tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-298964142024-02-18T19:34:56.214-08:00The Thoughts of ThoraThe random ramblings of an odd but friendly red-head.Thorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13246973983963671802noreply@blogger.comBlogger111125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29896414.post-52560119441952494832016-10-14T10:53:00.000-07:002016-10-14T10:53:56.525-07:00The Difference"Do your best, and He will make up the difference," she said, as I have heard said a thousand times before. It's a standard theme, and it is a good theme. I think I wasn't the only one in that room having a mental image of carrying my load, struggling for the finish line, and then falling short, face hitting the dirt. Then Christ comes along and carries me to the finish line, and at long last the race is done.<br />
<br />
Yes, it is SO true that I, by myself, do not have it in me to be perfect. Yes, it is SO true, that I rely on Christ's redemptive power to get me where I want to be. Yes, I know that without Him I am nothing. I openly admit to my imperfection.<br />
I love my Savior, and I want to submit a different imagery for his divine influence in this race of life, one that reflects my own experience of Him. <br />
<br />
I have been in the post stumble phase my whole life. I feel like I'm in this perpetual state of stumble and He is there the whole time, lifting me up. <br />
At times, it HAS felt like He carried me, but let's be honest here, I didn't enter this to be carried. I came to run, to finish, to become something I wasn't before. So I don't want to be carried.<br />
I want to be strong, like Him. I want to be quick, like Him. <br />
He wants me to be strong, like Him. He wants me to be quick, like Him.<br />
We want these things because we know this race isn't about getting to the finish line, it is about becoming finished. Is He not the "finisher" of our faith? (Hebrews 12:2) Has he not prepared the way for all of us?<br />
Christ won, that we all might win, if we will only try.<br />
There is no competition, there is no clock. This isn't really a race, this is training, crucial, defining, developing, and deciding training.<br />
He is the one who helps me do better. He is with me each step, one at a time. He teaches me how to hold myself. He teaches me how to find the strength, so I can build my strength. He guides, encourages, and sometimes when I am too weak he lifts me and holds me. <br />
The more I walk with Him, the more it feels like we are one, like I'm not falling out of step so much, like somehow I'm truly becoming what I was meant to be all along.<br />
Strength and power flows all through me. Some logical part of my brain tells me that this isn't my strength, because there is no way that this comes from me, so of course it must be His. Yet He smiles, and tells me it is OURS. OUR strength, OUR power, OUR run.<br />
Christ doesn't complete for us, he doesn't finish for us. He completes US. He finishes US. He PERFECTS us. Christ doesn't make UP the difference, He makes the difference, He IS the difference. and He is already at it in your life, whether you know it or not. Thorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13246973983963671802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29896414.post-57727814984419985902014-12-14T14:38:00.000-08:002014-12-14T14:38:02.605-08:00Jesus didn't live the "perfect life"It's my Sabbath, finals are next week, and when I need the spiritual uplift the most I'm home sick with the flu.<br />
So I'm taking this bed-rest opportunity to bring my brain on-line, and as I ponder I'm sharing this with you:<br />
<br />
Jesus didn't live the "perfect life."<br />
<br />
What a scandalous thing for me to say, isn't it? But think about it again. Exactly what was there in His life that was perfect? <br />
<br />
His mom was pretty special, that's to be sure. Great gal that Mary, if you overlook the part where she was pregnant before she got married. Bit of a thing for her family and friends to overcome there, eh? Thankfully the Christ Child was not aborted, and thank goodness for good men who can be awesome step-dads.<br />
But then there was the little snag with tax day and long commutes and over-crowded health care facilities in a strange town... oh wait they did home-births back then, didn't they? It's bad enough to give birth in your car, but this woman did it in the hotel garage with an audience of animals.<br />
Some greeted Him, praising His name on the steps of the temple, seeking Him from lands unknown. Some saw Him as a threat, and just to be sure He was killed, killed an entire cohort of Jewish baby boys.<br />
So His life as a refugee began, and though I have no proof of what the Gaza strip was like back in Roman times... how many political refugees in the middle-east manage to build a good life? (No-matter which side of the Abraham question they are on.) His step-father somehow found work in Egypt to keep them alive until it was safe to go back to their extended families.<br />
The Bible tells us that Jesus grew and waxed strong in the favor of the Lord, but every kid gives his folks a massive heart attack at least once, and Jesus was no different. Joseph's usually-so-obedient step-son went missing, and with no Amber alert or nightly news, after three days of searching, they found Him. He had a good reason for going missing, come on mom, but then my kid seems to think he has a good reason for every crazy thing he does too. Like Mary I really don't get what he is thinking half the time.<br />
Mary's troubles didn't stop there. Sure her kid had a knack for catering, water into wine, and boy could he stretch a loaf of bread, but how many nights did she lay awake worrying? He was out there hungry in the desert, on stormy seas, consorting with lepers, Samaritans, Romans, and ticking off some very powerful people. He had a habit of walking into town and turning the whole place on its head. <br />
His cousin John was the same way, and look where it got him.<br />
And yeah... they got Him. One of his closest, one of the few who SHOULD have loved Him, betrayed Him. They took Him, they bound Him, they lied about Him, they accused Him, they spat upon Him, they beat Him, they mocked Him, they denied Him, they condemned Him, they drove Him through the streets like an animal until He crumbled to the ground, they stole the clothes off His back, they drove nails into Him!<br />
As she stood at His feet, He opened His eyes and saw her face, beloved mother so tortured.<br />Yet in His agony... even in His agony, He did the right thing.<br />
Christ did not live the perfect life. His life was HARD. It was hard from conception on. It was bitter. It was impoverished.<br />
<br />
But He lived life PERFECTLY.<br />
<br />He loved.<br />He lead.<br />He forgave.<br />He spoke out against evil.<br />He healed.<br />He sacrificed.<br />He taught.<br />He died.<br />And He lived again.<br /><br />My life is so much easier, and I am so much worse. So often I fail to do the right thing. So often I choose the easy path instead of the right path.<br />
<br />
So today, on my Sabbath, I'm recommitting, as I have done thousands of times before.<br />
<br />
I will love.<br />
I will lead.<br />
I will forgive.<br />
I will speak out against evil.<br />
I will heal.<br />
I will sacrifice.<br />
I will teach.<br />
I will live for Him until I die.<br />
<br />
And then I will live again.<br />
<br />
Because of the man who lived life Perfectly.<br />
Thorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13246973983963671802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29896414.post-24970157891485641802014-09-14T20:10:00.000-07:002014-09-14T20:10:13.605-07:00Right and WrongFor those who don't know this yet, I belong to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, so in other words, I'm a Mormon.<br />
<br />
It kind of cracks me up that people think we are full of hate when we are really a very loving people. I think it's because we have different rules of right and wrong than most people. So, in a effort to clear this up a little bit I've decided to explain what "right" and "wrong" mean to me.<br />
<br />
God in His infinite wisdom knows the happiest and best possible course and end for each of us. This is to become like God, literally. Our Heavenly Father, having attained this goal Himself, wants each of us to have all He has. So He has given us specific instructions, called commandments.<br />
<br />
Following commandments is kind of like following a compass heading. There is only one "right on the mark." Everything else is wrong. They are different degrees of wrongness, but every last one of them will fail to get you exactly where you want to go. Being 1 degree off or being 90 degrees off, either way, you are going to miss the mark. Anything that does not lead you to Godhood is "wrong."<br />
<br />
None of us are perfect, and yes all of us Mormons know we aren't perfect. As Christians, we believe that Christ can and will make up for our imperfections, after all that we can do. We don't, however think this is a one shot deal. <br />
<br />
We believe that God constantly corrects us as we follow our compass and seek to follow Him. He doesn't force Salvation on anyone, but He knows it is easier<em> <u>for us</u> to <u>allow</u> Him</em> to correct our alignment a degree at a time than to turn a huge amount. The fewer degrees we are off track<em> the easier it is for us to allow Him </em>to bring us fully in line.<br />
<br />
God doesn't force anyone to Heaven, we have to want it, we have to walk it, and we have to learn to accept course correction.<br /><br />So when a Mormon says, "We believe it is wrong to drink alcohol."<br />Please, please, <strong>please,</strong> <strong>do not hear</strong>, "I think you are disgusting and evil because you drink that stuff."<br />Because, what we <strong>are </strong>really saying is, "It's hard enough for me to accept course correction as it is! I can't afford to deaden myself to feeling God's promptings."<br />
<br />
We find safety, peace, and joy in walking as close to the right direction as possible. <br />
<br />
Now here's the part where people get really confused: It pains us to watch people we care about walking in another direction. <br />
<br />
People think, "You hate everyone who isn't like you. You can't accept that I have a right to live differently."<br />
<br />
That isn't true. <br />
We aren't about hate. <br />
We do know you have the choice to do what you want with your life, your eternity. <br />
<br />
We just wish you wouldn't make choices that turn you away from what we honestly, truly, 100% believe is the <em>only</em> path that ends in happiness.<br />
<br />
