tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68660377855492858472024-03-15T12:25:11.371-04:00A Heart That BlessesRachel Rineharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289755862446875553noreply@blogger.comBlogger100125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866037785549285847.post-38555150151645150062024-03-15T11:31:00.002-04:002024-03-15T12:24:39.680-04:00Seventy<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw6mbRrfZQMvNWaKqFDxZoKqXux7Kj0zMNO7nA6nkwU3HLcnR6fcpjsdU2ZvbEnUXZuaqHhZhc97rPCzIELbNmb_36NOj-8ihyYkdafr2HJFX6-NtC7dXwV_UOgFIlZ9NBdEG-sxhcjcPh2LgG1e-DzK3yZWXt78gjwRCMBcVb4GYcYNggmNl2a5ahGJ-Y/s1720/moon%20trees.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1720" data-original-width="1290" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw6mbRrfZQMvNWaKqFDxZoKqXux7Kj0zMNO7nA6nkwU3HLcnR6fcpjsdU2ZvbEnUXZuaqHhZhc97rPCzIELbNmb_36NOj-8ihyYkdafr2HJFX6-NtC7dXwV_UOgFIlZ9NBdEG-sxhcjcPh2LgG1e-DzK3yZWXt78gjwRCMBcVb4GYcYNggmNl2a5ahGJ-Y/s320/moon%20trees.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">Dear UD,</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">Seventy years ago you were born. Seven
zero. Seven decades. Seven times ten. The world welcomed you for sixty-one
years. Seventy minus nine. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">“Minus,” a simple word, holds so much.
Less than. Subtracted by. Diminished. Changed.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">You, mom, dad, the others gone so
soon…those of us who remain are changed by the subtraction. Our lives altered
by your absence on this earth, but also transformed by your example in our
lives. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">Your years are over, and you are all missed
so much. Yet your legacy and love and lessons live on in those you touched,
live on in our memories, in our hearts, in our descendants. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">For nine years, I have written letters—
words to remember you all, words to share your lessons, words to honor our heritage.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">Thank you, Uncle David, Mom, Dad. We
wouldn’t be who we are without you, and we are grateful.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">Love, Rach <o:p></o:p></p></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><br /></p></div><p></p>Rachel Rineharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289755862446875553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866037785549285847.post-3856109365465886432023-03-16T00:06:00.001-04:002023-03-16T21:37:22.345-04:00Conversation, Interrupted<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8chLAgRLh5mccPyH0J3yr8ARzZ0BG0RBbd3ccQp3CUiN81NyoxvHvc2b_tNAFObuOIKLJ7-OWce3zKh7ub12vMr88TDUH9d5hJRt7a0X25dlEmDboXhUUmXcym48vM8RM9ydiux9DQ1YHkqyddrP2_-KZsQrFR8CMA-NnZoJmmuBJiK5NxVFdZHIQLg/s1720/sun.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1720" data-original-width="1290" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8chLAgRLh5mccPyH0J3yr8ARzZ0BG0RBbd3ccQp3CUiN81NyoxvHvc2b_tNAFObuOIKLJ7-OWce3zKh7ub12vMr88TDUH9d5hJRt7a0X25dlEmDboXhUUmXcym48vM8RM9ydiux9DQ1YHkqyddrP2_-KZsQrFR8CMA-NnZoJmmuBJiK5NxVFdZHIQLg/s320/sun.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">Dear UD,</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p></o:p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"> Eight years ago on this day, we
all gathered to celebrate your 61<sup>st</sup> birthday. The next month, we
lost you. I can’t believe it’s been eight years since we’ve talked. Eight years
since I’ve heard your voice. Eight years since we played Bridge together, ate
together, laughed together.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"> Time
is uncountable. There are so many things I want to tell you, so many changes in
the world, in my life, so many times I want to brainstorm with you again. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">Conversation, interrupted.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv5YWR9a2mZ7v6PWb8mv0vcthRDanB01W5G0uJb7Ftcj7yL4Ii-flsztxsGVGyKXJvnrnRR8KabhrP17oI9n2b7SYHdJCAhuk8OzUsTx1yxCN1Z9CJ4oa4qrSwTrlfaOuoWRD4MnANvH2BbCuX2sD_p_V7i9Q3S77Sxc3UdR9STfOKmCey8y29MJadOQ/s1466/DavidJ.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1466" data-original-width="797" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv5YWR9a2mZ7v6PWb8mv0vcthRDanB01W5G0uJb7Ftcj7yL4Ii-flsztxsGVGyKXJvnrnRR8KabhrP17oI9n2b7SYHdJCAhuk8OzUsTx1yxCN1Z9CJ4oa4qrSwTrlfaOuoWRD4MnANvH2BbCuX2sD_p_V7i9Q3S77Sxc3UdR9STfOKmCey8y29MJadOQ/s320/DavidJ.jpg" width="174" /></a></div>Even in this past year so much has
happened that I wish you, and mom, and dad, were here to witness, to share.<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><br />I’m starting my own business, a publishing
company, and publishing some of my books, and your plays. So many days, I wish I
could call you to talk about the company, the editing, the excitement, all
those details that you nurtured, and I wish so much you were here to see <i>Memorial
Day Picnic</i> published. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">My grandson, DJ, David James, is a source
of love and joy and happiness. He shares a name with you, and like you, he is the
epitome of loving and creative and smart and sweet.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">I met a brilliant, kind, amazing man, and
I wish we could all sit around the table, play Scrabble or Spades, and talk and
laugh and learn together. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">One two three…those are only three but some
of the top, best, most precious I want to tell you, mom, dad…<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">Conversation, interrupted. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">It’s Spring again, UD, so time to
celebrate and honor you and your influence on me, in this world, and in our
family. Happy birthday, Uncle David. You are remembered, you are missed, you
are loved. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;">
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">Love, Rach<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><br /></p>Rachel Rineharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289755862446875553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866037785549285847.post-46779136672796566822022-03-15T11:16:00.002-04:002022-03-15T11:16:26.134-04:00Signs of Spring<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEirKrBCcmWaQft0N3AuvGTjwIx-CCdbGW1YkDjmXvPOx8DhZGQbst-JRvUASmw4w_1TLjy12Zlq9LlHz9CwzTbJydsaOG6oFbJuGGjFacnm1Q5J6sbqgOREsilH-B2UgYcLXezQiaJjmBOD-t8y2cvIAitCT0pLMSexpAE8NTLgce5BQ57_9Z4ir4Hhsw=s1242" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="931" data-original-width="1242" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEirKrBCcmWaQft0N3AuvGTjwIx-CCdbGW1YkDjmXvPOx8DhZGQbst-JRvUASmw4w_1TLjy12Zlq9LlHz9CwzTbJydsaOG6oFbJuGGjFacnm1Q5J6sbqgOREsilH-B2UgYcLXezQiaJjmBOD-t8y2cvIAitCT0pLMSexpAE8NTLgce5BQ57_9Z4ir4Hhsw=s320" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">"I stuck my head out the
window this morning and spring kissed me bang in the face. " </div><div style="text-align: center;">~Langston
Hughes</div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;">Dear UD,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">I walk around the lake, grateful for the
cooler temps and the sunshine peeking between rain clouds. The trees are green,
and ducks dive for fish creating a gentle splash in the water. For a few
moments, I forget the war in Ukraine, the rising gas prices, the astronomical
increases in rent, the lower student enrollment impacting schools around the
country, and the tumult over the recent pandemic. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">In this moment, I’m just a woman walking
in nature, putting one foot in front of the other as I breathe deeply and enjoy
the crisp breeze. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">One step. And then the next.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgEZ5GMcUZ0Ra0ryCPc39s40vq1Oczobmx-qDIjGnoPiMCb34plcJhIpBU6P2FJhVIj9O44FAOeeULk1QqsEgG5jIJxeiSmLAdNC2Zo6EmmaKWEdBIR0Q_uNEq26EkmTH8nfopu4ZiP9YofQzsDUgeaITViqGzsYG4yOHlmhMr9QkonClKqcNXlua0mcA=s1656" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1656" data-original-width="1242" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgEZ5GMcUZ0Ra0ryCPc39s40vq1Oczobmx-qDIjGnoPiMCb34plcJhIpBU6P2FJhVIj9O44FAOeeULk1QqsEgG5jIJxeiSmLAdNC2Zo6EmmaKWEdBIR0Q_uNEq26EkmTH8nfopu4ZiP9YofQzsDUgeaITViqGzsYG4yOHlmhMr9QkonClKqcNXlua0mcA=s320" width="240" /></a></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">Abruptly, I spy green shoots springing up
through the dirt, and I am stunned. Paralyzed by an overwhelming grief that
sprouts from my heart and throughout my body. Signs of spring will always and
forever remind me of you, Uncle David, and of mom, and I didn’t expect to see
that one here in Florida. I kneel down, gazing at this reminder of beauty,
hope, and renewal. A reminder of you and mom. So many memories flood my mind of
hunting for signs of spring with you and mom. As I pause to take it in, the
grief flows through and out, and I am filled with memory and love. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">Today is your seventh birthday in heaven,
UD. Seven birthdays without you here on this earth. Seven years of missing you.
