<br />
She wants to be healed, but it's become comfortable to hold on to the hurt.<br />
Ouch. Been there, done that.<br />
<br />
Will she move to the straight path so what is lame may not be put out of joint but rather healed? You'll have to read the book.<br />
Maybe, just maybe it'll be published one day!</div>
Heather Morse Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04598710189713611407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729251655913736384.post-2018643375846159842019-06-22T10:10:00.000-07:002019-06-22T10:11:10.389-07:00Be still...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Today I am editing a scene in my novel about striving.<br />
The striving has to do with forgiveness...<br />
Nurturing bitterness as a prized possession.<br />
<br />
We do that.<br />
We protect our hurts.<br />
They're real, after all.<br />
Legitimate.<br />
No one would argue they're not<br />
But it doesn't help us to do that.<br />
It stops us.<br />
We cease to move forward and wear ourselves out in the deep mud of striving.<br />
<br />
Forgiveness is a thread running through all of our stories.<br />
We've all been hurt.<br />
People are like that.<br />
We hurt each other.<br />
But we hurt ourselves by striving.<br />
<br />
I write to tell stories of God's grace,<br />
But as I write, I learn.<br />
I learn about forgiveness when my character forgives someone who's not apologizing.<br />
I feel the burden lift as the words flow onto the page.<br />
She's finally free.<br />
And I ponder...<br />
Am I free?<br />
<br />
Are you?<br />
<br />
Forgiveness is the key to unlocking peace that passes all understanding.<br />
Yet we think we're comfortable clinging to our hurts.<br />
We don't know what's possible.<br />
We haven't tasted freedom.<br />
<br />
If we don't forgive others, God will not forgive us. (Matthew 6:14,15)<br />
Ouch.<br />
If for no other reason...<br />
But there <i>is </i>more to it.<br />
That freedom.<br />
Prying satan's claws off a stronghold.<br />
The lightness of liberty.<br />
<br />
Are you clinging to hurt?<br />
Are you tired?<br />
<br />
Be still and know that I am God...Psalm 46:10<br />
Let it go and <u>know</u> that He knows.<br />
He understands.<br />
He saw it all.<br />
And He doesn't want you to carry it any more.<br />
Take His freedom.<br />
Unlock peace.<br />
Forgive.</div>
Heather Morse Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04598710189713611407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729251655913736384.post-33308096556202030672019-06-19T09:46:00.001-07:002023-05-12T15:52:49.618-07:00My Cathedral...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Those of you who know me, might know I'm not a flamboyant worshipper.<br />
Worship time is one of my favorite parts of the church service.<br />
But...<br />
My hands don't reach for the sky when my heart overflows.<br />
I might clap, but only if someone else claps first.<br />
Singing is something I do rather quietly...I think...I hope...<br />
I don't want anyone else to hear me.<br />
(You're welcome.)<br />
I might sway a bit or close my eyes in worship but that's as crazy as I get.<br />
Whoa there.<br />
<br />
I have a hang-up.<br />
I confess.<br />
Sometimes I want to raise my hands.<br />
But, I don't.<br />
Why?<br />
Partly because I've been annoyed by flamboyant worshippers...<br />
People who disregard personal space and stick their arms in front of others as they reach for the heavens.<br />
Really?<br />
And partly because flamboyant worship can be deceptive...and that's all I'll say about that.<br />
(I'm being real here.)<br />
And...I know me.<br />
I don't want to be fake - to raise my hands to <i>appear</i> to be worshipping when my heart isn't in it.<br />
(I might have done that once or twice.)<br />
And I don't trust myself to mean it when I'm in a crowd of my friends and acquaintances.<br />
<br />
Just being honest.<br />
<br />
But I do have a no-holds-barred cathedral.<br />
No one else is there, yet people are all around.<br />
It's just me, God and whatever worship song is playing.<br />
In my car.<br />
Not every time I'm in my car, but sometimes.<br />
I don't doubt my heart when no one will know and no one but God sees.<br />
<br />
I turn up the radio and belt out my praise.<br />
It's loud.<br />
I sing.<br />
I cry.<br />
I pray.<br />
I raise my hand...only one, because Jesus won't LITERALLY take the wheel.<br />
<br />
I stop singing at stoplights if it's a crowded intersection.<br />
Then, when the light turns green, <br />
I laugh,<br />
And sing some more...<br />
<br />
I don't think I'm the only one.<br />
Is your car a cathedral?</div>
Heather Morse Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04598710189713611407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729251655913736384.post-78494876550362047172019-05-20T07:18:00.001-07:002023-05-12T15:53:31.628-07:00Coffee with Gentlemen (The time I had coffee with scientists and confounded them with a 5-letter word.)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I sat at a table for four with my coffee and breakfast sandwich in a crowded coffee shop in Connecticut. As I sipped my coffee, two gentlemen came through the door and one approached me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Young lady, would you mind if we sit at your table?” <o:p></o:p></div>