And, isn't caring about your eternal happiness... loving you?Thorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13246973983963671802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29896414.post-42380563774521103932014-08-20T08:59:00.000-07:002014-08-20T08:59:55.017-07:00Stage frightI've been singing in front of people all my life. I get nervous when I'm up there. I get even more nervous when I'm singing in front of singers. <br />
Why? <br />
Well, why do any of us get nervous? I get nervous because I think they are thinking unkind things about me. I think they are noticing every note that is slightly off, every word slurred, every time I get off beat, and I think they are judging me for it.<br />
I think these things because I've been around musician who sit there and unfavorably critique performances. <br />
<br />
But what's more, I think these things because *I* have sat there and critiqued performances.<br />
<br />
Oh, I try not to. I try to enjoy, I try to love and support, I try to fight the dark, judgmental thoughts that enter my head. I succeed a lot more these days, but I still fight them. I hate that I still have to fight, I don't want to be this way.<br />
<br />So naturally I've feared those dark thoughts in the heads of others.<br />
<br />But that thinking is on me too, and it's time that I accepted this. If my dark thoughts while others perform are my problem, then their dark thoughts while I perform are their problem.<br /><br />No matter how badly I do, no matter how sharp or flat, or even perfect or flawed, my performance is, what people think during it, what they feel during it, that's on them.<br />
<br />
I need to let that be on them.<br />
<br />
Of course I will continue to work on my own ability to listen with love and not judgment. Maybe this realization I had this morning will help me with that. Maybe I just opened the door to a whole new world of music for myself. <br />
Maybe, just maybe, I'll even be able to listen to recordings of myself and not hate every moment of it. Maybe even I will be able to actually <em>enjoy</em> hearing myself sing. Maybe I'll even get to the point with myself that I'm at with listening to my dear friend Kim, where I forget every tiny mistake because I'm too busy crying over the resplendent beauty of her playing. <br />
I kind of laughed at myself just now. All this time I've been able to love Kim's music unconditionally, and I haven't been able to do the same for my own.<br />
<br />
Sigh, oh how far I have to go... and yet... I'm so thankful for how far I've just come.<br />
<br />Thank you Heavenly Father, you're right, I needed this.<br />
Thorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13246973983963671802noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29896414.post-35170623254348923382014-06-29T10:49:00.001-07:002014-06-29T10:49:11.973-07:00Being a Mormon WomanI love my Heavenly Father. I love my Heavenly Mother. I love Jesus Christ. I love the Holy Ghost. I love being a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.<br />
I'm not a cookie-cutter Mormon woman. I can't stand scrapbooking, it's like nails on the chalkboard to me. I don't even much like doing crafts at Relief Society meetings (but that is just because I don't consider art projects that anyone can do and which look like everyone else's to be worth my time.) I'm re-married, semi-Goth, a Psychology Major, and my teenager is highly embarrassed at how tight my shirts are and how dark my lipstick is.<br />
I think of myself as a fringe of the fold Mormon. I'm in the fold, and I'm going to stay. I had my little foray into never-never-land and figured out for myself that the Gospel is true and that the true path to peace and eternal happiness are in the things I was rebelling against.<br />
I'm not heart of the fold. I'm not all hyper about how white my wool is. I know I'm not perfect yet. I'm okay with that. I'm okay with that because I know my shepherd is okay with that. I don't have to be spotless to be HIS. I know He loves me and is proud of me. I know what I mean to Him and what He means to me, and I don't have to prove that to anyone around me because anyone who spends time with me can just see it.<br />
I'm at the fringe of the fold because someone has to be there calling out to the ones that are still out in the desert. I've gained a lot of compassion and perspective over the years, and I use it to love the people others find hard to love. That's me.<br />
Some would think, "Oh, she's a strong independent thinker, I bet she wants the Priesthood."<br />
<strong>I absolutely do not want the Priesthood.</strong><br />
In fact I find it laughable that people think that<em> I</em> should think that I need it. I'm sorry... why? Why would I need it?<br />
So here's my perspective for anyone who is still reading accounts of us "downtrodden" Mormon women.<br />
<strong>I am a DAUGHTER of God.</strong> <br />
I have Heavenly Parents who are infinitely more wise than I am. I have a personal relationship with BOTH of them. I have seen the hand of the Heavenly in my life and I am so very grateful for it. <br />
I understand that my life is a learning experience. I am here to make choices, to ask questions, to get answers from a LOT of sources, and in the end to learn to weed out which sources are true. I am here to learn the taste of truth, learn it so well that it is the only flavor I desire, learn it so well that I can find the tiny bits of truth in all things and recognize it when something is pure truth.<br />
I am here to learn to be what I was Spiritually Born to be, a goddess. The path to renouncing all else and becoming a goddess is fraught with temptations and perils. My Heavenly Parents have provided a way for me to learn and get the answers to my questions. It is the BEST way there is for their daughters to travel this journey. That way is called being a Righteous Woman.<br />
I have no need to be a Righteous Priesthood Holder. Why? Because that is the BEST way for their SONS to become a god. <br />
They are different, but similar destinations. They are equal.<br />(Well, okay, in my heart of hearts I really prefer being a girl. Not that guys aren't equal to us, but it's just not my style. I am SO GLAD I am not a man.)<br />
<strong>Men need the Priesthood to learn.</strong> <br />
With all the HORRIBLE things that the world shoves in their faces and says "real men do this... and real men do that..." well it just stands to reason that God made a structured, guided, responsibility heavy, service oriented, program to help his sons know what future gods are really supposed to do.<br />
I mean seriously, guys are up against a lot, and it's hard for them to know what examples to follow, what paths are right. The real, godly role models for men in this world are very few. It can be hard for men to develop the crucial traits they need and to cut out all the stuff they don't need. The Priesthood is there to help them learn compassion, honor, selflessness, responsibility, leadership, sacrifice, kindness, unconditional love, self restraint and other godly traits. They have the Priesthood to learn to be like God.<br />
I don't need to horn in on that. I don't need to be part of that training program. I have my own training program. I learn from my womanhood every day. <strong>I am learning to be like my Heavenly Mother.</strong><br />
Yes I know, all those attributes that I listed that guys need to learn are things I need to learn too. Trust me I am painfully aware of how far I have to go. I just trust that my Heavenly Parents know me and themselves and the path well enough that the course they prescribed is best for me. <br />
That doesn't mean I don't question either. Honestly, the accusation that Mormons aren't allowed to question is absurd. Of course we question. We are just careful of where we look for our answers. There are so many voices, so we trust a select few. One voice I trust, that I love to hear, that I give great regard to, is that of our Prophet, Thomas S. Monson. It causes me physical pain to hear him vilified. <br />
People say Kate Kelly got ex-communicated for asking questions. Um, no, she was teaching her own doctrine. She had previously asked questions, gotten whatever answers she got, and then she made a group, put together lessons, and preached her own doctrine. She set herself up as a teacher of new doctrine... ie a prophet. <br />
That may be normal in other churches, but in our church we have a Prophet and we don't aspire to replace him. We are called to serve in the great network of church positions, and we do our best to carry those loads, but we don't push ourselves around on the ladder.<br />
And that's another thing. The way that God has structured our church, people think of it as a pyramid of power. Well it is a pyramid of sorts. President Monson is at the point, and all the babies in nursery are at the other end. It isn't about <em>power</em> though. It's about <em>service</em> and <em>responsibility</em>. So President Monson isn't at the top, <em>he's at the bottom</em>. The whole church is balanced on his mortal, aging shoulders. What a weight to carry!<br />
Yet, he loves us. He loves us deeply. That is why he is willing to carry our weight.<br />
I feel bad for Kate Kelly, I really do, not because she was excommunicated, or that she doesn't get to hold the Priesthood, but because she has such a view of her Womanhood. I feel sorry for her that she thinks she needs the Priesthood. That breaks my heart, that she apparently doesn't get that her power is inherent, that her responsibility to serve is inborn, that the greatest among us will be the servants of all the others. She doesn't need the Priesthood to help shape and form her into what she needs to be, she just needs to trust the process that is already in place for her as a woman.<br />
I pray this time away from the church will be a time of reflection and growth for her, as it is meant to be. I pray she will find the true path again, that she will come to understand the things that she doesn't, that she will one day be a goddess. God bless and guide you all.<br />
<br />
Thorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13246973983963671802noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29896414.post-22769867892558197992014-04-27T13:06:00.000-07:002014-04-27T13:06:59.331-07:00No Time for PoemsI haven't time for poems<br />
Now that I'm in love with you,<br />
I've not a moment to spare<br />
There is just too much to do,<br />
<br />
For who can write a poem<br />
While loving a love so true?<br />
And who has time for mere words<br />
With such eyes to gaze into?<br />
<br />
And who can make a poem<br />
Who could ever find the time<br />
To set aside such sweet lips<br />
And just sit, and think, and rhyme?<br />
<br />
Oh I can't write a poem<br />