Same for dad…seven birthdays without him, seven years of missing him. And this
year brings the fourth birthday without mom, four years of missing her. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">Every day, I still miss you so much, miss
mom, miss dad. Wish I could talk to you all again, share birthdays together,
eat your specially crafted omelet and mom’s homemade rolls, play Bridge or
Spades, and hear your voices and laughter. Each year that passes both dulls the
ache of the loss yet sharpens the twist of living life without you. How I wish
you had all had more time with us here. How I wish you were all here now and
part of DJ’s life. I know you all watch over him from heaven, and he will know
you all through memories, lessons, legacies passed down from you to me to my
daughters and now to their children. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg4J_hCJEZ8nahE9HGFC1u9Ln86SPsZN_FgnLSeCBTV_rVYwykeom5uxWdDnoc1tJUYEFB6G1V4W6aLY_gnnKhMOfZga2qgRjapV2oMlcPdvtSOCBQiczZ51GrJkfZ89xtrFx0PvvTvSnY0P9YOadx3tJlspshrkHYxhojNxXa47hzhdVMrSorUhhJivw=s640" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg4J_hCJEZ8nahE9HGFC1u9Ln86SPsZN_FgnLSeCBTV_rVYwykeom5uxWdDnoc1tJUYEFB6G1V4W6aLY_gnnKhMOfZga2qgRjapV2oMlcPdvtSOCBQiczZ51GrJkfZ89xtrFx0PvvTvSnY0P9YOadx3tJlspshrkHYxhojNxXa47hzhdVMrSorUhhJivw=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br />Happy birthday, UD. Thank you for the
memories, the foundation of time together and unconditional love, and your
model of creativity and excellence.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">Love, Rach<o:p></o:p></p>Rachel Rineharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289755862446875553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866037785549285847.post-29055278805782225292021-10-28T21:12:00.013-04:002021-10-31T12:32:59.982-04:00Waiting Room<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX42I57J5ypnnVmJNnnEXKoyJHlFKn7NPu5Zs3e1ah-NlrpvXXk_BClco8fVBan9h5m3gZjf2gomonn-8c8aGfd9sEYfoaJKRsJnRXC3azogiogdOO576Ogk7F1sxqIPVDy3gQR3AMOYi7/s2048/threegenerations.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1649" data-original-width="2048" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX42I57J5ypnnVmJNnnEXKoyJHlFKn7NPu5Zs3e1ah-NlrpvXXk_BClco8fVBan9h5m3gZjf2gomonn-8c8aGfd9sEYfoaJKRsJnRXC3azogiogdOO576Ogk7F1sxqIPVDy3gQR3AMOYi7/w320-h258/threegenerations.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 200%; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Waiting Room<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I’m 24 and lying in a
hospital bed in Houston, Missouri. It’s a cold winter evening, December 31,
1994, and the KC Chiefs fight to win a playoff game on the TV somewhere in the
hospital. Everyone who is not currently with me is gathered around, watching the
game, a distraction from their enthusiasm and nervousness. Everyone—all of my
family, all of my husband’s family—are at the hospital, awaiting the birth of
the first grandbaby. The soon-to-be grandparents (my mom and dad, his mom and
dad) have all arrived to bear witness and celebrate this momentous occasion. On
the family farm, my siblings, soon-to-be aunts and uncles, play Scrabble,
Spades, and Bridge while waiting for the next morning when I will bring the
newborn baby girl to join the family fun. Half a state away, soon-to-be great grandparents,
aunts, and uncles pray and wait for the phone call to come. The first thing I</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQIpwDL-OcUoIAmj3bR4A8z9Ql2IkEl-OUDcIpKp6rqfegn72qoPz3ah9E0MRq60Zks4QtgJWYCHGf6qmMgWT6POSuS6EinpgoxXSAXMBIw6dMCrhmc5K-wWZfMu8vwr2gV8Yxq70Sshi8/s1242/infantlexi.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="926" data-original-width="1242" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQIpwDL-OcUoIAmj3bR4A8z9Ql2IkEl-OUDcIpKp6rqfegn72qoPz3ah9E0MRq60Zks4QtgJWYCHGf6qmMgWT6POSuS6EinpgoxXSAXMBIw6dMCrhmc5K-wWZfMu8vwr2gV8Yxq70Sshi8/w200-h149/infantlexi.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></div><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">
remember the nurse saying when I arrived at the hospital that evening after my
water broke is that the baby has a full head of hair. Alone in labor, I am
surrounded by family and prayers and love. The father of the child is in the
room with me as is my mom. I have no qualm about the support, love, and place
my baby will have in the extended families. Four and a half hours after I
arrive at the hospital, I give birth to a beautiful, fairy-wood brown eyed
daughter, Alexia Devin. Euphoric, her dad rushes into the waiting room, having
missed the Chiefs beat the Raiders, and announces her much anticipated arrival
to all of the family gathered together waiting. The next morning, we place this
beloved December baby in a red Christmas stocking, the very one her dad had
been put in after his birth, and take photos to commemorate her birth and her
place in the generations of Rinehart, Cunningham, Crawford, <a name="_Hlk83679763">Kellhofer, </a>Johnson families. <o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyVsC_-atbpWPdWCXu9Cl57yeyO0UruQJ0xcCETsU1fbjos8A-TDk3Udy93ARrOb2r0F8tz-SwAw0YNgmIeGBQrNOSbr4MxLxzFGrX5uoQwcj4uprFPFOOlN135a8s8vO6PLcYJsXLcdzY/s430/infantlaina.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="430" data-original-width="314" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyVsC_-atbpWPdWCXu9Cl57yeyO0UruQJ0xcCETsU1fbjos8A-TDk3Udy93ARrOb2r0F8tz-SwAw0YNgmIeGBQrNOSbr4MxLxzFGrX5uoQwcj4uprFPFOOlN135a8s8vO6PLcYJsXLcdzY/w146-h200/infantlaina.jpg" width="146" /></a></div><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m 27 and lying in a hospital bed in
Columbia, Missouri. It’s a hot summer day, July 2, 1998, and my parents are
driving the curvy, hilly roads through the Ozark Mountains on the way to greet
their next grandchild. After only one hour of labor, I feel a desire to push,
but the nurses say to wait for the doctor. <i>I can’t</i>, I moan. I’m glad
that my husband’s parents have arrived, and as I begin to push, he remains by
my side while they accompany three- and a half-year Lexi on a grand tour of the
hospital. Alone in the labor, I am still surrounded by family, prayers, and
love. After only five minutes, I give birth to a beautiful, brown eyed
firecracker daughter, Alaina Beth, and her dad rushes out to collect his
parents and Lexi to meet the newest, much-loved daughter who brings sparkles of
sunshine and joy into the family. The next day, I bake an apple pie for our
journey to Kansas City to stay with his parents for Fourth of July weekend, and
the next weekend, we travel to the family farm as the family (including
great-grandparents) celebrates her birth and her place in the generations of
Rinehart, Cunningham, Crawford, Kellhofer, Johnson families. <o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjja_0cHuYmUX7Jvji32o1NTWrVqGDfVc-oob_gw9YBT8TVtVE0rrIpdYt1MAY9cfpT7tEpwMYbethBzH3JkbRdtNic2bfLAr1XTgwd_sQ_FjqcvlMEmHaNoH0vt5fhJi2Sj3LxxPe6uaE8/s1457/babyshower.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1457" data-original-width="1241" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjja_0cHuYmUX7Jvji32o1NTWrVqGDfVc-oob_gw9YBT8TVtVE0rrIpdYt1MAY9cfpT7tEpwMYbethBzH3JkbRdtNic2bfLAr1XTgwd_sQ_FjqcvlMEmHaNoH0vt5fhJi2Sj3LxxPe6uaE8/w171-h200/babyshower.jpg" width="171" /></a></div><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The girls grew up
under the wings of the shadow of family and extended family and are rooted in
love and prayers from all the generations before. As adolescents and teenagers,
they went through their parent’s divorce as well as relocating 17 hours away
from family, and as young women, have experienced other loss and grief and
heartbreak as well as many blessings, opportunities, and extraordinary experiences. Whether they are 20 hours away, a whole country away or an hour
away, they always know where they come from and the strong foundation of family
and love they can always count on. </span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I’m 50 and sitting
alone in my home in Melbourne, Florida. It’s a fairly cool autumn evening,
September 27, 2021, and I’m waiting for a text message from my youngest
daughter who is lying in a local hospital. Alone in labor, her boyfriend is
next to her, and I hope she knows how much love and how many prayers she has
surrounding her right now. Because of too many losses, there are no
great-grandparents on our side of this new family. Because of the pandemic,
only one person is allowed in the room with her. Because of covid-19 and its
variants, the hospital only allows visitors from 7am to 9pm, so there is no
waiting at the hospital tonight to greet the newest family member. But a sister
and niece plan to fly in to visit and help sometime soon. Lexi and I wait, only
minutes away, to meet David James. No matter what, I will see him and welcome
him into the family. But should I keep a distance? Should I not “take your
unvaccinated self” near him, as some people have thrown at me in shame or
scare-tactics during the past week? Whatever the answer, we will find a way to
honor his birth and his place in the generations of Rinehart, Cunningham,
Crawford, Kellhofer, Johnson, and Pearson families.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK7sePJhkoyDKw4xSLaE0zcIwOrYJ38xN7WjlB4qRdz2ZpaLSsDrlFdXHFnyy_5020Hsc1uZNYk3dAbapXZ_Le7iOwkq_fStKKNkqhSs0mPPOPrug1dI7D8cWPLqLQiFrvJZ1ubi0OqeO2/s1876/newborn.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1876" data-original-width="1242" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK7sePJhkoyDKw4xSLaE0zcIwOrYJ38xN7WjlB4qRdz2ZpaLSsDrlFdXHFnyy_5020Hsc1uZNYk3dAbapXZ_Le7iOwkq_fStKKNkqhSs0mPPOPrug1dI7D8cWPLqLQiFrvJZ1ubi0OqeO2/w133-h200/newborn.jpg" width="133" /></a></div><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">On September 28, 2021,
I walk into the waiting room of Holmes Regional Medical Center’s Birthing Room
and spy Lexi. She’s checked in and settled into the corner where she plans to
wait for me to visit. Davey’s parents also arrive around the same time, but
they elect to return later. <i>I wish we could all greet the new baby together.</i>
I am the first visitor to see Alaina and DJ, and I’m so excited. I take the
elevator up the stairs to the large, airconditioned waiting room where I check
in with the security officer. Masks are required in the building, so of course
everyone I see has them on, though no one, medical staff included, is wearing a
surgical mask. He checks my ID and scans for weapons. Then, he asks me to stand
close to the small camera and remove my mask. He snaps my photo, and I put my
mask back on. Because of Covid-19 protocols, only one visitor is allowed in the
room with the mother and newborn, and right now Davey, the dad, is there. I
text my daughter that I’m ready, and she texts back that Davey is on his way.
The security guard instructs me to return downstairs to the small, all-glass
waiting room that is crowded and heated from the sun shining through the
windows. <o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Why,” I ask him, “it’ll
only be a minute before we trade out.”</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibS74LUY0FN7IMybbwl60twuRNAFwB2ftCML4-3vFG5z2gRrvFCMxKnxyoPmTCvwUfZaon0SuiArE1DRRq0ecCcTaCMDimS9E05t_Rg5O-ODdWnw8865_qBOlTWN7Tbhegk4wqwr79gCNn/s960/Davey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibS74LUY0FN7IMybbwl60twuRNAFwB2ftCML4-3vFG5z2gRrvFCMxKnxyoPmTCvwUfZaon0SuiArE1DRRq0ecCcTaCMDimS9E05t_Rg5O-ODdWnw8865_qBOlTWN7Tbhegk4wqwr79gCNn/w150-h200/Davey.jpg" width="150" /></a></span></div><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> <o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Because of Covid,” he
responds. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“I don’t understand,”
I say, gesturing to the completely empty and large waiting area.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“You might expose the
room to covid.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I scoff, reminding him
that I just removed my mask for the photo ID (as does every single visitor).
“I’m not trying to argue, and I’ll do what you request,” I say. “I’m just
trying to understand logically.” <i>After all, you are standing in front of
every single visitor when he/she removes the mask every time all day long, so
you pose more of a risk combined.</i> I walk towards the elevator, and he tags
along.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“I don’t think you’re
trying to argue. It’s just the hospital policy, and if I let you stay up here,
I’ll lose my job.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“I’m going down. I
don’t want that. I just don’t understand how I am safer down in that overheated
tiny space crowded in with all those other people than up here in the spacious,
air-conditioned empty room.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr2pGMMUiMIDoA37aVsuhrFWT_gpQrV-_pGmx06Abrxs1UD1Uuaqs82nV3PO78oNdPQCRsHL3SOtWdfKhSY0lNRmBt_UlpAB3F5bI2moHvbQ_8-NtQPy_ePfIsmdEhM52CuxlnuGtbXl_5/s1656/lexidj.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1656" data-original-width="1242" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr2pGMMUiMIDoA37aVsuhrFWT_gpQrV-_pGmx06Abrxs1UD1Uuaqs82nV3PO78oNdPQCRsHL3SOtWdfKhSY0lNRmBt_UlpAB3F5bI2moHvbQ_8-NtQPy_ePfIsmdEhM52CuxlnuGtbXl_5/w150-h200/lexidj.jpg" width="150" /></a></span></div><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“I’ve been a security
guard for all types of people and places, and I agree. I’ve never seen anything
like this before, but it’s what I have to do.”<br /> <o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I smile and wave
goodbye as the elevator door closes. I talk to Lexi for less than a minute
before Davey arrives, wondering where I am and why Laina has to be left alone
for even a few minutes. We give Davey a hug. “Thank you for being there for
Laina last night,” I say as I grip the vase of flowers and giftbag that I have
for Laina. I return to the fourth floor where the security guard is taking a
photo of a maskless man. I wait over six feet away while he finishes and
escorts him into the maternity suite. The guard again swipes me, looking for
weapons, before finally allowing me to enter the sacred space and see my
daughter and new grandson, my first grandbaby. When I find her room, two nurses
are talking to her and checking her vitals. I wait in the doorway, unsure of
the proper procedure. I wish so much that Lexi can come up at the same time, so
that all three of us can be together for this momentous occasion, but only one
visitor is permitted in the room at a time even though two or more medical
personnel are authorized to crowd the room. <i>Nothing makes sense</i>!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">They see me and beckon
me in, and I am in awe as I glance at DJ all swaddled up in a blanket, lying in
the crib. He has a hat on, and his face, while bruised around the mouth, is not
scrunched up like many newborns, even with a natural delivery. I lightly brush
my finger on his soft cheek. He’s adorable and precious, and I already love him
so much. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOylxzbTYxuvCcHBjwE69OFyM0pJRUggKK0MAZaxisjequGHsldU5jR8S_CF03tNkkYJaI3n8kg0H-Ms_GJWFJNW4l5WeIzcbMy3LsizXUkd7-WPYdNUGtElsTwzx8wF4aKGImANdTbv5M/s1242/newborn1.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="672" data-original-width="1242" height="108" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOylxzbTYxuvCcHBjwE69OFyM0pJRUggKK0MAZaxisjequGHsldU5jR8S_CF03tNkkYJaI3n8kg0H-Ms_GJWFJNW4l5WeIzcbMy3LsizXUkd7-WPYdNUGtElsTwzx8wF4aKGImANdTbv5M/w200-h108/newborn1.jpg" width="200" /></a></span></div><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">One nurse leaves while
the other one hands Laina the feeding chart, instructing her to keep track of
when the baby breastfeeds. After reviewing everything with Laina, the nurse
says she’s going to chance waking up the baby and go ahead with his checkup
now. I’m standing near the crib, and I watch as the nurse listens to his
heartbeat. She bends over, placing the stethoscope on his chest, breathing
directly towards his face. Even standing to the side and even through our <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>masks, I can smell her foul breath. <i>How
many patients have you been exposed to in the past day? Week</i>? <i>He’s
defenseless and has no protective mask.</i> <o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvVSmcUNgd7tMuXqS5XepnZQlXiVOo9hgrQo_dk_Ezeqa-cVcbOv-36FYlj_ZsPPJRGQgIEp_TvPOJvOE-k0G1OAWXlW9xBYEK51Lbsr6KsqWDy0FDvlHsU2VyhX-G6Ji1u9piHzeCmRqL/s1862/finger.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1862" data-original-width="1242" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvVSmcUNgd7tMuXqS5XepnZQlXiVOo9hgrQo_dk_Ezeqa-cVcbOv-36FYlj_ZsPPJRGQgIEp_TvPOJvOE-k0G1OAWXlW9xBYEK51Lbsr6KsqWDy0FDvlHsU2VyhX-G6Ji1u9piHzeCmRqL/w133-h200/finger.jpg" width="133" /></a></div><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When she removes the
blanket to check him, he stirs and cries briefly. I count his fingers and toes,
and as I do, he grasps my finger, holding it with his tiny hand. My heart
melts. She finishes her exam, swaddles the newborn again, lays him on Laina’s
lap, and leaves the room.<br /><o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Finally, I talk to my
daughter and hear her birth story, her fears and pain, her wonder and joy, her
power and strength. Connection, bonding, spending time together over the
delight of her newborn son. I snap photos to commemorate the moment. Lexi
Facetimes me, and for a few moments, the three of us pause, coming together the
only way we can on this special day under the pandemic protocols. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPvnw_2srGpEw_SHXlTSddW4lte1ZVtROqKo-OPIHiWp4W1hRucNnnhfMoPNb4FIYsGVKySLjLOSDOiAdSQ4HsGXOTf8h88owe47WZH_Aweyys7mlDv_w8ZDwFCPfftRscYvuC9hJqMjlS/s1431/breastfeeding.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1431" data-original-width="1241" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPvnw_2srGpEw_SHXlTSddW4lte1ZVtROqKo-OPIHiWp4W1hRucNnnhfMoPNb4FIYsGVKySLjLOSDOiAdSQ4HsGXOTf8h88owe47WZH_Aweyys7mlDv_w8ZDwFCPfftRscYvuC9hJqMjlS/w174-h200/breastfeeding.jpg" width="174" /></a></span></div><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br />I take my turn holding
the cherished newborn, though at 7 pounds and 11 ounces he’s tiny and light. I
return him to his mama, and we continue our conversation. Forty-five minutes
after I arrive, he gives a cry, and Alaina instantly begins to breastfeed him.