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I liked him immediately. Having recently let my hair go back to its natural gray, the word young—in reference to me—was delightful to hear.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Not at all,” I replied, waving them to the chairs on the other side of the table. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Thank you, it’s not often people are willing to share a table these days. I’m Robert and this is Rex,” he said, pointing to his companion.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“I’m Heather,” I said. “Nice to meet you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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They got in line and it wasn’t long before they joined me, and the three of us began to chat. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Do you come here often?” Robert, a short, balding man was the first to speak.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“No, I’m on vacation from Washington State.” I replied.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“We were just there,” he said, glancing at Rex. “For a climate symposium, brilliant lectures, very academic.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Yes, we very much enjoyed it.” Rex was tall and thoughtful. The quieter of the two.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“That’s wonderful, isn’t the Northwest beautiful?” I couldn’t hide my PNW pride.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Oh yes, it’s lovely,” Robert enthusiastically agreed, “What are you seeing while you’re here?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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I told them what I planned to do and see, and then they had some suggestions for me—which went something like this…<o:p></o:p></div>
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“She should see the blah blah blah,” Robert said.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Oh yes,” Rex agreed.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“She could get there by boat I think.” Robert added.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“No, they don’t have boats there.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Yes they do.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“No, they stopped running a while ago.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“I think they do. I’m sure of it.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“No, remember, we read about that in the paper. They stopped running the boats last year.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Long pause. “Oh, you’re right. I do remember that.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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After no less than five of these old-married-couple exchanges, it occurred to me that the men were, in fact, married. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“We're planning to visit Yale,” I said.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“There’s a restaurant near the library, a vegetarian place, it’s lovely.” Robert said.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Oh, are you vegetarian?” I leaned in. “My son is too, he used to be vegan—but not the militant, save-all-the-animals kind of vegan.” (I should have inserted my foot in my mouth right then, but I’m typically tardy in doing so.)<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Vegan is difficult but yes, we’re vegetarian and we do advocate for animals.” Robert said. He told me of his tour of a Perdue chicken farm and the horrors he witnessed. I redeemed myself by sharing that I keep a small flock of spoiled hens, none of whom would find themselves on my dinner plate.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“We should get some chickens,” Robert said to Rex. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“You think so?” Rex shook his head. Dressed in a suit, I could see he wasn’t the chicken-farmer type.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I took a bite of my dead pig and chicken embryo breakfast sandwich and felt a little foolish doing so.<o:p></o:p></div>