Not Tomorrow or today<br />
For "Darling, how I love you,"<br />
Is all I can think to say.<br />
<br />
So I've set aside my pen<br />
And I've started greater things,<br />
Like basking in your presence<br />
As my heart inside me sings.<br />
<br />
No, I've no time for poems,<br />
Unless I am missing you,<br />
For when we are apart dear,<br />
Missing you is all I do.<br />
<br />
Thora<br />
4-27-14<br />
15 days until I marry my best friendThorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13246973983963671802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29896414.post-562926830982114932013-12-15T20:39:00.003-08:002013-12-15T20:39:35.535-08:00Fate
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">Fate<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">12/15/13<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">When Fate dies<br />
Is she reborn,<br />
Of her wrinkles and<br />
Gray hair shorn?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Begins she again<br />
With promises new,<br />
Just as good,<br />
Bright and true?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Rises she up<br />
Like Phoenix song?<br />
Is second destiny<br />
Quite as strong?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Or does she limp<br />
And falteringly take<br />
Steps into the future<br />
Her new life a fake?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Is she Fate who<br />
Once was dead,<br />
Or some imposter<br />
In her stead?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Is it possible<br />
To delirious be<br />
When my fate<br />
Has died in me?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I guess that I<br />
Will wait and see.<br />
I guess that I<br />
Will wait and see.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Thorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13246973983963671802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29896414.post-89143109597846439472013-12-10T13:04:00.002-08:002013-12-10T13:04:29.054-08:00The GiftToday was another one of those times when I have to stop what I am doing and find a keyboard quick, because a poem is about to spill out of my soul.<br />
<br />
Now I can go back to my art project!<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">The Gift</span>
<br />
12/10/13<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Which of the gifts<br />
The greater be?<br />
Be it to love<br />
Or to loved be?<br />
<br />
For passion is<br />
But passing flame,<br />
And loyalty<br />
May turn again,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But love, when true<br />
And freely given,<br />
Is found the greatest<br />
Gift of heaven.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Can love yet come<br />
To one so plain?<br />
Yay, love sees all<br />
Men are the same.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Weak and broken,<br />
Pitiable men be,<br />
When beyond<br />
The skin you see.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then love reaches<br />
Out her hand,<br />
She lifts them up,<br />
Makes them stand.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But not the touch<br />
Of love converts<br />
And makes a joy<br />
Of all their hurts.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Only in choosing <br />
To bestow<br />
Can fullness of joy<br />
Man ever know.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Thorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13246973983963671802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29896414.post-17711330155551752142013-11-26T22:07:00.000-08:002013-11-26T22:07:25.919-08:00The Poems I Could Not Share, Until Now<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Leaking Poetry</span></strong><br />11/26/13<br /><br />Leaking, <br />leaking, <br />my heart was leaking,<br />and all my words spilled on the floor.<br /><br />Breaking,<br />Breaking,<br />my heart was breaking,<br />and all my words did rush the door.<br /><br />Winging,<br />Winging,<br />my dream went winging,<br />back to the place it was before.<br /><br />And left me empty at the core,<br />with all my words spilled on the floor,<br />and love for you is borne no more.<br /><br />Then<br /><br />Healing,<br />
Healing,<br />my heart is healing,<br />and day by day is stitched in place.<br /><br />Filling,<br />Filling,<br />my heart is filling,<br />with every tear falls from my face.<br /><br />Until<br /><br />Brimming,<br />Brimming,<br />my heart is brimming,<br />when he I meet it starts to race.<br /><br />and takes up a new frantic pace.<br />Who would have thought this the case?<br />A love for me, the gift of grace.<br /><br /><br /><em><strong>If I'm feeling, I'm writing, but these I couldn't share, these I kept locked away, waiting for a day that will never come. But now it doesn't matter, so I'm opening the little box of treasures, come see the diamonds I sweated and the rubies I bled.</strong></em><br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Soliloquy</span></strong><br />4/18/13<br />(This one is actually a song, a very long song)<br /><br />My friends<br />say that we have got to speak,<br />if across this we would reach,<br />reach and hold,<br />hold and love,<br />to love and smile.<br /><br />But smile,<br />smile is all that I can do,<br />do when I am here with you,<br />be with you,<br />sing with you,<br />just you and I.<br /><br />So if I,<br />If I was to speak to you,<br />define all my words for you,<br />open my mouth and just pray,<br />these are the words I would say:<br /><br />When I say, "Hello,"<br />it means, "I love you."<br />When I say, "Goodbye,"<br />it means, "God bring me to you,<br />again,"<br />because my friend,<br />there is nothing,<br />no where,<br />no one for me,<br />without you.<br />
<br />
Then I,<br />Then I look into your eyes,<br />those truest eyes of blue,<br />no one knows,<br />knows and loves,<br />oh loves and trusts.<br /><br />But you,<br />You with all your reasons why,<br />Why we should not even try,<br />Try to love,<br />Rise above,<br />And try to fly.<br /><br />So if I,<br />If I was to speak to you,<br />define all my words for you,<br />open my mouth and just pray,<br />these are the words I would say:<br /><br />When I say, "Hello,"<br />it means, "I love you."<br />When I say, "Goodbye,"<br />it means, "God bring me to you,<br />again,"<br />because my friend,<br />there is nothing,<br />no where,<br />no one for me,<br />without you.<br /><br />Without you, without you,<br /><br />No, you,<br />you're kinda like a white knight,<br />ya always try to do right,<br />but it's wrong,<br />so wrong,<br />to take so long.<br />
Babe you,<br />Baby you just don't see,<br />Caught up in soliloquy,<br />What this does, <br />Does to me, <br />It's killing me.<br /><br />So if I,<br />If I was to speak to you,<br />define all my words for you,<br />open my mouth and just pray,<br />these are the words I would say:<br /><br />When I say, "Hello,"<br />it means, "I love you."<br />When I say, "Goodbye,"<br />it means, "God bring me to you,<br />again,"<br />because my friend,<br />there is nothing,<br />no where,<br />no one for me,<br />without you.<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Stillness</span></strong><br />
4/24/13<br />
<br />
I find that when I am far from you<br />
I am quiet, and still, still as can be.<br />
As if by my very stillness<br />
I could draw you home to me.<br />
<br />
For pace and prowl, so far you go<br />
the wide world you wandering walk<br />
and never stillness do you know<br />
or just to sit, and breath, and talk.<br />
<br />
I'll sit and wait, wait and watch<br />
facing east in my desperate repose,<br />
until like the sun you shining come<br />
and bring the warmth only my heart knows.<br />
<br />
So wander wild, wander long<br />
spread you sunshine near and far,<br />
but come, my love, and break my stillness,<br />
come and rest, my shooting star.<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">The Song</span></strong><br />
5/5/13<br />
<br />
I carry a song in my heart<br />
It plays all the time in my mind<br />
It plays be it whole or in part<br />
And never the end shall I find<br />
<br />
For you sing to me all the day<br />
and lullaby all through the night<br />
And all of the best things you say<br />
and all of the notes you play right<br />
<br />
My darling I sing back to you<br />
and hope that it plays in your heart<br />
that somehow you see it is true<br />
that this, my dear, is my part.<br />
<br /><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>On Days that I Hate You</strong></span><br />
5/14/13<br />
<br />
On days that I hate you<br />
I wear my high heeled shoes,<br />
not because you dislike them<br />
but because I really long<br />
to be tucked under your arm.<br />
On days that I hate you<br />
I flirt with handsome men,<br />
not because I feel disloyal to you<br />
but because I would give anything<br />
to have you claim me.<br />
<br />
On days that I hate you <br />
I wear my special earrings, <br />
Not because I seek to torture <br />
myself with a reminder of you<br />
but because I will always<br />
want you to be with me.<br />
<br />
For the days that I hate you <br />
are the days that I love you<br />
and hate that you keep me<br />
away from your side.<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Miracles</span></strong><br />
5/17/12<br />
<br />
What goes into a miracle?<br />
Of what are miracles made?<br />
It is hope? Is it love? Dedication?<br />
It is faith that refuses to fade?<br />
<br />
Oh what dost thou need for a miracle?<br />
What blood sacrifice can I give<br />
that the impossible will be possible<br />
and the dream will finally live?<br />
<br />
For thou hast my heart and my time<br />
Thou hast my strength and my might<br />
I gave all my dreams up to follow<br />
Just point to the foe, I will fight!<br />
<br />
But all of this stillness and patience<br />
That now thou seemest to ask<br />
I just don't know if my soul<br />
Is up to this kind of task.<br />
<br />
Oh God I beg let me bleed,<br />
Please, let me die, let me end,<br />
Oh let my breath still in me,<br />
Or come, save thou thy friend.<br />
<br />
<br /><br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Worthy</span></strong><br />
8/10/13<br />
<br />
Ask me not to answer, my love<br />
if I think myself worthy<br />
to hold thy strong and nimble hand<br />
and walk along with thee<br />
ask not if I feel, that thine equal, <br />
such a one, I could ever be.<br />
<br />
Ask not if I think I e-en deserve<br />
to mouth thy sweetest name<br />
or more if I e'er thought<br />
to be called the very same<br />
nay to this and all rights<br />
I ne'r pretended I had claim.<br />