I’m so proud of her and of the amazing mother that she already, instinctually,
is. <o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When I am finally back
down in the tiny, hot, overcrowded waiting room, Lexi takes her turn to greet
him and visit her sister. I head back home because Davey is bringing food for
Laina soon, so after Lexi, he will spend the rest of the day in the room with
mama and baby. The dad is the one visitor allowed in the room anytime, as long
as no other visitors are there. Though after nine that evening, my daughter
will Facetime with me to tell me that she and DJ will be spending the night
alone in the hospital since Davey has to return home to take care of their
dogs. Lexi or I will stay with you, I suggest, but alas only the father is
allowed in the hospital after nine. Also, even if we watch the dogs for him,
there’s no place in the tiny room for him to sleep except an uncomfortable
chair next to the hospital bed and crib, crammed in the back corner of the room.
<i>No new mother should have to stay in the hospital alone</i>.<i> What an
isolated, dystopian society in which to give birth</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But I hold onto those
few moments in the hospital when the three of us were together to celebrate DJ
and his birth, welcoming him to the world and to his place in the generations
of Rinehart, Cunningham, Crawford, Kellhofer, Johnson, and Pearson families.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="background: white; line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">One month photo gallery:<br /></span><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9exq6l_Il3lQrrxaOcJC6b2jveqgqD1qXTURB_giVLnlQYaI29S5d0YgSBQOVfeNFaWVAKo7zx2K3dYVW2bP1eu_X7X79qQjIpKFA0GCUy6krE-Q5wG2ZfcONw8CWJm_mlFvxqSzEVc0h/s1656/KC.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1656" data-original-width="1242" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9exq6l_Il3lQrrxaOcJC6b2jveqgqD1qXTURB_giVLnlQYaI29S5d0YgSBQOVfeNFaWVAKo7zx2K3dYVW2bP1eu_X7X79qQjIpKFA0GCUy6krE-Q5wG2ZfcONw8CWJm_mlFvxqSzEVc0h/s320/KC.jpg" width="240" /></a></span></div><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrvTmTMnOGt3_qtUq0jBLeyXk8dgdXZYlnjvaIyJcZfOADRTliYp3r_yuVgsxIEjZ_lFUoQOiSVGr-xaJL2RKFDKYyjkVHUOyP0gou4zV0rbdDYuP_LSq18OnT4U9P_a9x_AzZtm9c_6Sw/s1242/smile.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="637" data-original-width="1242" height="164" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrvTmTMnOGt3_qtUq0jBLeyXk8dgdXZYlnjvaIyJcZfOADRTliYp3r_yuVgsxIEjZ_lFUoQOiSVGr-xaJL2RKFDKYyjkVHUOyP0gou4zV0rbdDYuP_LSq18OnT4U9P_a9x_AzZtm9c_6Sw/s320/smile.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="color: #1c1e21; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfypGqq7s-y6Pp7Cb5tROod1a3b1c5sKtm8GpS6Xq2SmduVBVaUB_cKKraIvNJwDwFPlV5VfIwOxBVQvhCMNyuSn7yXE3ariKQQPcMeNr6Ajl7_UgJSr3svBCiB05pwBU3n_qGK13N8hyphenhyphene/s2048/shark.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfypGqq7s-y6Pp7Cb5tROod1a3b1c5sKtm8GpS6Xq2SmduVBVaUB_cKKraIvNJwDwFPlV5VfIwOxBVQvhCMNyuSn7yXE3ariKQQPcMeNr6Ajl7_UgJSr3svBCiB05pwBU3n_qGK13N8hyphenhyphene/s320/shark.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFHGv4oZjcRNDpc91Vq2815RUWv1OPdJx4Kajtf1AVtbCjZpFQGZggdwPanhs8QQvnrYx_xYYFuyGNwlw0j-X9x_R5Hl5Vma4RWc1C8Y7XdK3bI46SsrCkR3y0VF3Y1iwdIGij_URR2P50/s1241/reading.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1219" data-original-width="1241" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFHGv4oZjcRNDpc91Vq2815RUWv1OPdJx4Kajtf1AVtbCjZpFQGZggdwPanhs8QQvnrYx_xYYFuyGNwlw0j-X9x_R5Hl5Vma4RWc1C8Y7XdK3bI46SsrCkR3y0VF3Y1iwdIGij_URR2P50/s320/reading.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKlYMna71zZPzC3ul6Ce1dHANGIsl1R3SlzfZCvMVgH-Xkm73MRBhJrGa4e0L-VDqtC0X2q2kaEFbkYXzS9x1Cg8AY7NTkYyi3e0xmfchccMBc3NXhDQVmPWIddOtBQDhWSPrSYW0usWvd/s1656/pool.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1656" data-original-width="1242" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKlYMna71zZPzC3ul6Ce1dHANGIsl1R3SlzfZCvMVgH-Xkm73MRBhJrGa4e0L-VDqtC0X2q2kaEFbkYXzS9x1Cg8AY7NTkYyi3e0xmfchccMBc3NXhDQVmPWIddOtBQDhWSPrSYW0usWvd/s320/pool.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZRMqq6OmWI_Sl-XWU165a_w26ZsWdzn8WjXRhqs7QWOHHe1gptFepoHmFJDl5ZHNqIxq1AzwIFsC_0zFRvPX99Az_ZyoO-S-zNmvBZXwN134TyvL-D9uhHXVmzLnyYnk9VnDpn6cdcH3b/s1820/happy.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1820" data-original-width="1241" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZRMqq6OmWI_Sl-XWU165a_w26ZsWdzn8WjXRhqs7QWOHHe1gptFepoHmFJDl5ZHNqIxq1AzwIFsC_0zFRvPX99Az_ZyoO-S-zNmvBZXwN134TyvL-D9uhHXVmzLnyYnk9VnDpn6cdcH3b/s320/happy.jpg" width="218" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD2eeTKfFdvBJpeDGVWY0OLk-z8Kq9iLhqd3LTNMYDWaHv4MKonu8Re5MLyxIF8EcNn2TKz8gbLekPZnPuFeT21o-00Zt8tFa-kRlPL3u3KsX9osAL3uw_sb_qbMPIM4f5WeWsWVQqZCnp/s2048/cattongue.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD2eeTKfFdvBJpeDGVWY0OLk-z8Kq9iLhqd3LTNMYDWaHv4MKonu8Re5MLyxIF8EcNn2TKz8gbLekPZnPuFeT21o-00Zt8tFa-kRlPL3u3KsX9osAL3uw_sb_qbMPIM4f5WeWsWVQqZCnp/s320/cattongue.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><o:p></o:p></span><p></p>Rachel Rineharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289755862446875553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866037785549285847.post-42298997598601203282021-04-28T13:13:00.001-04:002021-04-28T13:27:43.153-04:00Six Years<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvkRNnR3Ir6kn33hupcVWfaF1bHvSF9WbOnmZlHmjFawMAJtB3qOjsi8VAvT-DQj-Ww-gsdgHP3PJE73hE4V2M3Nn61IXriSNA7yCRHABKTKCHjQDaULH-_Ah-OyoZV53srHsUbaowxAp_/s960/11081382_10153174839149904_3506799197434073374_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="612" data-original-width="960" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvkRNnR3Ir6kn33hupcVWfaF1bHvSF9WbOnmZlHmjFawMAJtB3qOjsi8VAvT-DQj-Ww-gsdgHP3PJE73hE4V2M3Nn61IXriSNA7yCRHABKTKCHjQDaULH-_Ah-OyoZV53srHsUbaowxAp_/s320/11081382_10153174839149904_3506799197434073374_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">Dear UD,</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: left;"> Six
years, 72 months, 2190 days ago, we lost you. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: left;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">Six years, 72 months, 2190 days without
you here on this earth with us. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">Six years, 72 months, 2190 days of no
phone calls, conversations, creative collaborations with you.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">It’s been six years since we heard your
voice, your laugh, your love for us. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsKO7-5WwuQ2mGOs-mLD40Oez67v0dvv3qQ294maEik2yhKBxH3bxlRJ6EpFFKx9rzdva23phk30xb78QM30X26ptLYuEVTybw3cWewDDg0mIN6NkM9mw6hZcYozXxz7_vW9H-_Kc2Yrn0/s2048/20170713_133537.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsKO7-5WwuQ2mGOs-mLD40Oez67v0dvv3qQ294maEik2yhKBxH3bxlRJ6EpFFKx9rzdva23phk30xb78QM30X26ptLYuEVTybw3cWewDDg0mIN6NkM9mw6hZcYozXxz7_vW9H-_Kc2Yrn0/w150-h200/20170713_133537.jpg" width="150" /> </a></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">You’re not here with us anymore. There’s
nothing else to say (except everything). <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">Uncle David, I could tell you about how
scared we’ve been the past few weeks with Uncle Bob in the hospital, having had
emergency surgery within a week after getting his first dose of Moderna, one of
the Covid-19 vaccines, having continued complications since then. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">Terrified. Triggered. Traumatized from
shock and concern. Still praying for his full recovery. From that paralysis, there’s
nothing else to say (except everything). <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgByJoUaNa0bjsRqzuIrveM3TpaNFlnZ3pt4oCt_zVVBWmo6tMG0XJOpgJVyCiu6enNZpy7qzqDbN4Mr2eUtPfIM_W3FNpClcmZdt81TbgvgOfNi1oxMejxX_bKgnqUReDSRgWatX50AsZ8/s2048/20180704_105241.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgByJoUaNa0bjsRqzuIrveM3TpaNFlnZ3pt4oCt_zVVBWmo6tMG0XJOpgJVyCiu6enNZpy7qzqDbN4Mr2eUtPfIM_W3FNpClcmZdt81TbgvgOfNi1oxMejxX_bKgnqUReDSRgWatX50AsZ8/w200-h150/20180704_105241.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>I could tell you how ugly some people have
been lately. One friend bombarding me with popular media news articles after
finding out that I’m waiting to do some real medical and scientific research
before deciding about the vaccine for myself, harassing and name-calling me (apparently,
I’m in an anti-vaxxer cult, though I don’t remember signing up for it) for
simply waiting, wanting to do my own valid and credible research (you know, the
type of database research that I require of my composition students) rather
than relying on popular media to tell me what to do or God forbid social media
telling me how to live. One entitled, older white male acting all condescending
like I’m a fly on the wall at the restaurant he manages, a fly that he’ll just
try to swat away with no thought because he doesn’t care and will just throw me
away. A Facebook administrator censoring my honest post about the negative
experience, trying to throw away my voice, my words. Another privileged, older
white male “throwing his penis around” to show how powerful he is while
throwing everyone else to the wolves… <o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">And out in the larger community and world,
the headlines are just as ugly—mass shootings, white supremacist cop sentenced
while another black girl shot and killed, terrible covid-19 mutations, pieces
of the <a href="https://www.nationalgeographic.com/science/article/rare-chunks-of-earths-mantle-found-exposed-in-maryland?cmpid=org=ngp::mc=social::src=facebook::cmp=editorial::add=fb20210427science-earthmantlemaryland&sf245366423=1&fbclid=IwAR3VcETQT8XgK6J1EZ2Nsw0QABptKjXjDCU80018PfMZaq57ULusxk97JuA" target="_blank">Earth’s mantle </a>(our planet) being exposed in Maryland…</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKAmuAyJXyhbZ4hX1Q9rd1iVwnhyporyZom_OMTfJHaea9n2vDrpVauELr5eZOeSOkbRFPLghyphenhyphendoz8Ui62adKJKz2zc6tZqWcsL3mM8flj4m2aFQy84d7ZvDS49Zp56Wst_1l_VYcAD57T/s865/20180407_110757.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="652" data-original-width="865" height="151" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKAmuAyJXyhbZ4hX1Q9rd1iVwnhyporyZom_OMTfJHaea9n2vDrpVauELr5eZOeSOkbRFPLghyphenhyphendoz8Ui62adKJKz2zc6tZqWcsL3mM8flj4m2aFQy84d7ZvDS49Zp56Wst_1l_VYcAD57T/w200-h151/20180407_110757.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br /><p></p><br /><div style="text-align: left;">But I could also tell you how beautiful
some people (and headlines) are. Bado Church still praying for the Crawhams,
for Uncle Bob. One friend inviting me to Zumba in the park and then her
community pool. Another friend treating me to a lovely dinner. Sisters calling
to check on me. Nieces and daughters coming to visit for spring break, for
Easter, for Taco Tuesday. Amazing conversations with new friends…</div><o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">Or I could tell you how much we still miss
mom. How much we want to call mom and talk to her, every day, every moment.