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They told me about a lecture series they’d recently attended at Yale—explaining that they were scientists. “It was quite enlightening.” Robert said. Rex nodded quietly.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Then Robert asked the question I always dread. “What do you do?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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I took in a breath and said, “Well, I was a stay-at-home mom for many years and then I wrote a novel. I’m working on revisions.” I looked back and forth between them for a reaction. They smiled and nodded.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“What is the name of your novel?” Robert asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“The Grace Writers.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“The what?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“The Grace Writers.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“The great writers?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“No, grace.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Excuse me?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Grace.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“The Race Writers?”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Grace.” I said the word loudly and clearly. Up to this point neither Robert nor Rex had any trouble hearing what I said, so this exchange was a bit odd to me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“G-R-A-C-E?” Robert asked, spelling the word for clarification.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Yes, The Grace Writers.” I smiled and took another bite of my death sandwich.<o:p></o:p></div>
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“Oh.” Rex gave Robert a look. Robert returned the look and their body language told me our conversation was over.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Robert turned to Rex. “As I was saying earlier about time-space continuum…blah blah blah…” <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ll be honest, as I finished my coffee and listened to his observations on the evolution of time and space and the dimensions therein, I was taken aback by how one little word had abruptly ended our conversation. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Grace had confounded the scientists—and the end of our enjoyable conversation confounded me. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ll grant them—grace is hard to understand. It’s mysterious and startling—not scientific in the least. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I hope my sincere enjoyment of their company allowed them to see people of faith in a different light. Perhaps they noticed that we’re not all that intolerant of those with differing beliefs—that we can be on opposite ends of the spectrum of belief, but still enjoy coffee together…so long as they don’t mind dining with a carnivore.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Micah 6:8<o:p></o:p></div>
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This is what the Lord requires of you: Do justice, love kindness, and walk humbly with your God.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Heather Morse Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04598710189713611407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729251655913736384.post-14008533899094531152019-04-21T06:43:00.001-07:002019-04-21T06:44:25.762-07:00Easter Surprise!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
Sixteen Easters ago,<br />
Our yard was abuzz with eight kids hunting Easter eggs.<br />
It was a beautiful day.<br />
The adults watched and basked in the sun, talking, laughing and enjoying the day.<br />
<br />
Then it happened...<br />
A low hum on the horizon.<br />
We looked around, nothing.<br />
The hum grew louder and then the cloud appeared.<br />
A dark mass of bees, like an airborne amoeba slowly moving through the air.<br />
We gathered the kids on the other side of the yard.<br />
We watched.<br />
It was amazing.<br />
Scary and amazing.<br />
We'd never seen a swarm of bees before.<br />
Then they stopped...in a tree in the yard.<br />
A living, humming blob of bees.<br />
<br />
We called a bee wrangler.<br />
He was THRILLED to help us on Easter Sunday.<br />
No, really, he was.<br />
Free bees? He was here in a heartbeat.<br />
We spent our Easter Sunday watching a beekeeper do his work.<br />
It was so interesting.<br />
When he was done, he took his box of bees and went home.<br />
<br />
A couple of months later my doorbell rang.<br />
The beekeeper stood on my porch with a jar of honey.<br />
Honey from "our" bees.<br />
How sweet!<br />
<br />
I tell this story because I don't want to forget it.<br />
Also, you never know what a day might bring.<br />
This Easter Sunday, keep your eyes and ears open.<br />
Something amazing might be humming on the horizon!<br />
<br />
He is Risen!<br />
He is Risen Indeed!<br />
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<br /></div>
Heather Morse Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04598710189713611407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1729251655913736384.post-63810839522954765622019-04-06T20:24:00.000-07:002019-04-06T20:24:36.666-07:00Locked In...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
I volunteered (or was I voluntold?) to chaperone at the Youth Group lock-in...an all-night-long party.<br />
On its face, being locked into a church with 50 (yes, 50) teenagers, and staying up all night (translation: do not sleep under any circumstances) to ensure their safety and welfare, sounded a lot like torture.<br />