<br />
For I know that those women<br />
who worthily loved thee and<br />
proudly beside thine glory<br />
did boldly live and stand<br />
were so much more than I<br />
In truth, I understand.<br />
<br />
Nay, I swear, thought not I,<br />
my meager self, ever to aspire,<br />
to hold thy great heart or<br />
kindle inside of thee love's fire<br />
Nay, instead sought I God's help<br />
in quenching my foolish desire.<br />
<br />
N'er thought I this very course<br />
would long and hard before me lay<br />
when but to banish thoughts of thee<br />
of my heavenly Father I did pray.<br />
Know not I, my dearest love<br />
what defense there is to say.<br />
<br />
So, thou finest of all mortal men,<br />
I beg of thee, please, to hate me,<br />
Laugh me to scorn, chide, deride,<br />
wrench my bleeding heart, berate me,<br />
then perhaps this the bond of God<br />
will somehow end, abate, for me.<br />
<br />
Till then, my love, I weep, and yearn,<br />
I wait. I watch. I hope. I trust. I love,<br />
while away from thee my pleading <br />
arms thou dost so roughly shove.<br />
Remain I, until I am freed from thee<br />
by word from my master up above.<br />
<br /><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>He Cricket</strong></span><br />
10/7/13<br />
Outside my window the cricket chirps,<br />
twice per second he counts my life away,<br />
and older I become with each chirp, <br />
never saying what I have to say.<br />
<br />
Then pauses he, as if to catch breath,<br />
but know I the silence in his song,<br />
he stops not to fill miniature lungs,<br />
but halts only when he moves along.<br />
<br />
And sharp the pain enters my breast,<br />
and jealousy into my heart doth race,<br />
for sings he all of the night long,<br />
in search of her he does call and pace.<br />
<br />
And sit I here, and watch, and wait,<br />
tied secure, but seemingly free.<br />
He searches all the night for her,<br />
When will you ever search for me?<br /><br />Thorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13246973983963671802noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29896414.post-32728940583381526332013-10-27T18:09:00.000-07:002013-10-29T10:06:07.503-07:00Good, Better, Best(or, in other words, why some people have expressed in plain terms that I am way too picky when it comes to men.)<br />
<br />
I don't trust my own judgment.<br />
<br />
Really I don't. I make pretty good choices, I stay out of trouble (for the most part), but I don't trust my own judgment, especially when it comes to men.<br />
<br />
Men, well honestly I don't know how much I get them as a species. I get individual men, adore individual men, the way I adore women. I just tend to adore <b>all</b> women, with few exceptions, and men... not so much. I have to have a pretty good feel for a man before I will adore him.<br />
<br />
Like my friend Miguel (name used by permission... well actually he was like "Why didn't you use my full name?!). I love Miguel. I adore Miguel. He is the sweetest guy. There is absolutely no guile in him. His heart is open, he gives until he bleeds, he works really hard at being a good person. He's cute too, even... okay especially... when he forgets to shave, it sets off that sparkling smile, the laughter in his eyes. I love to watch him laugh. Miguel has a light in him that warms everyone he touches, and he gives the best hugs. I wish I could just put him in my backpack and carry him around with me all day.<br />
<br />
So if I like him so much, why don't we date? Well first off because he's like my little bro and that would just be weird. Really though, it's because he's not My Best. He's one of my best friends, but he's not My Best.<br />
<br />
What is "My Best"? How do I know who is "My Best" if I don't trust my own judgment?<br />
<br />
Well those are excellent questions, my dear reader.<br />
<br />
I believe that in life there are many courses we can take. For instance, if we have to teach a lesson next month in church. We can start the lesson a month prior and work on it day by day. We can read through the lesson a month before and then just throw the thoughts on the back burner until the night before. We could start preparing the week before. We could not crack the book until the night before. We could even get up early the day of, open the book, and then just let the lesson happen as it may. <br />
<br />
All of these are good choices. After all, at the end we have read the material and given the lesson, right? We learned, our students learned, and most importantly we felt the Spirit. <br />
<br />
Some of those choices are better choices. These choices prepare us better, inform us better, sink into our soul better. They change us through the lesson before it is given, so that our testimony of the power of the principle can touch our students. <br />
<br />
Somewhere, in the infinite list of choices we can make about how to prepare a lesson is the Best choice for us to make. This is the choice we should be making all the time. This is the choice that does the MOST good. This is the choice that tips the balance between the lesson teaching us and the lesson changing the rest of our lives.<br />
<br />
Which choice we end up making is determined by our own style of teaching, commitment, and need for preparation. Not everyone has the same Best choice. One of my best friends and I debated this topic a bit this week, and while we both had excellent points we didn't really bother with a consensus. Why didn't we hammer it out to the end? Well because we are different people, and we quickly saw that we have different Bests and it wasn't worth pursuing some mythical mutually-agreeable answer.<br />
<br />
So My Best, when it comes to men, will be the man who doesn't just help me be better, who doesn't just influence me for good, he'll be the man who changes my Eternity.<br />
<br />
That's kind of a hard thing to judge, right? I mean I could go with any number of measures for this. I could go with twitterpation, stability, creativity, spontaneity, physical prowess, career choice, number of Temple visits in a month, dating track record, sense of humor, or any combination of those things.<br />
<br />
Of course, for most women it's a list, right? "He must have this, this, this and this or there is no way I will ever date him." You know what? I really don't blame them. It must be nice knowing exactly what you want. They know what to look for.<br />
<br />
Me, I don't trust lists like that. "Long walks on the beach," could be fun or torture depending on who you are with. "Strong testimony," can often equal "enormous big-head who thinks he knows everything about the gospel." "Elder's Quorum President," can just as quickly mean "popular with the guys and needs a lesson in love and service" as it can "put together, spiritual, and only single because he's been waiting for you." <br />
<br />
No, I don't have a list.<br />
<br />
Well, okay, I have a short list. Want to hear what's on it? Oh good, I'm so glad, because I was going to type it out anyway.<br />
<br />
Thora's list of MUSTS in a man:<br />
<br />
Honors his Priesthood<br />
<br />
Loves his family<br />
<br />
Honors his mother<br />
<br />
Has "The nod from God"<br />
<br />
<br />
That's it.<br />
<br />
There's a lot implied in that little list. The real deal clincher is the last one, and it has stopped me from going on several first dates. I know, what on earth am I thinking? Why am I talking to God about a guy before the first date? Isn't that a little... early?<br />
<br />
Well not really, not in my mind. Like I said, I don't trust my own judgment.<br />
<br />
What I do trust is my ability to listen to The Spirit. I uprooted myself from one of the best support networks I had ever known, sold pretty much everything I owned, crossed the country three times in one summer, and completely re-wrote my life story based on answers to prayer, and that's just a tiny portion of the recent list. A long time ago, long before I got divorced, long before the separation, long before I moved hours away from my family, I figured out that God was the only thing in the world I could trust.<br />
<br />
That trust has been put to the test, time and time again. I follow each "Yes" and "No" as faithfully as I can. It's the "you decide" answer that I hate. Just give it to me straight, I don't have the energy for this.<br />
<br />
Of course, I kind of have to laugh, because the more I get those "you decide" answers the more I look back and see why it wasn't a "Yes" or a "No. Like today. I prayed earlier this week about what I should do with my time today. I asked about stopping by each of the singles wards and felt no urge to go to any of them, which was a little confusing because previously I've gotten pretty clear answers. Well, what I didn't ask was, am I going to be laying sick in bed most of the day? I'd have gotten a "Yes" on that for sure.<br />
<br />
I didn't ask that though. I didn't think to ask. There are a lot of things I don't think to ask. I don't think to ask them because I have such limited vision. I don't see. I can't see. I'm pretty smart, but not smart enough to know which set of joys and trials is going to make the Best out of me.<br />
<br />
That's why I pray all the time. That's why I stay faithful to those answers even when they don't make sense, because I know that God is infinitely more wise that I am and I'm tired of screwing up.<br />
<br />
So if you are a good guy that has hit on me and didn't get anywhere, please don't take it personally. I'm not judging you. I'm not really even trying to judge you. I didn't look at you and think, "Oh no, he doesn't go to the temple enough" or "his abs aren't up to snuff." <br />
<br />
No, chances are I thought about it and didn't feel a "Yes." I'm not into wasting men's time, money, and emotional investment. I'm not into making the women out there that are <b>their</b> Bests wait a minute longer just so I can get the same answer next week, next month, next year, that I could have gotten right away.<br />
<br />
I'm not here looking for a Good man. There are thousands of Good men out there, and my marrying them would just end up hurting people. <br />
<br />
I'm not here looking for a Better man. There are hundreds of Better men out there, and my marrying any of them would just end up hurting people. <br />
<br />
I'm here looking for My Best, or I just won't get married at all. I can handle that.<br />
<br />Thorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13246973983963671802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29896414.post-18037928910586862342013-10-24T21:07:00.003-07:002013-10-24T21:07:43.893-07:00My Body
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>My Body</strong><br />