It’s been just over two years now, and there are still no words. There’s
nothing else to say (except everything). <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">Elizabeth Bishop begins her poem <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/47536/one-art" target="_blank">“One Art”</a>with these lines: <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">The art of losing isn’t hard to master;<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">so many things seem filled with the intent<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">to be lost that their loss is no disaster.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"></p>She advises us to “Lose something every
day” and catalogues small objects, names, places, land until the last stanza
when she moves to the loss of a person and concludes with this:<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">—Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">I love) I shan’t have lied. It’s
evident<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">the art of losing’s not too hard to master<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 10pt; mso-ansi-language: EN;">though it may look like (<i>Write</i> it!) like disaster.</span><span style="font-family: "Comic Sans MS"; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">Losing, loss, grieving, mourning…if it is
an art to develop, I’ve sure had a lot of practice with it in the past six
years, UD. And while I see the irony and life lesson in Bishop’s poem, I also
see the pain and anguish in the parenthetical note. We don’t want to “Write it”
because that makes it real and that means we’re facing it, and it’s over. All
the never agains live in that parenthetical space— <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRUgPrBB8p1LPGIjQEwPZPkCOsEeAYpGVI1OFDxNWOsz_5y8m69HdJJCD_tHt0IuKNcsHMKq35u9yVy7ErHmzPtRdVwMcIQVUFg6J9Tf5n8Y3XVPaR6iPKIICjsDGJUVu5xOicpjPoUQVQ/s2048/received_336699883870406+%25281%2529.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRUgPrBB8p1LPGIjQEwPZPkCOsEeAYpGVI1OFDxNWOsz_5y8m69HdJJCD_tHt0IuKNcsHMKq35u9yVy7ErHmzPtRdVwMcIQVUFg6J9Tf5n8Y3XVPaR6iPKIICjsDGJUVu5xOicpjPoUQVQ/w150-h200/received_336699883870406+%25281%2529.jpeg" width="150" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Six years, 72 months, 2190 days to
“master” the “art” of losing you, to get used to the new normal, to grow
forward in life. What I’ve learned is that part of that process IS writing it,
acknowledging the loss, remembering all the good, honoring you (and mom) and
all you both taught us, and passing it all along to others. UD, both you and
mom—your life, your love, your time on this earth—it mattered. It matters, and
it will be remembered. Six years or sixty, six hundred years or more…as long as
there are Crawhams walking the earth. You will be remembered. Mom will be
remembered. All of those we lost will be remembered.</div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span> </span>Love, Rach<o:p></o:p></p></div><p><br /></p>Rachel Rineharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289755862446875553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866037785549285847.post-55672889997397435172021-03-15T13:07:00.005-04:002021-03-15T13:23:15.101-04:00Spring Fever 2021<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVrr24Hff_R1ZpeLo4tNM42uDL8bOVq-JpluKlhtjC76QSlm44VQltnycBGNhhpueGPMgGwm9bkr2Mz0zf-fPwPrccIt7kKrW1vCaKiUkcz_Df_ek-xeMgvJBIXXisyfGEk2qA4gY5UE1e/s867/garden+kids.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="867" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVrr24Hff_R1ZpeLo4tNM42uDL8bOVq-JpluKlhtjC76QSlm44VQltnycBGNhhpueGPMgGwm9bkr2Mz0zf-fPwPrccIt7kKrW1vCaKiUkcz_Df_ek-xeMgvJBIXXisyfGEk2qA4gY5UE1e/s320/garden+kids.jpg" /></a></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">Dear UD,</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">I miss spring in Missouri—smiling daffodils,
green green grass, tiny buds on limbs, morel mushrooms hunts, crocuses popping
up out of the ground even with a light dusting of snow, earthworms wiggling
away from hungry robins and blue jays, bird nests speckled with tiny eggs,
chick hatchlings chirping, box turtles just out of hibernation, freshly tilled
gardens planted with rows of spinach and green onions and carrots, quick spring
showers that leave mud and puddles, asparagus sprigs standing proudly ready to
pick and eat....the beauty of spring teeming with life, yes, I miss it so.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFtwYWA7n34u7sZhMrVRiuBR2-BmL54U3ijsspLd81xgfmIR-dPsEU1xgYM8O_jy9TibB3XehwtWGQx7c2P8MzTr_UIOF3wl05QdGbFU_PQr1rEQE5QpJm_9b5AIyrKgT2fcEnHB1DDEBu/s2048/56608830_437749953696124_3877114918524157952_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFtwYWA7n34u7sZhMrVRiuBR2-BmL54U3ijsspLd81xgfmIR-dPsEU1xgYM8O_jy9TibB3XehwtWGQx7c2P8MzTr_UIOF3wl05QdGbFU_PQr1rEQE5QpJm_9b5AIyrKgT2fcEnHB1DDEBu/w150-h200/56608830_437749953696124_3877114918524157952_n.jpg" width="150" /></a></span></div><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>But
more than anything, I miss Mom, miss Dad, miss you, miss the me I was then,
miss the family unity, miss what passed for normal just six years ago.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Grief
changes us. It rips us apart and puts us back together like a Humpty Dumpty
that could never be put right again. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Uncle
David, I don’t know how you did it—you, mom, and Uncle Bob. You were all in
your late twenties when you lost your mom, and then in your forties when you
lost your dad. I remember your lament of “we’re orphans now. We’re orphans now”
at Grandpa Bruce’s funeral. I didn’t understand anything then. Not at all. No
one can at all…until it happens. But now. Now, I need your guidance and wisdom.
How did you do it? How did you all process and handle that grief and still move
forward with life and love and living? How did you all still keep the family
together and make it seem so easy? I don’t know how we’re supposed to do it
without you and mom. Or is that your secret? That you had each other? The three
of you together could face anything. Well, the three of you and God. Having a
relationship with God—is that your secret?</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_9kHZb1Wov9MCd9e2wu7dSi7S9qzt54PtEDA-ssn8X1YSZE6F3-4uraplPzjoKC93nZwXTjc0BKPyVGePHlyc7PELQdt3kRwcEwQKFs6W5Nk4Hp50o6904My2BozWnDq6PO4EIcTP3l9g/s2048/48935544_341099853411489_8452233516673925120_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_9kHZb1Wov9MCd9e2wu7dSi7S9qzt54PtEDA-ssn8X1YSZE6F3-4uraplPzjoKC93nZwXTjc0BKPyVGePHlyc7PELQdt3kRwcEwQKFs6W5Nk4Hp50o6904My2BozWnDq6PO4EIcTP3l9g/w200-h133/48935544_341099853411489_8452233516673925120_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">I have siblings I love and am close to. I
have God. We still even have Uncle Bob (Thank God). But nothing’s the same now.
Nothing is okay without you all. Nothing. It’s been six years since we lost you
and Dad and two years since we lost mom, and it still hurts so much. I still
reach for the phone all the time to call mom, call you. I still ache to hear
mom’s voice, your voice, again. I still have a hole in my heart where I am
missing mom. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJOERZ8AxM3yP3XsL0uKavIzugVMItzvT3BiJ196JfribbS2YDENswWMWWEFWhVNBN1jdLNaI2MltSkrS9FsH8o9J5Y-BBr5-BoUv2fiUHJhFtx81LQ44AhdSOlnt-Gwjg50VUBW_yKNW7/s2048/received_455273935214828.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJOERZ8AxM3yP3XsL0uKavIzugVMItzvT3BiJ196JfribbS2YDENswWMWWEFWhVNBN1jdLNaI2MltSkrS9FsH8o9J5Y-BBr5-BoUv2fiUHJhFtx81LQ44AhdSOlnt-Gwjg50VUBW_yKNW7/w150-h200/received_455273935214828.jpeg" width="150" /></a></div>America gives us three days to grieve.
What a joke. Grief is a never-ending monster of heavy aches and overwhelming
sadness. After three days, people tell us to move on, stay busy, get back to
life and living. After a year or two, they tell us to let go of the old or
previous pain, that it has nothing to do with anything happening in life now.