But I did it anyway.<br />
(This is where I admit that sometimes I volunteer to do things I don't want to do, because deep down, I still struggle with the misconception that I must earn God's favor. For the record, that's a bunch of bunk.)<br />
My attitude wasn't great when I agreed to volunteer a few weeks ago (I might have whined), but as the day approached, my excitement grew...<br />
Not about the stay-up-all-night part, but about the getting-to-know-the-kids part.<br />
<br />
So I ordered a quad latte and showed up.<br />
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Those teenagers, they taught me a lot while I didn't sleep...</div>
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<li>They're magicians. 17 pizzas disappeared in a matter of minutes.</li>
<li>They are 50 different stories...interesting, funny, sad, inspiring, hopeful stories.</li>
<li>Many kids are seeking family (they may not put it that way), because they don't have a stable one. They're looking for a place to belong...to be accepted. </li>
<li>It's so cool to see 50 kids paying attention...listening intently to the message.</li>
<li>It's utter JOY to know students were impacted by the message...that it begged more conversation.</li>
<li>Even shy/insecure/quiet kids will stand up in front of 49 of their peers and SING! (I would NEVER have done that at their age.)</li>
<li>They're BRAVE. (See #6.)</li>
<li>They're supportive of each other. They cheer for each other. (See #6 & #7)</li>
<li>They're HILARIOUS. Oh man. So many kinds of hilarious. One kid took it upon himself to hide water bottles in the most clever places all over the church. Why? Because all night long, every time we found one above a doorframe or in a high windowsill, we laughed. Genius.</li>
<li>They like to talk to adults (to older adults with gray hair even). Did I, when I was their age? I don't think I did. I don't actually remember adults reaching out to talk to me (it was a different time). And, since I'm on the subject, teens are FUN to talk to. They're interesting, open, curious and kind. They answered my questions...and truth be told, I can be nosy.</li>
<li>They want someone to be interested in them. (See #10.)</li>
<li>Some kids do not need caffeine...period...cartwheels at 3am, running at full speed through the church at 4am...I'd like a teaspoon of what they're having, please.</li>
<li>There are EXCELLENT student leaders in the TGW youth group.</li>
<li>It is VERY satisfying to be included in their world...in their games.</li>
<li>It is even MORE satisfying to be sneeringly accused of murder and killed as a result of their utter disdain of your deception while playing their game.</li>
<li>But it is the MOST satisfying to get away with murder(s), after playing many rounds of Mafia BEFORE being killed.</li>
<li>It's fun to watch kids include each other, get to know each other and enjoy each other's company hour after hour.</li>
<li>Sitting makes one tired. Standing or walking or talking helps one stay awake (caffeine at 3:30am doesn't hurt either).</li>
<li>The dedication of the youth staff is inspiring. They care deeply about the kids. They love them utterly. TGW youth are so very blessed!</li>
<li>It is BEAUTIFUL to watch kids (who haven't slept) happily clean a great big church after having messy fun all night.</li>
<li>Laughter makes time go by faster. It was the fastest awake-all-night of my life</li>
<li>I take great pride in the fact that I did not so much "power nap" for 5 minutes, yet young whippersnappers curled up as early as 1am because they <u>just couldn't stay awake</u>...you snooze you lose. ;)</li>
<li>My "wall" is 5am. Good to know because I would do this again. I'd stay up all night all over again. They're so worth it.</li>
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I don't write this for any other reason than to encourage you. If you have the opportunity, volunteer with youth. I realize it might not be for everyone, but I think it might be for more of us than we think!</div>
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The biggest thing I learned is that you don't have to be "cool" or "up on all the things" to be a youth volunteer (I've never been accused of being cool). You just have to step out of your comfort zone and open up your heart...or agree to do something you don't <u>think</u> you want to do...and see what happens.</div>
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Those kids nudged their way into my heart as I yawned through the night and I couldn't be happier about that. They are the future of the church, the future of our country and they are about to be adults, deciding if God - if God's people, are worthy to associate with in the future. Knowing we care about them will go a long way in helping them decide! </div>
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Heather Morse Alexanderhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04598710189713611407noreply@blogger.com0