10/24/2013<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I look in the mirror.<br />
I see my face.<br />
My skin is slack,<br />
from years in this place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My eyes are lined<br />
from smiles and tears,<br />
my shoulders stooped<br />
from weight of years.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My spine is curled<br />
from stretch and lean<br />
and the creaks and pops<br />
you know what they mean.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My belly is slack<br />
and lays in a fold<br />
where once a child<br />
my skin did hold.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My legs are dimpled<br />
and dry and pale,<br />
and don’t ask me what<br />
is going on with my nails.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yes it seems that this life<br />
with its ups and downs<br />
has left me a body<br />
on which the world frowns.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I think with great fondness<br />
of laying it by<br />
and on to my perfect <br />
form I will fly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Then think I of<br />
the risen Lord.<br />
To abandon His flaws<br />
could He afford?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For now and ever<br />
my Savior stands<br />
with evidence of His work<br />
embossed in His hands.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I look at my body<br />
perhaps wrinkled and old<br />
and think of the life<br />
that through it is told.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It tells of my works,<br />
of my long and hard days<br />
of service and kindness<br />
of a woman that prays.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It tells of the yoke<br />
that I carried with pride<br />
for I walked with Jesus<br />
on the other side.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now a different kind<br />
of body image I see,<br />
I am His great work<br />
the body of me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Thorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13246973983963671802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29896414.post-66896538673871431032013-08-13T20:41:00.000-07:002013-08-13T20:41:34.491-07:00Endure It Well, and Observations on Being on Vocal RestThree more weeks of silence. Then I'll go to the specialist with the cool toys to look at my vocal chords and see what's up.<br />
I'll be fine I'm sure, things just tend to take time in my life. It's all part of God's plan to boost my endurance. <br />Almost a month ago God and I were having a chat during Sacrament Meeting. I said, "Okay, so I've learned to take leaps of faith, have hope when reason says there isn't hope, and I'm getting this patience thing down okay, so am I still missing something here? What do I need to do now to make Thy Will happen in my life?" <br />
He said, "Endure, endure it well."<br />
Stupid me thought he was talking about the trials I was already going through. Well apparently not, because let me tell you the silence is nothing compared with the other big thing that blindsided me and then the collection of other problems that have cropped up since then. <br />
And yet, while there are unexpected moments of stabbing emotional pain, boy have I learned. I've learned that sometimes we have to go through things, and it's not even about if we get to the destination we think we are headed for. It's about God showing us a path and saying, "Walk this, it leads to valley I told you about, and the journey will teach you to be like me." So we start down the path, and walk it faithfully. We deal with all the stuff that tries to knock us off track. We slog through the mire. There are times when we wonder if we will survive. <br />
And then one day it hits us... it's not about the valley, it's about obeying and learning to be like God. It's not about getting to some earthly goal, it's not about earning a mansion on high, it's about being so committed to living by eternal truths and revelation that we become more like God in every step.<br />
That's the difference between enduring and enduring it well.<br />
<br />
So yes, yes it is super annoying to have to parent 3 kids, alone, with no voice. It is hard on me to be unable to be heard, or to try other's patience with my slow responses. BUT it really isn't much to endure, and in the end, my other trials won't be either, because I'm focusing on wringing every drop of growth out of this that I can.<br />
<br />
<br />
So there's the spiritual stuff. <br />
<br />
Now for the funny things I have observed thus far:<br />
<br />
1) When you gesture at your throat to people that you can't speak, a lot of them get flustered and think you can't <strong>hear</strong> either. They raise their voices, or they want to write back to you on your paper. Naturally they are embarrassed when they figure out that they are doing this, but I find it endearing, because they are usually the kindest people who are so wrapped up in making things easier for others that they go overboard. Such angels.<br />
<br />
2) If you know any people who kind of give you the heebie-jeebies already, don't let them know that you can't speak. They may decide this is their opportunity to massage and stroke your lily-white throat as they murmur "comforting" things to you. Oh what's that? That's not funny? Don't tell me that. Please. Please tell me I will laugh about it someday, because I'm still a little disturbed. Heebie-jeebie city.<br /><br />So maybe they aren't funny, but I find them interesting at least...<br />
<br />
3) As much as I'm not heard, a lot of people make a big effort to listen to me, and I find it a wonderful reflection on mankind. I hold up my little sign and suddenly they extend patience and courtesy that they probably wouldn't have before. I get the most genuine smiles. <br />
<br />
4) People can't read lips. I mean some people can, and to tell you the truth I'd like to carry around a person who can read lips in my back pocket (but let's face it my butt is just not that big!) I've taken to gesturing, pantomiming, and using writing as a last resort because it takes foreeeeever. I am really lucky though because some people are completely uber lovely and when I walk in they will inform everyone else for me that I can't speak and fill in all the details that take forever for people to read.<br />
<br />
5) And that's another thing. People are slow readers. I mean, I know there are factors involved like a)Thora's deplorable handwriting, b) lighting c) nerves of having to read something thrust in your face and d) eyesight factors. I just find it amusing because I'm one of the slower readers among my siblings, but apparently I'm not a slow reader at all.<br />
<br />
6) Songs mean more when you can't sing them and just listen to the words and carry them in your heart. At least, to me they do.<br />
<br />
7) I've never listened so much to the way a congregation sounds during Hymns like I have recently. There are some lovely singers in my ward. I love to listen to them. There are some people who really can't sing at all. I listen to them too. No, no, I'm not wishing they would be quiet, quite the opposite. I am touched that they take their devotion to God to such a level that they would leave their comfort zone and skill set like that, just to praise Him. Bravo, Bravo, BRAVO and WOW! <br />
<br />
8) There's a little boy who sits in front of us at church. For months he has turned around during songs to listen to me sing. Last Sunday he turned around and kind of glared at me in confusion because I wasn't singing. I mean, I rather expected it when the first Sunday I didn't sing Bro. Pierce leans in his seat on the stand to see around the pulpit and sends me a quizzical look, it's just... it's something about a KID missing my voice. This kid has never spoken to me, he's probably headed into kindergarten this year, and somehow... somehow that makes his opinion matter so much more.<br />
<br />
9) There is someone I really miss talking to. You see, he can't read, he can't even sit straight in his wheelchair. He drools constantly and has no words to communicate with at all. The most sound you get out of him is a coughing fit. However, <strong>he understands</strong>. I love to get down on the floor in front of him and chatter away. I'll ask questions, and he'll respond with his expressions. He can say so much with his face. He has a terrific sense of humor. He thinks I'm funny, and a bit full of myself. I think I'd say just about any crazy thing just to get him to laugh his silent laugh. His eyes are almost blindingly bright when he's laughing. He loves his brother (who takes care of him nearly 24/7). He loves the gospel. He has opinions too, if you take the time to talk to him about things. However, if he's got one of those soft yummy pumpkin chocolate chip cookies he won't pay an ounce of attention to me. Just as it should be. Yeah... I really miss talking to him.<br />
<br />
10) I've been blind all this time to what it is like to have a physical limitation. I won't say I know what it is like even now, because I have a possible end-date on my calendar, and I've had all these years with my voice anyway, and I mean... it's just a voice. <br />I wrote to someone the other day that it is at rock bottom that we find our deep well of compassion, and I really believe that. I'm not really at rock bottom this time around, not even close, but I have gained so much. I have learned such respect and awe of people who face life with bodies that don't work like everyone else's. I thought I had respect and understanding before, but I didn't, and I'm ashamed of what I once called my wisdom.<br />
<br />
Well, okay, that got all spiritual too. Looks like I can't write anything without turning it back to God, but hey, when someone is the center of your life you're kind of going to mention them a lot, right?Thorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13246973983963671802noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29896414.post-31464482715645543452013-08-11T12:28:00.000-07:002013-08-11T12:28:00.011-07:00The MortarOtherwise entitled: What I learned in church today.<br /><br />Today in church the lesson was talking about all of our roles in God's kingdom. The book mentioned hod carriers, which... I know a hod tender, so I kind of laughed when it was said. I was disabused a long time ago about the seeming unimportance of a hod man. I am no longer among those who are unfamiliar with the crucial importance of the right timing of deliveries to the masons, the proper preparation of the mortar, and the importance of preparing the work site. <br />