What they don’t realize is that we ARE moving on, staying busy, living, and
even moving forward because there’s no other choice; however, the pain is ever
present, ever there, ever impacting everything everything everything that
happens in life from that moment on. Yes, the pain ebbs and flows. The wound
scars over. The bruise fades. Time dulls the ache, and memories, old and new,
fill the hole in our hearts to a certain extent. However, the pain NEVER goes
completely away, and there’s not a second when we don’t see and feel that
grief. Because moving forward means a new normal, a new life, a new self. It
means living in the shadow of what used to be and will never be again, not on
this earth. <o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRJ5VTsuPDbQ6x5PGHqR74qARzZa_zTb7cRXatoA5havZi_XqJmo3tKVkFLkaw_W_IUjokWcByoofEdICUKtlENpg9Z8hvisbFJB7tJmp48YZF7Vfes2N7F0xHgYkQ1A3XDZtXbcP7PLrM/s2048/IMG_1828.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1140" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRJ5VTsuPDbQ6x5PGHqR74qARzZa_zTb7cRXatoA5havZi_XqJmo3tKVkFLkaw_W_IUjokWcByoofEdICUKtlENpg9Z8hvisbFJB7tJmp48YZF7Vfes2N7F0xHgYkQ1A3XDZtXbcP7PLrM/w111-h200/IMG_1828.jpg" width="111" /></a></div>There are times when living is lighter
again, fun again, happy again, and there are still times, will always be times,
when the grief encompasses us and all we do. Today is your special day, UD, and
so I feel both happy and sad. Happy that we had you in our lives, happy for all
the memories and all that we learned from you, happy that you lived and loved
once upon a time on this earth and we got to share part of that journey with
you. At the same time, I am still so sad without you here with us.<o:p></o:p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">Moving forward also means remembering and honoring what was and the people who were such a vital part of our story. Filling our hearts and lives with reminiscent moments. Like seeing a full moon and knowing mom is looking down and smiling. Or searching for signs of spring just like mom and you, UD. Or celebrating birthdays with traditions and recipes passed on from generation to generation.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">Which brings us back to you. Happy birthday, Uncle David. Thank you for all that you were and are in our lives.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in; text-indent: 0.5in;">Love, Rach</p>Rachel Rineharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289755862446875553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866037785549285847.post-37010716130664848062020-11-01T16:58:00.007-05:002020-11-01T17:13:40.485-05:00A Thing of Beauty 2020<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK1tAwR38LsV0ZgTH7FL6xXghABnKTkVA7jVfE6W4i84RZQx1yuAcy7vqNP38veM5VTfYS1RJ8v9s2pe873Wu1VDNLT9DrKkvOxBrsvXc0R912rjw53rwbyN8fSYVlkl7bCDWNSsiulPpu/s1656/fall.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1656" data-original-width="1242" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK1tAwR38LsV0ZgTH7FL6xXghABnKTkVA7jVfE6W4i84RZQx1yuAcy7vqNP38veM5VTfYS1RJ8v9s2pe873Wu1VDNLT9DrKkvOxBrsvXc0R912rjw53rwbyN8fSYVlkl7bCDWNSsiulPpu/s320/fall.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">Dear UD,</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;">As November 2020 approached, I didn’t know what to do with
it. The world ended in a lot of ways for many people this year; the world is in
the middle of a pandemic, and in America, we’re seeing increased racial
violence as well as civil unrest and nearing the end of an election year where there was a televised
presidential debate that was anything but presidential. I was in debate in high
school, and if I acted like the so-called president, I would have been escorted
off stage immediately and likely banned from future debates. Personally, I’m
approaching my second birthday without my mom in this world, and a birthday
year where we were both supposed to turn big numbers together (first her in
August and then me this month). Not to mention that I’m living alone for the
first time in my life while also working only from home, spending day and night
on an electronic device for work, connection, fun, trying not to go bat-shit
crazy, but not trying not to cuss so much. Yes, I normally don't swear much in
general; however, you know if you hear me dropping F-bombs like crazy, then I'm
either extra super exhausted (check) or super extra pissed off (check check).
In the past few weeks (or is it months), I've been both, and so I find myself
cussing a lot as well as singing to songs where I can curse some more. So,
that's where I am this semester of super extra grading and responding and
working on the computer all the f-ing time and dealing with the f-ing pandemic
on top of everything.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;">The thing is, Uncle David, for all of us still here on this earth
right now, what we are dealing with is very personal. Too many personal things
that we don’t know how to process, don’t know what to do with, but hope to
survive. I know that. At the same time, because of the pandemic and all that comes
with it, there’s also the collective part that we are all dealing with that
makes the personal even more difficult right now. And what do we do with all of
that?!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;">And without you, without mom, without family living in the
same home with me, I feel so alone. Just a week ago, I discovered something
disturbing about someone I know personally (not a close friend or family
member, but still someone I hung out with once upon a time), and I just wanted
to call my mom, to call you. I want to hear Mom’s voice, and I know she’d say
something like, “People are crazy. Just goes to show you never really know
someone. That’s why we need God.” And, I want to hear your deep chuckle,
because as horrific as the story was, I know you would help me process it and
then find a way to help me see the positive in the situation, the good in the
world, and the hope in humanity; and you’d make me laugh before we hung up. I
miss you and mom so much it hurts. And it feels so lonely without you both in
this world with me. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><o:p><br /></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;">But the other week, I read an article that helped me not
feel so alone. In a nutshell, “The ancient term 'acedia' describes the
paradoxical combination of jangling nerves and vague lack of purpose many of us
are feeling now. Reviving the label might help.” In the article, “<a href="https://theconversation.com/acedia-the-lost-name-for-the-emotion-were-all-feeling-right-now-144058" target="_blank">Acedia: thelost name for the emotion we’re all feeling right now</a>,” Jonathan L. Zecher states:<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE6D8n22b6QTOJnbX7nt4yektCSh0Ot6S74du5nXwmISMZXQiEAtCvrYoEjsmhGwe1PzujDJoEGs3PosC0_b_JlAx9UtDc7oojpw8iU5Csl8KiqnespqW6C8i6mIcOgFoCpyCkikl8nuAy/s2048/Mia+fall.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE6D8n22b6QTOJnbX7nt4yektCSh0Ot6S74du5nXwmISMZXQiEAtCvrYoEjsmhGwe1PzujDJoEGs3PosC0_b_JlAx9UtDc7oojpw8iU5Csl8KiqnespqW6C8i6mIcOgFoCpyCkikl8nuAy/s320/Mia+fall.jpg" /></a></div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">Reviving
the language of acedia is important to our experience in two ways.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: .5in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0.5in;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in; mso-add-space: auto;">First, it
distinguishes the complex of emotions brought on by enforced isolation,
constant uncertainty and the barrage of bad news from clinical terms like
“depression” or “anxiety”. Saying, “I’m feeling acedia” could legitimise
feelings of listlessness and anxiety as valid emotions in our current context
without inducing guilt that others have things worse.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in; mso-add-space: auto;">Second, and more
importantly, the feelings associated with physical isolation are exacerbated by
emotional isolation – that terrible sense that this thing I feel is mine alone.
When an experience can be named, it can be communicated and even shared.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-left: 1.0in; margin-right: 0in; margin-top: 0in; margin: 0in 0in 0in 1in; mso-add-space: auto;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;">UD, it’s true that every one of us still on this earth has
both personal and collective issues to handle right now, so it’s more important
than ever to think about, find, and share A Thing of Beauty every day this
November. That means looking at the people and places around us and finding
meaning and beauty in what is, reimagining difficult or painful things in ways
that calm and soothe, reseeing ugly things in ways that simplify and beautify.
You did this, UD, in many ways, and Mom did it in her own way too. “Bless
someone else, and you’ll feel better,” she’d always remind us when things were
challenging. “Look how far you’ve come and what all you’ve survived. I’m proud
of you,” you’d tell us. I miss you both so much. But, for my own sanity and to
honor the tradition as well as honor you, mom, and dad, I will find and share a
thing of beauty every day this month. Thank you, Uncle David, for always believing
in me. Thank you, Mom, for always loving me. Thank you, Dad, for always
teaching me. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;">Love, Rach<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;">PS: For those of you reading this blog entry, I encourage
you to look for a thing of beauty as you go about your day this month. Whether
you haven’t left your house for six months or you’ve had to go to work every
single day despite everything going on around you or you are taking care of
Covid-19 patients or you have or have had the virus. No matter what your
circumstances, I encourage you to look for a thing of beauty right wherever you
are. Maybe you’ll find it in the person next to you, or in the nature around
you, or in the kindness of a stranger. But wherever you find it, I encourage
you to share it. Tell someone else about it, pass it along, let it heal your
heart. Because you never know whose heart you might bless or whose life you
might save just from seeing beauty right where you are and passing it along.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-margin-bottom-alt: 8.0pt; mso-margin-top-alt: 0in;"><o:p> </o:p></p></div><p></p>Rachel Rineharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289755862446875553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866037785549285847.post-22611558206547936222020-08-26T14:11:00.005-04:002020-08-26T14:11:51.418-04:00Birthdays, 2020<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg-yUPIpDdytMDDn35wBTvHG985QCtMlPUNINsM8EwfDNzxI72R0AnuoroG6slF2Q-ynrys9iMiRGYgWAFXtFeXdThdkp8xkSF15xhMdCSagMVtv13RwYj-9b2MBxm1lJo_RHZm_wZc4jq/s2048/IMG_5319.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="342" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg-yUPIpDdytMDDn35wBTvHG985QCtMlPUNINsM8EwfDNzxI72R0AnuoroG6slF2Q-ynrys9iMiRGYgWAFXtFeXdThdkp8xkSF15xhMdCSagMVtv13RwYj-9b2MBxm1lJo_RHZm_wZc4jq/w512-h342/IMG_5319.JPG" width="512" /></a></div><p></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">Dear UD,</p><p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">I find myself nostalgic
for so many things lately. Birthday celebrations with you and mom and dad, parties
with all of our extended families together, conversations on the phone with you
and Mom, having my daughters living in my home, hosting exchange students, even
life before smart phones or cell phones, and definitely life before the
pandemic.</p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">The world is so
different this year of 2020. It’s riddled with pandemics, viruses, quarantines,
political circus acts, videos of racism and police brutality, black lives
matter protests, online-only education, unemployment, foreclosures of both homes
and businesses, superstorms, civil unrest, tweets of utter stupidity, and so
much more. We moved from reading dystopian literature to living dystopian life,
yet what overshadows this year for me is that Mom’s not here to celebrate our
birthdays together this year. It’s not right, UD, and it’s not okay. But it is
what is. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP9bvlP3NrBWtxdJuI7CBoBnU7zjqJpVecOXnetab5vlbG0OANAnyhfwfkMnfdPz7eD3e7bnIo2X0bWztLTtbRmgvDWNxTJK2E6AhNuqM5cfnOWeHX-s4oWd1ekslA6FRNGZJQutuUvO62/s571/matching+dresses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="566" data-original-width="571" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP9bvlP3NrBWtxdJuI7CBoBnU7zjqJpVecOXnetab5vlbG0OANAnyhfwfkMnfdPz7eD3e7bnIo2X0bWztLTtbRmgvDWNxTJK2E6AhNuqM5cfnOWeHX-s4oWd1ekslA6FRNGZJQutuUvO62/w187-h186/matching+dresses.jpg" width="187" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">Mom was 20 years old
when I was born, and I remember the last time we celebrated our birthdays in
person together. In 2016, she turned 66 in August, so of course I turned 46
that November. At the time, I had just moved back to Missouri for the fall semester
and was renting a house in Houston, so I hosted a family birthday party for
mom. She was so happy because everyone came, and that’s all that mattered to
her—time with those she loved.</p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-bcp_zh-kyi5sOscS9gOSbMVN3NSbm9Ti9u_HvN5-86H7PO1KYNOryWjJ2BVSLNStY2MRrMwjxI7gARsUeZN1Nf-XQnAWt6h925caixV59eib8-tMWk1HzQxtOFWzqqfGe86nPebi0AtC/s2048/IMG_5290.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1365" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-bcp_zh-kyi5sOscS9gOSbMVN3NSbm9Ti9u_HvN5-86H7PO1KYNOryWjJ2BVSLNStY2MRrMwjxI7gARsUeZN1Nf-XQnAWt6h925caixV59eib8-tMWk1HzQxtOFWzqqfGe86nPebi0AtC/w140-h210/IMG_5290.JPG" width="140" /></a></div>Per typical
celebrations in our family, we had tons of homemade food, presents, a homemade
cake, and even BYOC, also known as “bring your own candle” (thanks to Sonny) for
the birthday cake. And tons of people and craziness, but I remember Mom being
so happy, and we took lots of photos.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">Sam and Serena hosted
my birthday party that November. Again, Mom was so happy to be celebrating my
birthday with me in person.</p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">It’s unfathomable that
we lost her just a couple of years after that and that we’ll never celebrate a
birthday together again.</p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">Uncle David, I don’t
have a strong ending, a life lesson, or a conclusion. I just miss you, miss mom
and wish you were both here. Today, I’m doing things to honor and celebrate her—breakfast
and conversation with Alaina (Granny loved her grandkids and spending time with
them and was so proud of them), homemade chicken-veggie soup for lunch (Mom