The teacher went on with her lesson, but my mind stayed on construction (yes, I only half listen to the teachers in church, I try to listen to the dialogue of The Spirit with my spirit instead). I have a lot of respect for construction work. It is a beautiful, noble thing to build something. It is even more beautiful and more noble to build it well. My mind was full of images of hard working men, dirty, sweaty, skilled, swift, reliable. They worked with real things, tangible things, they created. Construction, in my mind, is a great art.<br />
Of course the Mater Builder agrees with me on that. How many construction related passages are there in scripture? Well I don't know either, but it's a lot.<br />
My mind then circled, not on the workers, but on the materials. What if the bricks weren't there?<br />About that time the teacher said something about people who think their job in the church is so unimportant that they don't bother to do it at all. <br />Not doing their job at all, yes... what IF the bricks weren't there? What if, as God, The Master Builder, was building heaven and ran out on bricks? Or what if, horror of horrors the bricks that he had put in place <em>ran out on him</em>? What would the structure of heaven be then? Surely not sound, if it was missing bricks here and there, everywhere, punching holes in God's work so it looks like Swiss cheese.<br />
I wondered if any of those missing bricks knew how they had weakened the wall. Obviously they hadn't felt that being where God had placed them was very important, but what did it do to the bricks around them?<br />
In my minds eye I could see the cracks forming, the wall bowing, the chasm opening as the wall crumbled.<br />
All from a missing brick.<br />
Was I that missing brick? Sometimes, perhaps I am. Sometimes I don't even feel like a brick, I feel like half baked mud, no... sometimes I feel like sloppy, messy, formless, ugly, mortar.<br />
I wondered how many others felt like mortar. I looked around. I could see a few. I knew they felt unimportant. We all focus so much on the pillars, the foundation stones, the big big blocks of so much weight and importance.<br />
Yet, were would it all be without the mortar?<br />
<br />
I think all of us feel like mortar sometimes, like we haven't become anything yet that could be of real use in the Kingdom of Heaven. How very wrong we are.<br />
<br />
You! You with all your pliability, you without the rigid structure, you who go un-noticed, seeping into seems, smashed between the big beautiful blocks, mixed up, scraped, slopped, oozing, <em><strong>you are the thing that holds it all together</strong></em>. Without you, the wall is nothing but a teetering pile. Without you it will never be strong. Without you all the bricks in the world could not build heaven right.<br />
<br />
Brothers and sisters, God needs you. You may not understand how you are making a difference, but being present IS making a difference. Being willing is making a difference. Being YOU is making a difference.Thorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13246973983963671802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29896414.post-30582192317985630342013-07-26T20:01:00.002-07:002013-07-26T20:04:59.564-07:00DoggedlyDoggedly<br />
(for my fluffy friend Donner)<br />
<br />
<br />
You stare, <br />
with every ounce of your determination, <br />
at the object, heart of your fixation.<br />
<br />
It sits,<br />
The center of your very life and joy,<br />
your whole world wrapped up in that little toy.<br />
<br />
You think,<br />
In your naivety that if you sit there, and will it,<br />
that somehow God will move and fulfill it.<br />
<br />
The world,<br />
it laughs at you, dog, it thinks you senseless,<br />
for the lack of logic, for being so ridiculous.<br />
<br />
Don't you know?<br />
Can't you see that it's pointless to dream?<br />
What a simpleton you always seem.<br />
<br />
But hope,<br />
hang on with your last ounce of tenacity,<br />
then God will grant in His felicity.<br />
<br />
I know,<br />
why you pant in your anticipation,<br />
frozen in your assigned station.<br />
<br />
For I<br />
know why you sit, watch, and wait,<br />
for God to reach, and roll your fate.<br />
<br />
Thora<br />
7/26/13Thorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13246973983963671802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29896414.post-13365340920063489602013-06-30T11:37:00.001-07:002013-06-30T11:37:25.550-07:00Life is HomeworkMy whole life I've heard it, "Life is a test." <br />
<br />
Well no, I don't really think it is. I don't think it is because right now I'm a full time student. I take tests, and because it is summer term I often take more than one test in a day. What fills my life is not tests though, it is homework, hours and hours and hours of homework.<br />
<br />
I was sitting there the other day, math book open to a page filled with problems. Yes, problems. They call them problems. They are things we have to solve, or maybe just simplify, which while it takes less work is kind of annoying because there is no resolution. They start at the beginning of the page with easy problems, and then as the hours wear on and the pencil wears down things get a little more complicated.<br />
<br />
As I tackled problem after problem that day I realized that I was indeed learning through this process, because I looked at a new problem and didn't have the panic attack I'd had on the last one. I knew what to do now, because I'd worked through that last one. I had learned from my experience. I applied the process I had learned, and with my understanding of the principles of mathematics I zipped right through that quadratic equation. <br />
<br />
I find that my life is much the same. I come up against the same problems over and over. I'm impatient, passionate about all the wrong things, somewhat snarly, too emotional at times and at other times far too apathetic. <br />
<br />
If life was a test, I'd flat out fail. That's why I'm so glad it is homework instead. Yes it's annoying and takes f-o-r-e-v-e-r-r-r-r-r-r-r. Yes I get tired of facing the same issue with a little twist, time and time again. But I cannot even begin to express how grateful I am that I got a second chance on something I blew it on yesterday, because I can do this, I can learn. I can learn and grow and mature and someday, someday I'm going to be like my math teacher and think it's all great fun.<br />
<br />
So my friends, do your homework For God is wise and wants nothing more than to see you graduate with honors.Thorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13246973983963671802noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29896414.post-22366566495965200422013-05-07T19:59:00.003-07:002013-05-07T19:59:49.828-07:00Rain
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Rain<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">What is it in rain that hushes the soul? <br />
When the skies they do cry, as out of control,<br />
Perhaps through their tears I am washed clean<br />
Is this what this quiet within me means?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Do the rivers and streams on my windowsill<br />
Reflect hopes and dreams carried in me still?<br />
Does the plip-plop of rain drops upon the ground<br />
Echo the skipping of my heart’s sound?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Be it thus? Am I air? Are thus we all light?<br />
Born are we for atmospheric flight?<br />
And then when heavy fall we to the ground?<br />
In this is the cycle of all life found?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Oh fall heavy rain, fall morning mist,<br />
Essence of heaven that all of us miss.<br />
Fall all around me, wash my mind clean,<br />
That home to my heaven go I in my dreams.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
Thora<br />5/7/13Thorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13246973983963671802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29896414.post-23354085192830662512013-04-26T10:39:00.000-07:002013-04-26T10:43:27.996-07:00Bring her flowersThe other day my friends came to pick me up, this is a regular thing as my arm heals to the point where I can brave the highway. As usual John got out of the car to open my door for me. He does this, not because I am the one-armed-wonder-woman, but because opening doors for women is part of who he is.<br />
<br />
Before he let me pass him he requested, in that gentle voice of his, that I close my eyes and hold out my hand. I willingly obliged not knowing what to expect and surprised at bit at myself for trusting him. I don't really trust men in general. I'm working on it, but let's be honest, I don't.<br />
<br />
Into my hand was placed something long and somewhat smooth, and there was a fluttering feeling in the instant before I opened my eyes. For half of that instant I thought it was a lizard, which, if you know anything about me, would have been quite welcome. However, it wasn't a lizard. It was a flower, a beautiful, open, yellow rose. It was fragrant, in the way only garden grown flowers can be. I quickly heeded his suggestion that I put it in water before we left, and it's this bright happy spot on the counter in my kitchen.<br />
<br />
Now, lest some of you *cough, my dearly protective brothers, cough* get ideas, John is just a friend. He's the guy lucky enough to take Jessica out several times a week. He's one of my secret-keepers. He's a wonderful, dear, soul. I love that he brought me a yellow rose, instead of the ones he brings Jessi all the time, because the yellow rose is the rose of friendship. I doubt he knows that... or maybe he does, but all the same I am touched that he did it.<br />
<br />
It's funny, really, because over the years I'd rather come to hate flowers, and yellow is my least favorite color, and yet this yellow rose brings me great joy. <br />
<br />
"Why did you hate flowers?" You may ask of me, and I will answer you now. I can, because I started contemplating on this a few weeks ago. I hated flowers because they were the symbol of a man seeing something beautiful, and thinking of me.<br />
<br />
I remember one time I was out with friends, once again accompanied not by a man who I was involved with, but by the man dating my best friend. We were riding in his newly completed go-cart, and he took a turn that ended with the wheel snapped off the cart, and under the cage, while we sat in the clearing dust. We had to walk back. <br />
<br />
As we walked he reached out and snapped a wild flower off its mother plant and presented it to me. It was a spontaneous gift, and I found it a very sweet gesture. He probably thought nothing of it, but it has stayed with me.<br />
<br />
I've gotten flowers at other times, cut flowers on dates or for special occasions. First into a vase they would go, and then upside-down on the wall to dry. I also often get flowers from my children, and they have always been beautiful.<br />