loved making soup and sharing food with her family and friends), pool time this
afternoon (she was a lifeguard as a teen and loved swimming her whole life), Chinese
takeout for dinner (not only did she love eating Chinese food, but it was the
last meal we shared at a restaurant with her—all ten of her children and almost
30 of her grandchildren were there, so the restaurant had to push together a
long row of tables so that we could all eat at the same “table”), and movie
night with a friend (watching one of Mom’s favorite movies).</p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">Happy 70<sup>th</sup>
birthday, Mom. You are missed; you are loved.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-A5OuoAjG0bzT5Y3ZYjs6Sj9QLmmuIUjkodz37gXZQYG4soa_NhH_1KnoJhwqcuYchy_uPdYeYyRPxwOMKMM4gcq8f6DQNO-sEjkf5df_NUO3Eeqe1nNbbIK-Zc_1IbuFvJX0JletbJQj/s1656/117952809_341101670261239_4063814223051683065_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1656" data-original-width="1242" height="262" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-A5OuoAjG0bzT5Y3ZYjs6Sj9QLmmuIUjkodz37gXZQYG4soa_NhH_1KnoJhwqcuYchy_uPdYeYyRPxwOMKMM4gcq8f6DQNO-sEjkf5df_NUO3Eeqe1nNbbIK-Zc_1IbuFvJX0JletbJQj/w197-h262/117952809_341101670261239_4063814223051683065_n.jpg" width="197" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">UD, we wish you and Mom
were here right now, but as you and mom taught us, we will honor and remember our
ancestry, our loved ones, our lessons learned. And we will celebrate birthdays
and loved ones, both keeping close old memories and continuing to make new
ones.</p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">Love,</p>
<p class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">Rach<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></p><p></p>Rachel Rineharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289755862446875553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866037785549285847.post-65763615396602760442020-06-07T16:46:00.001-04:002021-06-07T18:15:38.147-04:00Black Lives Matter<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtTGT-1gUGKIMnLyhVohRpbOnaeedD-LSOG0OKRjJSJJ_9UUtvPsPTwK3dkkGcV88XTSs47iozSIiSaik7yirYrbcYNfkFkmli3E17q8uitX47UWZWD8EVeCCkCZVjrRz41-5NvlaV9QsE/s1600/101957627_794238911107638_5198062790958114625_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="360" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtTGT-1gUGKIMnLyhVohRpbOnaeedD-LSOG0OKRjJSJJ_9UUtvPsPTwK3dkkGcV88XTSs47iozSIiSaik7yirYrbcYNfkFkmli3E17q8uitX47UWZWD8EVeCCkCZVjrRz41-5NvlaV9QsE/s320/101957627_794238911107638_5198062790958114625_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
Dear UD,<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
On May 25, George
Floyd, a black man, was killed on the streets of Minneapolis by a white police
officer who was kneeling on his neck during an arrest. In under nine minutes,
Floyd died. During those nine horrific moments, captured on video, Floyd cried
out for mercy, for justice, for his mama. “I can’t breathe.” I can’t breathe. I
can’t breathe. He said this over and over again until all his breath was gone
from this world. Gone forever. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Once the video was released
and the nation and world witnessed this appalling and atrocious event, it responded
with horror and action. Protests, riots, social media posts, news articles, the
whole world is watching, but more importantly, the whole world is taking
action. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixTKehgH95EvR2YT1YP7NLbkWIU48Jx6NL6Oi3zrTwkvK5MLASAKrJgw8Tfsuvk_1NcciCkTdhvrsUs72FUALDQa8bsuOsYEv5bQlvSiS9blkFv6aRzq1kPu70Bbe9jHmXEralv-HsuTr6/s1600/101828218_206648530358898_2548845808580081344_n.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="594" data-original-width="824" height="230" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixTKehgH95EvR2YT1YP7NLbkWIU48Jx6NL6Oi3zrTwkvK5MLASAKrJgw8Tfsuvk_1NcciCkTdhvrsUs72FUALDQa8bsuOsYEv5bQlvSiS9blkFv6aRzq1kPu70Bbe9jHmXEralv-HsuTr6/s320/101828218_206648530358898_2548845808580081344_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
It’s so unbelievable, Uncle
David, that America needs civil rights action in 2020, but here we are. It has
all gone on too long. There’s no justification for what happened. It doesn’t
matter what he did, where he’s from, what he was doing, what race he is. NONE
of that matters. George Floyd was a man, a human being who deserved the same treatment
as ANY other human being. <span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">I’m not talking about some liberal agenda, political agenda, or negative
stance against police officers. The police have a challenging job, one that I
could never do. There are so many courageous, considerate, strong officers out
there, and I have nothing but respect and admiration for them and how they
serve their communities. However, there is no room for prejudice and racism in
a vocation such as police work or education. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Police brutality,
racial profiling, black men in prison, unjust treatment because of skin color…all
of it has gone on for too long. White privilege has gone on too long. Systematic
racism has gone on for too long in America. It is time for a better country, a
better world. <span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
UD, I thank God that I was raised
to be accepting of other cultures and races, to embrace diversity, to stand up
for what I believe in. Because that’s where it starts. It all begins with how
we view the world and how we teach our children to view the world. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my narrative titled, “<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Beauty in the Spice of Life: An International
Playgroup,” first published in <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Good-Works-Review-Multiple-Authors/dp/1942371985/ref=pd_lpo_14_t_0/144-5648730-7374468?_encoding=UTF8&pd_rd_i=1942371985&pd_rd_r=6498ddba-4c24-4097-b322-ddc41111bebc&pd_rd_w=9ZgvO&pd_rd_wg=XJEyn&pf_rd_p=7b36d496-f366-4631-94d3-61b87b52511b&pf_rd_r=KW8D4PZSGY2RXKAYJG7P&psc=1&refRID=KW8D4PZSGY2RXKAYJG7P&fbclid=IwAR0dCSH5pfQaX5fQBja-WOrVHgmsqoMGbChaaShpHNBvQ3KIBx532niSnAA" target="_blank"><i>Good Works Review</i> <i>2018</i></a>, I wrote:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">How do we teach our
children diversity and acceptance? How can we help them see beyond color and
language to people and their hearts? As recent headlines show, these are still
important questions in the twenty-first century.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">It all starts with what
we pass down through the generations; I am grateful that I learned these vital
qualities from my parents through conversations, books, movies, music and then
passed them down to my own children, using love, exposure, and conversation. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">[snip]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">In this group, we were
learning to pass it along, generation upon generation, through love, exposure,
and conversation. Children have an innocence that automatically welcomes and
that can be nurtured. When my children were toddlers, I started an international
playgroup and exposed them to food and kids and clothes from around the world.
I read books to them about other cultures, and we talked about the differences
and similarities. Even when they were babies, I bought a board book that is
simply the song, “Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the
world,” and is illustrated with children from various cultures. I bought my
daughters white American Girl dolls that looked just like them, but I also
bought them Native American, African American, etc. dolls as well. I took them
to local International Festivals every year and took photos for their albums.
We watched movies about Dr. King, Rosa Parks, the Civil Rights Movement,
women’s rights, Gandhi and so on. When my children became teenagers, we hosted
foreign exchange students every summer, and my daughters now have French and
Spanish sisters. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 0.5in;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8IKOuV3ORo8maN_OZsam2HGDFAL6ZghmToD5lFTTnTr-l76OI6RZt-O2EpT4oNf-qF_2h7AeJZ1K0s93P-B34KRojRoUuTwQIZN-8rlI8X3McTbhriSjM8kSe_LjwmozTSNnQIbW-pzzK/s1600/102805194_853237931833102_3432150765860271721_n.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="457" data-original-width="563" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8IKOuV3ORo8maN_OZsam2HGDFAL6ZghmToD5lFTTnTr-l76OI6RZt-O2EpT4oNf-qF_2h7AeJZ1K0s93P-B34KRojRoUuTwQIZN-8rlI8X3McTbhriSjM8kSe_LjwmozTSNnQIbW-pzzK/s320/102805194_853237931833102_3432150765860271721_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">UD, I ended that essay with this, “…</span><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">the importance of unity, difference,
community, and the innocence and acceptance of children. Our lives are enriched
when we reach beyond the common white bread of our culture into the difference,
diversity, yet oneness of others.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">My whole life I have lived this way, taught my own children these values,
and passed along these values to my students in the classroom. I teach that silence
can be a form of violence and the importance of living our beliefs. I post articles
and memes on social media designed to inspire and encourage acceptance and
justice and critical thinking. But this week, all of that doesn’t feel like
enough. I feel so enraged and powerless, impuissant, that things like George
Floyd’s death are still happening in our country. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">I am distressed and horrified. So much so that </span><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">I have felt compelled to
action. Called to take action that publicly and visibly shows my beliefs and that
stands on the side of justice and mercy and truth and compassion and acceptance.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language: EN; mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix5WzVbuqyHsGD5ILE2LgodrflIObF1gKsP6z4s1cCo0-l5SOn35_QRqUywEMGKyhFtC5zKwAxbPX_7ui9LBB7qQ2HQcM0ds6dwyC7zic0fKfdYouXnhcKvcpThXJWFTuwZBfMnoxrBVr-/s1600/102407867_3490505954296126_420535555273600159_n.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="567" data-original-width="381" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix5WzVbuqyHsGD5ILE2LgodrflIObF1gKsP6z4s1cCo0-l5SOn35_QRqUywEMGKyhFtC5zKwAxbPX_7ui9LBB7qQ2HQcM0ds6dwyC7zic0fKfdYouXnhcKvcpThXJWFTuwZBfMnoxrBVr-/s200/102407867_3490505954296126_420535555273600159_n.jpg" width="134" /></a><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">So last night I attended a Peaceful Protest at Canova Beach Park with a
friend of mine. In some ways, it was nerve-racking while in other ways it felt
right and emotional and effective. Laina helped me make a sign which read “Equal
justice for all. #icantbreath #blacklivesmatter.” I picked up Rebekah and drove
to the protest. Before stopping, we drove by, honking our support to those
already gathered together, to scope out the situation since we’d heard rumors
of plans to attack or mace the peaceful protesters. There were police cars
nearby for protection, but everything looked okay. After doing a u-turn, we
drove back to the area, and we were appalled to see a counter-protest across
A1A near Keywest Bar. While there weren’t a lot of people gathered on that
side, it was jarring and simply terrible to see the Confederate flag flying
next to the American flag flying next to Trump 2020 Keep America Great flag
right here in Brevard County. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">We found a parking spot at Canova Beach, donned our masks, and walked
over to stand proudly with the 300 Black Lives Matter protesters. For thirty
minutes or more, we stood on the side of the road, holding our sign, waving at friendly
people who drove by and honked their support, joining chants like “I can’t
breathe” or “Black lives matter” or “No justice, no peace” or “Say his name.
George Floyd,” and being part of something important and necessary. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1ofj1Pf5QYDcltcjP-8Q2nJDYnCLy7xDmmAVBNYaOMMrhivp_jg0IxpnSv48UWO4rPLV9wD9pb3t575cwoJm3rsURnqurD93mJJfSoTxLhKBUtPrO330JYgbWW5ECxENnF1J5-MKxo3bi/s1600/101784704_3047544002001444_6690121740904306608_n.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="313" data-original-width="369" height="169" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1ofj1Pf5QYDcltcjP-8Q2nJDYnCLy7xDmmAVBNYaOMMrhivp_jg0IxpnSv48UWO4rPLV9wD9pb3t575cwoJm3rsURnqurD93mJJfSoTxLhKBUtPrO330JYgbWW5ECxENnF1J5-MKxo3bi/s200/101784704_3047544002001444_6690121740904306608_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglFomI-xqc7hf2KgLoE5usefX1qNm-0nq2K2iqpMBS2kHEHI4qGOg_goqCLIjAw7_SqgQhd73ZwwZjz0vaOAtBWKDo1c7w33IM5Tc-iXe0Z0e-Gh4sq9RWz-UUCf3kcDn1OOCwYDo6Gkl-/s1600/101826712_311554373307865_4619662899729337524_n.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="436" data-original-width="305" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglFomI-xqc7hf2KgLoE5usefX1qNm-0nq2K2iqpMBS2kHEHI4qGOg_goqCLIjAw7_SqgQhd73ZwwZjz0vaOAtBWKDo1c7w33IM5Tc-iXe0Z0e-Gh4sq9RWz-UUCf3kcDn1OOCwYDo6Gkl-/s200/101826712_311554373307865_4619662899729337524_n.jpg" width="139" /></a><span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">At the same time, across the road, the counter-protesters continued waving
their flags. I don’t understand how you can protest justice and equality?! I
found it ironic that they held the American flag “‘Cause the flag still stands
for freedom,” and okay, the freedom/right to protest is covered under that;
however, what about the freedom/right to equality and justice and purity and
valor that our flag stands for?! One lady was so drunk that she kept yelling obscenities
and demanding that we “go home.” Then, one man arrived across the street with a
full-sized portrait (as in the picture was taller than him) of white Jesus, and
he started walking up and down the road, waving white Jesus around. UD, you know
that it angers me when people use God to justify evil, but to show up at a peaceful
Black Lives Matter protest with a misrepresentation of Jesus?! I have no words.</span></div>
<br />
<o:p></o:p>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Thankfully, everyone in our group remained peaceful yet purposeful. At
one point, we all “took a knee” for the eight minutes and 46 seconds that the
police office knelt on George Floyd’s neck and in honor and respect and silence
for those who have lost their lives because of racism and police brutality. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-weight: bold;">Ultimately, I felt empowered to participate in civil action, to join thousands
around the nation and world in demanding justice, equality, and accountability.