<br />
I got flowers from my then-husband, on occasion, but ONLY under some external pressure from friends, family, or society. One time he even went out the day after Valentines, bought a bunch of roses, scattered the petals in a bath, up the hall, and all over the bed.<br />
<br />
Then I found out that the woman he had insisted we host for Valentines dinner the night before, was his lover.<br />
<br />
So, over time I had grown to hate flowers, because the thing that had once to me been the symbol of gentility, was now the thing men throw at you to get in your good graces, whether they deserve to be in your good graces or not. I didn't want to be bitter like that, but I was. I was bitter because every vase of flowers I saw, every ad for a holiday where one might expect flowers cut me like a knife. I didn't expect them, I didn't want them, because it was all a lie. Men did not love me enough to see something beautiful and think of me.<br />
<br />
I cry as I write this, and I laugh at myself too. I'm not crying because I'm mad or sad that my life was this way. I'm crying because I'm loving that I was WRONG. Men, good men, kind men, do love me. They do think of me when they see something beautiful. Right now it's not men I'm dating, because I'm not dating. (Notice the period.) I have been very blessed however to have met a number of men over the last few months, no... that's wrong, I've met many men over the years who have cared about me enough to think of me. Granted, they couldn't bring me flowers, that was the office of one who... well didn't even want the office, but they still cared.<br />
<br />
Slowly, one guy-friend at a time I am learning to love flowers and gifts again (and you would not believe some of the thoughtful gifts I've been given lately.) I'm learning to close my eyes and put my hand out and trust again. I'm learning that while I seek to do good in the world, simply because I despair to think of doing harm, there are those who echo that sentiment. I'm learning that there truly are good men in the world who can care about, think about, and give to a woman, even if they require nothing but her smile in return.<br />
<br />
So gentlemen, bring her flowers, and if it be not flowers, bring her something that somehow says, "You are in my thoughts." Call her at lunch. Do the dishes with her. Hold her hand. Write her a poem. Make something for her. Spend time with her. Listen to her, and ask her questions about her life. Watch a chick-flick. Open the door for her. Pay attention to her hobbies and get her something hobby-related, she will be touched that you paid attention.<br />
<br />
In little ways, every day, tell her you love her, and under your husbandry she will bloom all the brighter.Thorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13246973983963671802noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29896414.post-83426105619944966432013-04-19T21:15:00.001-07:002013-04-19T21:15:51.664-07:00On Turning 34It's become a bit of a tradition now to pause on my birthday and try to look both ways down the path of life. I don't know how long I'll be able to make this, my arm cramps up pretty quick typing as my bicep recovers from surgery, but we shall see.<br />
<br />
I could never have predicted how much my life would change this year. I look back and on my birthday last year, I was steps away from a massive leap of faith. I didn't know then how soon I would be allowed to take it, but take it I did with whole heart. <br />
<br />
I landed here, in St. George, having met previously a handful of locals. They reached out and gave me a roof, a job, and instant friends. I have never met people more generous, guile-less, and anxious to serve.<br />
<br />
Not that life here didn't have it's problems. I had trials of health, legal trials, financial trials, and for some reason they all crowded in at once. I was better armed than my adversary though. No matter how hard the devil tried to get me down my angels lifted me up.<br />
<br />
It's funny because it was really, really hard at moments, but I would get through those moments and look back thinking, "Well, that wasn't so bad." It wasn't long before I realised that my feet weren't even touching the ground anymore. I was being carried.<br />
<br />
To be honest, that's a disconcerting state, to know that, no matter how long you have been a hard-working-do-it-yourself-er, that God is INSISTING on carrying you. I decided long ago to stop fighting God, so I watched as He took the last vestiges of control of my life out of my hands. Then He showed me what He offered instead.<br />
<br />
My dear friend told me the other day that this time is the happiest she has ever known, and I couldn't agree more. I don't know if heaven itself could hold more joy than I feel these days. Each day I am staggered by the blessings of God, each day I shake my head in wonder.<br />
<br />
My friends tell me I deserve it, as if any person could earn bliss like this, as if any person's heart was made to accommodate this much love and joy. No, I don't deserve it. I have so many flaws. I am so impatient, so quick to indignation, so selfish, so carnal, and land can I be lazy. So I must credit my joy to God's generosity alone.<br />
<br />
I still have problems, like the cramp that is getting worse in my arm with every word, and the money issues that I will likely have forever, but those problems aren't in my hands anymore. I will do all I can, rest assured, but there is only so much I can do. God will do the rest. I know because he already has, again and again.<br />
<br />
33 was honestly the best year of my life, but I think 34 is going to be better. I'll start school, get on the road to that psychology degree I've been putting off all these years. I'll work. I'll teach my kids through love. Maybe, just maybe, I'll find love too, in a man with a heart like mine, with a devotion to God like mine, for that is all I require. This is my path, the one I float down, the one that cannot hurt me only heal me, teach me, and make me better.<br /><br />So today, on my birthday I make a wish. I wish everyone could have this kind of relationship with God, so we could all be this happy, for I love you all and wish you all true joy.<br /><br />God Bless,<br /><br />ThoraThorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13246973983963671802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29896414.post-45711195098126622282013-04-18T19:33:00.000-07:002013-04-18T19:33:53.524-07:00The Labels We Wear(This has taken me days to type because I'm recovering from surgery and get a cramp in my newly repaired bicep after a few paragraphs. I needed to get it out though, so here it is.)<br /><br />My 12 year old daughter came to me a few weeks ago. She said she wanted to get gauges.<br />
<br />
Yup, gauges, as in stretch your ear lobe to massive proportions to fit around a piercing big enough to dunk a basketball through. Those gauges.<br />
<br />
I managed not to panic.<br />
<br />
I then pulled out "The Talk." No, not the one about sex, because we've had that and will continue to have it as she ages. No, I pulled out the other "Talk" that I've been formulating in my mind for years. It's the talk I wish someone had given me when I was her age, you know, when I lived in Reno and thought the "fancy women" on street corners and the even LESS clad women on casino billboards were the kind of women all men wanted.<br />
<br />
Apparently not everyone has this talk in their arsenal though, so today I am going to give it to you.<br />
<br />
Imagine you and I are in a car driving around. We see a building. On the front of the building there is a sign that says "Elementary School." What do you suppose happens inside that building? What do you suppose people go there for? What would you expect when you walked through that door? <br />
I won't answer for you. Let's continue our drive. <br /><br />Look, there is a building with a sign that says "Bank." What do you suppose happens inside that building? What do you suppose people go there for? What would you expect when you walked through that door? What is that building?<br />
<br />
Now, here's one with no sign that we can read. It has big boxes of fruit out front. It has dried peppers hanging on a string from the red tile roof. It has a sombrero hanging on the wall next to the aqua-marine painted door. What is that building? What do you suppose people go there for? What would you expect when you walked through that door? What kind of people do you think go there the most?<br />
<br />
There's another building, it has a steeple and great big front doors. <br /><br />What about that one? The tiny one right by the football field. What happens in there? <br />
<br />
How do you know?<br />
<br />
Well, dear, people are like buildings. What people see on the outside, written or presented without words tells them something about that person.<br />
<br />
It's obvious when it's a word, like "Budweiser," "Aeroposatle," or "YMCA" that the person wearing that label wants you to identify them with a particular brand, group, lifestyle, orientation, or organization. Most labeling is more subtle though, and unless you know something about that group/brand/lifestyle you may miss the labels.<br />
<br />
Now picture this, you see a woman. She is in Wranglers, boots, a ruffled blouse, long ringlets going down her back. Her boots are scuffed and dusty, her hands are chapped. What kind of music do you suppose she listens to? What kind of house do you think she would like to live in? <br />
<br />
Using basic human logic, we would say, country and she'd love a nice rambling ranch or better yet a log cabin with a fireplace and a view. Why? Because we read her labels, the labels she chose to wear.<br />
<br />
Picture a man all in black, pale skin, pierced everywhere, eyeliner, black lipstick, chunky shoes. (I pause for some of you to silence your inner kitty.) He carries a big thick book and looks at no one, at least when they are looking he doesn't.<br />
<br />
I'm not asking you to judge him, I'm just asking you to read him. What does his appearance tell you? Do you think he's at home on the range? Do you see him Latin dancing with one girl after another Friday night? What is he telling you with his self-applied labels?<br />
<br />
Personally I love pretty much everyone. Who I select to be my nearest and dearest has little to do with their labels. I still read them, I still understand what they are consciously or unconsciously trying to say about themselves, but I look past them and look at the soul.<br />
<br />