It cannot stop here. It cannot stop now. It started with George Floyd’s last
breath and will not stop until we can all breathe as free and as just as one another.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJOr5GeqgFajttsfnJtAPr0ulP_d6eOfkqwSg0yZ78529ntsvPGidfDPpncyhXag8kO-fj9BGj1R7CSNIHwi_a_j0aZsCymsMFpJz3tdfpjbXU7oXSrL3tgrO6TDBMATsJbF8Ls-eDtgZX/s1600/102918191_343738506587966_2027582628052942776_n.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="405" data-original-width="633" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJOr5GeqgFajttsfnJtAPr0ulP_d6eOfkqwSg0yZ78529ntsvPGidfDPpncyhXag8kO-fj9BGj1R7CSNIHwi_a_j0aZsCymsMFpJz3tdfpjbXU7oXSrL3tgrO6TDBMATsJbF8Ls-eDtgZX/s320/102918191_343738506587966_2027582628052942776_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<o:p></o:p>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
George Floyd leaves
behind family, loved ones, children. Although his death is a horrific tragedy, he leaves behind a legacy of change as the
world has joined together to stand for justice. Together, we stand. Together,
we protest. Together, we say ENOUGH. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
UD, I know that you and
Mom and Dad would all stand with me. Missing you all. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Love, Rach<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
PS: Photography by Rebekah RaddonRachel Rineharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289755862446875553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866037785549285847.post-81523937687701944472020-05-25T22:52:00.000-04:002020-05-25T22:52:53.556-04:00Memorial Day 2020<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtaRv2_T-gWZ0UF1aCVWcFzsdVhcoHmvOAlnMcaFX_2EiVKWlly1aIwSHF6EhBSDAFjAlGqX0NWFERe2FB7MISwaoZr51l6NU37onhkpCw2WtRV7MbwLbIVtMaQFmVJeRbsnbxsUJa3LEP/s1600/20190721_174124.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1201" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtaRv2_T-gWZ0UF1aCVWcFzsdVhcoHmvOAlnMcaFX_2EiVKWlly1aIwSHF6EhBSDAFjAlGqX0NWFERe2FB7MISwaoZr51l6NU37onhkpCw2WtRV7MbwLbIVtMaQFmVJeRbsnbxsUJa3LEP/s320/20190721_174124.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Dear UD,</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
It’s Memorial Day
weekend in 2020, a global pandemic still ravages, many states in America are in
the middle of a phase to reopen, and all across the United States, people are
preparing to gather together for the holiday weekend. Some Americans plan to
stay home, others plan to go out while practicing caution and social
distancing, yet there are those who don’t see a risk and simply want to have
fun and/or exercise their freedom. Simultaneously, the <i>New York Times</i>
major headline for this weekend reads, “U. S. Deaths Near 100,000, an Incalculable
Loss.” It is a historic front page—simply a list of names of those Americans
who have died from Covid-19 so far this year. The article then reveals
memories, snippets from obituaries across the nation, of those lost to the
virus during this pandemic; their positions, their hobbies, their
accomplishments, their gifts and talents, their loved ones left to mourn their
loss. The article honors them yet serves as a sober warning and reminder. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Uncle David, during the
last several years of your life, you wrote a series of full-length plays titled
<i>Memorial Day Picnic (</i>Morning 1919, Afternoon 1945, Evening 1976, Night
2007). I remember being one of your readers during that time and how much I
loved the plays and your brilliance. The plays, always set on Memorial Day, range
over the course of a century and include family drama, American history from
World War I to World War II to the Vietnam War to the Iraq War and all the way
to 9-11, and honor for the military personnel who have died while serving in
the U. S. military.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Of those who served in
those wars, there were a little over 100,000 deaths during World War I, over
400,000 deaths during World War II, over 50,000 deaths during Vietnam, and
close to 5,000 deaths during the Iraq War. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
UD, can you imagine an
America where 100,000 people die from a virus in three months? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
According to the <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2020/05/24/us/us-coronavirus-deaths-100000.html?action=click&module=Top%20Stories&pgtype=Homepage">NYTarticle</a>, one of those was a 91-year old who “saved 56 Jewish families from
the Gestapo.” It is all mindboggling, UD, and lugubrious. Just like in a war,
there are now so many holes in so many families. Empty chairs, empty hearts,
empty places that were once full. Once whole. So much knowledge wiped out. Gone.
Forever disappeared. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Your plays span
generations, showing connections, collective mourning, and emotional trauma
passed down from one generation to the next. Likewise, this pandemic will span
generations, pass down emotional trauma, and spur collective mourning. That’s
already happening this weekend as we sit in our homes, reading the names of
those recently lost to the virus and as we contemplate all of those lost in
military service for our country and as we remember those loved ones we lost
too soon. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
UD, I miss you. I miss
Mom. I miss Dad. I miss Grandpa and so many others. But I thank God for your
time on this earth and in my life, and I vow to keep your memories alive, to
pass your names down to the next generations, and to continue your values and
traditions even in the middle of a world-wide pandemic. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Love,<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Rach<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Rachel Rineharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289755862446875553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866037785549285847.post-50475496825959331662020-04-28T17:50:00.000-04:002020-04-28T18:01:41.340-04:00Shelter in Place<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3-Bq4KH8d_03yYWF6OSUb4m0slXgWB0QxMAuncTaSdJZTV7I57xDtgYBZb_G9SG4vUXdIqd8Gg0d9Xn9wZf8vVMcSNAdpRFVIoygNlOO-UWlHS4BlpAFnpTsaCqtU117RTRRSFiBnfenb/s1600/11115779_10153228221044904_150638114192244114_n+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="770" data-original-width="694" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3-Bq4KH8d_03yYWF6OSUb4m0slXgWB0QxMAuncTaSdJZTV7I57xDtgYBZb_G9SG4vUXdIqd8Gg0d9Xn9wZf8vVMcSNAdpRFVIoygNlOO-UWlHS4BlpAFnpTsaCqtU117RTRRSFiBnfenb/s320/11115779_10153228221044904_150638114192244114_n+%25282%2529.jpg" width="288" /></a></div>
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Dear UD,</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0JS9AIzUb_nxDFftRmZZHPq7L-gbnA80WW8bdMaXu0LMPJuJ_KLfQwL3lUQg2Ui9Pa8hr_9ex5PfZtUQ2TP5fLJzOF4qKphaZsm1C1bqisg_MdGCbs0FbWjZjZyMkjfZpdqQppAQqdzg3/s1600/10460490_10153270989109904_2746564710700173174_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="960" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0JS9AIzUb_nxDFftRmZZHPq7L-gbnA80WW8bdMaXu0LMPJuJ_KLfQwL3lUQg2Ui9Pa8hr_9ex5PfZtUQ2TP5fLJzOF4qKphaZsm1C1bqisg_MdGCbs0FbWjZjZyMkjfZpdqQppAQqdzg3/s320/10460490_10153270989109904_2746564710700173174_n.jpg" width="320" /></a>Five years from last
weekend I was sitting at a local theater production in Willow Springs, Missouri
to watch Laina perform in <i>The Little Mermaid</i> musical. Mom attended with me
as did some siblings and nieces and nephews. Mom treated us to dinner
afterwards as we celebrated the success of the play and performance. We were so
happy that night. Together and secure in one of those moments of <o:p></o:p></div>
sanctuary in
the midst of the storms our family faced.<br />
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihwjiJbui1rCuLQNYPWdVlx1zF_YM3D_ApEDARqgqBHU0xjOipuXMdrjxgjeCkSIyKPy3859gKlPk4yLZx99wZZhyphenhyphenwOe-xZ0sbYA5XWaeucHkydcR_Skqy5ieXyPSGZRAlhEkV-OkPJMxX/s1600/11168181_10153270995444904_7888339823744112580_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="640" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihwjiJbui1rCuLQNYPWdVlx1zF_YM3D_ApEDARqgqBHU0xjOipuXMdrjxgjeCkSIyKPy3859gKlPk4yLZx99wZZhyphenhyphenwOe-xZ0sbYA5XWaeucHkydcR_Skqy5ieXyPSGZRAlhEkV-OkPJMxX/s200/11168181_10153270995444904_7888339823744112580_n.jpg" width="133" /></a>Alaina and I were in
Missouri then because that semester, I was sheltering on the family farm,
living in the upstairs section of my childhood home. I had returned home in
time to have a couple of weeks of quality time with Dad after he went on
hospice, and I had stayed to help Mom with all the small details that come when
someone leaves this earth. I remember phone arguments with cable companies refusing
to close his account, boxes and boxes of Dad’s extensive collections of CDs and
DVDs that I shipped off, a red cattle trailer filled with Dad’s eclectic
collection of books, a thorough cleaning and painting of Dad’s room, and a
shopping trip for furniture to remake the space into a bedroom for me. A mere eight
months before we lost Dad, Grandpa died. Born in April of 1918 (during the
first year of the Spanish Flu), he lived for 96 years. A three-time war
veteran, he was a Naval officer for 30 years before retiring to work the
century family beef farm for the next thirty plus years. Grandpa was a constant
and comfort all of our lives, and suddenly he was gone. And not even a year
later, Dad was gone too. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL5zQsI2TeyYytFeLBWJKmEz0Y68aYSTZxhLp5q6UO21BnvWROBjL1qZu6CSgHTRumZI4LvZirmtNljB-axWdOGWCx3AAz5ZHhQUMaZxKLVyYsFWj1AWS1kcf1seqIvBBT6OTAWGT29ViZ/s1600/1896894_10153270996124904_4774861016002473692_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="711" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL5zQsI2TeyYytFeLBWJKmEz0Y68aYSTZxhLp5q6UO21BnvWROBjL1qZu6CSgHTRumZI4LvZirmtNljB-axWdOGWCx3AAz5ZHhQUMaZxKLVyYsFWj1AWS1kcf1seqIvBBT6OTAWGT29ViZ/s200/1896894_10153270996124904_4774861016002473692_n.jpg" width="148" /></a>Those two deaths
heralded the beginning of a new normal for me and my family.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Uncle David, I remember
you and I talking about how the death of a parent would bring new roles and
expectations within the family system. After losing your mom, Grandma Bonnie,
when you were in your twenties, you understood all the dynamics. We discussed
how the death of a parent not only changes the family dynamics, roles, and
standings, but also changes the way we see ourselves and the way we experience
the world. The way our shelters become unhinged. The way our moorings begin to
loosen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A new normal. My God, how I
hated the idea of that. Unfortunately, it was only the cusp of “new normals” one
after another after another that we would soon face. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOz9cX0JtJwJ6BwtZLAfzfo-M6DHmZGF0hMyU6sSyIJ66REM_1p98xgPD8DrAUgXnrIlCKXR9dW7HOas3QgmGZM3xQBdNjVy_rLFWZY0pOJd7fLUBtn54wNslFHRAOC977nur0mypymV2o/s1600/11096391_10153228214649904_8115591086532835039_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="641" data-original-width="960" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOz9cX0JtJwJ6BwtZLAfzfo-M6DHmZGF0hMyU6sSyIJ66REM_1p98xgPD8DrAUgXnrIlCKXR9dW7HOas3QgmGZM3xQBdNjVy_rLFWZY0pOJd7fLUBtn54wNslFHRAOC977nur0mypymV2o/s320/11096391_10153228214649904_8115591086532835039_n.jpg" width="320" /></a>Earlier that April, I remember
celebrating spring with Mom, Laina, Jill, Sarah, and various nieces and nephews
as we went on a mushroom hunt one stormy April day. We walked down the gravel
road to Possum Creek before hiking into the woods. We spied a turtle just out
of hibernation, still covered in mud, and spring buds and wildflowers. A garter
snake slithered by, scaring us for a moment. Not finding any morels, we walked back
home and past mom’s gardens (both the vegetable garden we’d helped plant and
the flower garden full of spring flowers from seeds and bulbs you sent her) and
into a field on the family farm, then down to the river behind the house. For
hours, we hunted and laughed and searched and teased. For hours, we spied signs
of spring but no mushrooms. The storm hit, and the rain drenched us as thunder
boomed and lightning struck. In the end, we found morel mushrooms growing right
by Grandpa’s old house, now Sonny’s place, and next door to Mom’s. How you
loved that story. I can still hear echoes of your infectious and hearty chuckle.