Most people don't have time for that, or won't take time for that unless the initial labels match their own. We all SHOULD. That's what God WANTS us to do, but let's face it, most people don't. Judging is wrong, and we should never avoid people based on their looks, but don't make the error of thinking that others don't make snap decisions based on how YOU present YOURSELF.<br />
<br />
You need to identify, understand, and make a choice about how you are advertising yourself. What does your haircut, your favorite shirt, your car, your jewelry, say about you?<br />
<br />
I told my daughter that if she really wanted gauges that given time and thought if she still really wanted them, then I wouldn't stand in her way. She needed to understand the culture with which people would lump her first. It is a culture that doesn't like rules. It is a culture that includes a lot of really "cool" or "sick" (as they call it now) stuff. It is also a culture through which drugs runs rampant. I told her that if that is where her friends are, that's okay, because I know very well how accepting people in that culture can be of people who are different, or at least who feel different. I don't blame her a bit for liking them.<br />
<br />
My concern was the drugs. We had the drug talk long ago. So when I pointed out that drugs would be all around her if that was the culture she identified herself with, her eyes got big. <br />
<br />
I still went out the next day and got her fake gauges, just like I've made her Vampire jewelry, buy her goth style dresses, and got her a fedora. I know she's just trying on all these things, I know she's just trying to pick her labels. I'm pretty cool with whatever ones she picks too, because I know who she is, even if she's still figuring that out. I'll see past whatever labels she wears because I love her. I just hope her labels give others that chance, because she is one of the most beautiful souls in the world and everyone should get the chance to know and love her.Thorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13246973983963671802noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29896414.post-11198933193633026142013-04-15T21:05:00.001-07:002013-04-15T21:05:19.256-07:00A picture is worth a thousand words...but when has a thousand words ever been enough for ME to say anything?<br />
I'm wasn't sure if I should put this on thethoughtsofthora or thethingsofthora as it could have been both. I settled on here. <br />
<br />
I'm not a great photographer, in fact I'm more of a camera dabbler (see my post <a href="http://thethoughtsofthora.blogspot.com/?view=sidebar#!/2013/02/the-dabbler.html">The Dabbler</a>). I like to go through the pictures I have taken, mess with them in Picassa, and then throw words on them. Mostly the words are mine, but sometimes I will pick a quote. So, if it doesn't say who said it, I wrote it, and that's why this is on "Thoughts."<br />
<br />
Anyway, enjoy.<br />
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Thorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13246973983963671802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29896414.post-66383565417021089602013-04-11T22:54:00.002-07:002013-04-11T22:54:32.406-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdqTsPDiExQ-54hSuJq__z1YATTv5tmNufhAlq5C7j2BPFTJs_S5egND0ftI_e87o6l86bh7n_WxqT3Fat0BSTyWhBbI3RNJaA_UEZyxn53P_bnRENnz_z1FF_gNPYA7OjumK3gQ/s1600/Now+I+Am.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdqTsPDiExQ-54hSuJq__z1YATTv5tmNufhAlq5C7j2BPFTJs_S5egND0ftI_e87o6l86bh7n_WxqT3Fat0BSTyWhBbI3RNJaA_UEZyxn53P_bnRENnz_z1FF_gNPYA7OjumK3gQ/s640/Now+I+Am.jpg" width="254" /></a><br /><br />Wrote this today, and yup, that's me in the picture too.</div>
<br />Thorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13246973983963671802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29896414.post-77656986151117959592013-04-11T22:50:00.000-07:002013-04-11T22:50:09.614-07:00The Sea
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Sea<br />
<br />
My heart is as the very sea,<br />
Ripped with storm and tempest tossed, <br />
Subject to the winds am I<br />
As down they wail and calm is lost.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Shriek and moan they call<br />
And I fear, I tremble, I quail.<br />
All around me they howl<br />
And within my breast my heart doth fail,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Until a voice speaks<br />
Still and small, but a voice that fills,<br />
To calmness now it beckons me<br />
I hear His voice, and peace, I am still.<br />
<br />
Thora<br />
4/11/13<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Thorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13246973983963671802noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29896414.post-49955989904270243532013-02-27T18:58:00.000-08:002013-02-27T18:58:13.859-08:00I Would
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">
I would that I could take your pain <br />
and see you smiling once again<br />
I would that I could dry your tears, <br />
banish your demons erase your fears <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I would that I could bleed for you <br />
instead of watch what you’re going through <br />
I wish that I could pave the way <br />
remove the bumps from every day<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I would that I could shelter you <br />
and take all darkness from your view,<br />
but God loves you better than me <br />
the way to make you best He sees <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So down thorny paths He lets you go <br />
and life’s pains he lets you know<br />
Then provides a way to take all pain,<br />
and then full joy we all shall gain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Thorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13246973983963671802noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29896414.post-27804876401831679152013-02-20T12:48:00.000-08:002013-02-20T12:48:34.844-08:00The Dabbler
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Dabbler<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m a dabbler; I’ll admit it, readily. There isn’t a single one
of my talents that I am exceptional at (by any standard besides in the rose
colored glasses of those that love me.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In the past 20 years or so I have dabbled with:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">
OOAK Dolls<br />
Miniature Armor and Weaponry design<br />
Costumes<br />
Sculptures<br />
Paintings<br />
Pencils<br />
Crayons<br />
Pastels<br />
Carpentry<br />
Cake decorating<br />
Baking<br />
Italian Cuisine, from scratch<br />
Asian Cuisine<br />
Book/ short story Writing<br />
Belly dance<br />
Ballroom Dance<br />
Latin Dance<br />
Architecture<br />
Jewelry making<br />
Knitting<br />
Crocheting<br />
Paper Mache<br />
Carving<br />
Cutting hair<br />
Stage make-up<br />
Acting<br />
Singing<br />
Tile laying<br />
Plumbing<br />
Pergo laying<br />
Dry-walling<br />
Photography<br />
Teaching<br />
Poetry<br />
Interior Design<br />
Set Design<br />
Learning Languages<br />
Song Writing<br />
Blogging<br />
Listening<br />
Public Speaking<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There are probably more, but you get the drift.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Now some people would look at that list and think it’s
pretty impressive, but remember, I’m not proficient at all of those things, in
fact some of them I was really bad at. Some of them I will never go back to,
some of them I did today, and some of them I will pick back up in the future.
The fact is, though, I will never be among the truly great at ANY of those
things.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m okay with that, because I’m a dabbler. Dabblers know
that it isn’t about being great, or doing better than anyone else. It’s about
experiencing something, putting your heart in it for a while, enjoying it, and
then letting those obsessed with it carry on with the insane competitiveness
while you go on your merry way.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Of course there is nothing wrong with being great at
something, lots of people are, and when I am exposed to true greatness at a
talent I stand in awe of the time and devotion that greatness requires, as well
as the raw God-given talent that inspired said devotion. I applaud the truly great
for having what I do not, the desire to achieve a lofty and difficult goal.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: "Malgun Gothic"; mso-fareast-language: KO; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">But
me, I’ll keep dabbling. Maybe my arm will heal up well enough that I can finally
take up archery. If not there is always welding (I’ve wanted to try that for
over a decade), or pottery, or stained glass window making, or maybe I’ll even
learn an instrument (I’d prefer the Guzheng , for reasons only a select few
will understand, but the guitar would be fun… left handed, hmmm… maybe not). I’ll
keep dabbling, because dabbling brings me joy, and really… what else is there?</span>Thorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13246973983963671802noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29896414.post-38315420893442163622013-02-17T07:20:00.002-08:002013-02-17T07:20:48.635-08:00Forgiveness
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Often when we have in our lives people who hurt us time and
again it becomes difficult for us to forgive them. We struggle and achieve some
peace over their past offences, but with every new offence it feels like they
are TRYING to re-open the old wounds we worked so hard to heal.<br />
I was praying this morning about such a situation in my life, talking to the
Lord about how hard it was for me to deal with the fresh stuff, the current
stuff, the veiled threats, the manipulation, the insults and legal
strong-arming.<br />
I know, because the specific promises the Lord has made to me are sure, that
not only will the Lord fight my battles for me and deliver me when I am beset, but
that this process will work towards the good of myself and those I love. It was
just that momentary venom I was worried about, that red-head flash of anger and
indignation. How was I ever to overcome that?<br />
Then the Spirit spoke to me in my prayer, “Forgiveness removes the power of
evil over the righteous soul, do not give evil power over even those tiny
moments in your life. Forgive instantly that evil will have NO power over you.”<br />
Then the Spirit told me to get up and post this. <br />
So I don’t know which of you needed this as well as I today, but here it is,
and my love and God’s love come with it. Peace be unto you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Thorahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13246973983963671802noreply@blogger.com0