But that afternoon was another moment of sanctuary where we were safe and
together.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
On a Tuesday, a few
weeks after the mushroom hunt and a couple of days after the performance, I
called to talk to you, UD. I remember sitting in the new La-Z-Boy chair in
Dad’s old room, my new abode, and chatting about my lesson plans and your dogs
and asparagus shoots. The family was still getting used to the new normal after
losing Dad and Grandpa, but I found shelter in my conversation with you and in
our connection. You weren’t feeling your best, so we didn’t talk long. I told
you to get some rest, and as per usual, we both said, “I love you.” Those were
the last words I would ever hear from you, say to you. <i>I love you.</i> <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilbnFnrnu7q4n4lKazDhVuD8ASUMhStB5tIBxKvUOXT2EsItkSSzLJWVzvtKu2a7TEvOKCXol7fWsJxllHuufUAL4vVMXmfyuoqyeMHqohod1arG7XTSqo7dpQRBCBcL3iUScv-48tZfMJ/s1600/11167675_10153260133414904_2038846407862572829_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="820" data-original-width="960" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilbnFnrnu7q4n4lKazDhVuD8ASUMhStB5tIBxKvUOXT2EsItkSSzLJWVzvtKu2a7TEvOKCXol7fWsJxllHuufUAL4vVMXmfyuoqyeMHqohod1arG7XTSqo7dpQRBCBcL3iUScv-48tZfMJ/s320/11167675_10153260133414904_2038846407862572829_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><o:p> </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Two days later, on
April 28, 2015, I was grading papers at home when Mom called to tell me you
died. I will never forget that gut-wrenching moment when I found out that we all
lost another anchor in our lives, another shelter, another piece of our hearts.
You loved us and guided us and taught us, and I didn’t know how we would move
on without you. Another new normal already, only four months later, and I
honestly just wanted to punch anyone who talked about getting used to that.
Nothing can replace someone special in our lives. Nothing can replace the love,
the connection, all the parts of the relationship that help make us who we are.
There are no words to describe the deep loss and hole that blossomed into our
lives that April day. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsVw-hwlj-40UrI9mPlrubA5QHmsa0NjNfz_oCnPq84cnRFYlfekXW9ji6CQXFXdLP8B0d-r0vMQpW91tCko3vcblKpqCCV6XfwAG6jf8mx2MAjQ58abU5_pnhjFGvZxa-z2LlKspGSt3C/s1600/11150315_10153228214969904_8088750858852891846_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="627" data-original-width="960" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsVw-hwlj-40UrI9mPlrubA5QHmsa0NjNfz_oCnPq84cnRFYlfekXW9ji6CQXFXdLP8B0d-r0vMQpW91tCko3vcblKpqCCV6XfwAG6jf8mx2MAjQ58abU5_pnhjFGvZxa-z2LlKspGSt3C/s320/11150315_10153228214969904_8088750858852891846_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Within the next two
years, so much changed as we adjusted to the losses and the grief. In the end,
I had a full-time job and was back in Florida while Mom moved into a smaller place
on the family farm and gave Ben our childhood home. At her new location, Mom
worked to create another flower garden with bulbs from you and planted asparagus
which takes two years to start producing. As much as we could, we had adjusted
to this new normal, but our hearts would never be the same. Our lives would
never be the same. We would never be the same. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Then, in November of
2018, Mom was diagnosed, suddenly and horrifically, of stage-four cancer.
Within six weeks, we lost her. Again, our hearts shattered, our lives changed,
and we had to start a new normal as orphans. Again, but even more severely, I
went through it all—shock, horror, denial, fear, anger (lots of anger), anxiety
with sleeplessness and panic attacks. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t breathe. I
couldn’t settle. I wasn’t okay at all, but I was going through the motions day
by day. I didn’t settle into a “new normal,” but I threw myself into my work
and sought out adventures with siblings and friends. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<span style="font-size: 10.0pt;">“Really it was her mother
she’d wanted to call right after the bad news, or in the middle of it... First
thing in the morning, last thing at night, whenever a fight with [her daughter]
left her in pieces, it had been her mother who put Willa back together. When
someone mattered like that, you didn’t lose her at death. You lost her as you
kept living.” Barbara Kingsolver, <i>Unsheltered</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Four months after
losing Mom, my youngest daughter moved out unexpectedly, leaving me dealing
with the empty nest on top of the still-raw grief of losing Mom. Another new
normal in such a short time. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t
settle. I couldn’t even see the point of living anymore. I don’t mean that I
was suicidal because I wanted to live, but I couldn’t see hope or purpose or
meaning in any of it. All I could see was deep pain. A pain that didn’t stop,
never healed, and continued with loss and loneliness. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv0I5fBV4xAkUm7kb7Q3OZV4PBDXHGLpAzisZ9Zn-DSlX6zdI_cq8YZW9E42HKkiEU-FFi9os6lH0kGBocyhOtGvPekVZbbUAeBafTNKOLtXWClNATl0HefOpgZqjsz0DPAMNaPGNgB0NU/s1600/11133683_10153228227849904_7775453552330617924_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="960" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv0I5fBV4xAkUm7kb7Q3OZV4PBDXHGLpAzisZ9Zn-DSlX6zdI_cq8YZW9E42HKkiEU-FFi9os6lH0kGBocyhOtGvPekVZbbUAeBafTNKOLtXWClNATl0HefOpgZqjsz0DPAMNaPGNgB0NU/s320/11133683_10153228227849904_7775453552330617924_n.jpg" width="320" /></a>UD, I don’t even have a
new normal from all of that yet. I have tried some different things like
hosting an Italian student for the school year and visiting my family in
Missouri more, but now, I don’t even know what to think. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
It’s a hundred years
since the birth of Grandpa during the Spanish Flu Pandemic, and now we are in
the middle of the Covid-19 Flu Pandemic. The world is shut down, and we are
under a shelter in place mandate.</div>
<o:p></o:p>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Now everyone has a new
normal. Everyone is dealing with a public and collective grief and new normal,
and it is bizarre and surreal. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
I fluctuate between
these—1. missing you and Mom even more, wishing I could talk to you both about
this and feel that sense of security that came from having you both in my life.
2. not even thinking about my personal grief as much. Not because it is gone or
because I have healed but because I am in survival mode and just trying to cope
with too much uncertainty and loss.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Collectively as a
nation, as a world, we’re sheltering in place, but we have no mooring, no guarantees,
no sanctuary. We are, in a sense, “unsheltered.” Everything is changing for
everyone all around the globe, and we don’t know when or how things will
settle. We don’t know who will survive or what the world will look like when
this pandemic is over. We don’t know exactly how it is impacting countries and
people individually or what the end of it will bring for each country and person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As one character living during contemporary
times reveals in Barbara Kingsolver’s new novel, <i>Unsheltered</i>, “…taking
all the right turns had led her family to the wrong place, moneyless and a few
storms away from homelessness.” With too many Americans living paycheck to
paycheck like this, what is going to happen to them in the next few months, in
the next couple of years? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyMLHijKHRL8wL_vYimNJx7ToCwfD7CQKLVcB3fH4osRMOserY9bGPs-sJrroJEwKOibi82cMKByubMe9A70wJTLeV7auNN3UbSmBqCau99y81PJdwlDxonTTQ40wbu3n7sbET35G3AMX_/s1600/20200428_093811.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyMLHijKHRL8wL_vYimNJx7ToCwfD7CQKLVcB3fH4osRMOserY9bGPs-sJrroJEwKOibi82cMKByubMe9A70wJTLeV7auNN3UbSmBqCau99y81PJdwlDxonTTQ40wbu3n7sbET35G3AMX_/s320/20200428_093811.jpg" width="320" /></a>As another character from
<i>Unsheltered</i> says, this one living during the 1870s, “We are given to
live in a remarkable time. When the nuisance of old mythologies falls away from
us, we may see with new eyes. … Without shelter, we stand in daylight.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
UD, sheltering in place
is hard. Living without shelter is also difficult. Doing either without the sanctuary
from you, from Mom is agonizing and challenging. As I pondered on everything
that I wanted to tell you, two Bible verses came to mind, thanks to the strong
example and foundation from Mom during my childhood, and these verses brought
some comfort. Psalm 28:7 states, “The Lord is my strength and my
shield; my heart trusts in him, and he helps me. My heart leaps for
joy, and with my song I praise him.” The other is one of Mom’s favorite
chapters in the Bible: Psalms 91. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Psalm 91: Safety of Abiding in the Presence of God<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">91 He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><sup>2 </sup>I will say of the Lord, “<i>He is</i> my
refuge and my fortress;</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">My God, in Him I will trust.”</span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><sup>3 </sup>Surely He shall deliver you from the
snare of the fowler</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>And</i> from the perilous pestilence.</span></i></div>
</div>
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">
</span></i>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><sup>4 </sup>He shall cover you with His feathers,</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">And under His wings you shall take refuge;</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">His truth <i>shall be your</i> shield and buckler.</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><sup>5 </sup>You shall not be afraid of the terror by night,</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Nor</i> of the arrow <i>that</i> flies by day,</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><sup>6 </sup><i>Nor</i> of the pestilence <i>that</i> walks
in darkness,</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Nor</i> of the destruction <i>that</i> lays waste at noonday.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><sup>7 </sup>A thousand may fall at your side,</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">And ten thousand at your right hand;</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>But</i> it shall not come near you.</span></i></div>
</div>
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">
</span></i>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><sup>8 </sup>Only with your eyes shall you look,</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">And see the reward of the wicked.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><sup>9 </sup>Because you have made the Lord, <i>who
is</i> my refuge,</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Even</i> the Most High, your dwelling place,</span></i></div>
</div>
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">
</span></i>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><sup>10 </sup>No evil shall befall you,</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Nor shall any plague come near your dwelling;</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><sup>11 </sup>For He shall give His angels charge over you,</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">To keep you in all your ways.</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><sup>12 </sup>In <i>their</i> hands they shall bear
you up,</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Lest you dash your foot against a stone.</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><sup>13 </sup>You shall tread upon the lion and the cobra,</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">The young lion and the serpent you shall trample underfoot.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><sup>14 </sup>“Because he has set his love upon Me,
therefore I will deliver him;</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">I will set him on high, because he has known My name.</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><sup>15 </sup>He shall call upon Me, and I will answer him;</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">I <i>will be</i> with him in trouble;</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">I will deliver him and honor him.</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><sup>16 </sup>With long life I will satisfy him,</span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">And show him My salvation.”</span></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi856O4hxJT_FmQpIzNc-XJ3OsFnyLMj8AVxKGae2trRl5wDqQNOiA6UoXgWxOFWTZttTMNqRgiVaWUINndDor6ZflhYCgLz5yxGyeK89SW26kBhZFGvnmL1gp7odSJZ2RYUvV6w6X-KVUr/s1600/10593162_10152636333239904_3443982456160368746_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="960" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi856O4hxJT_FmQpIzNc-XJ3OsFnyLMj8AVxKGae2trRl5wDqQNOiA6UoXgWxOFWTZttTMNqRgiVaWUINndDor6ZflhYCgLz5yxGyeK89SW26kBhZFGvnmL1gp7odSJZ2RYUvV6w6X-KVUr/s320/10593162_10152636333239904_3443982456160368746_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
UD, I don’t know what
will happen, but I realized that, as distressing and difficult as this all is,
I can stand strong in the foundation that you and Mom provided. The love and
conversations and guidance from you still sustain me. The love and time
together and everything Mom taught me still nurture me. And all of it shelters
me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Love, Rach<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Rachel Rineharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289755862446875553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866037785549285847.post-80823205492111804412020-04-11T21:26:00.004-04:002020-04-28T18:26:18.106-04:00Easter Saturday at Melbourne Beach<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCMYSfeOQcy2lYm0MvyfI7PRePhbay17kMazSuWRUb4NfCw28jWj4145sye5E08H2rnEn6GRQFDxVcx0M2KVPTnE_LjoFHqUt219BKcJWqMkVIhiaxSqdOUlDotO-k97vY20KdCzdN-qsq/s1600/95872.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCMYSfeOQcy2lYm0MvyfI7PRePhbay17kMazSuWRUb4NfCw28jWj4145sye5E08H2rnEn6GRQFDxVcx0M2KVPTnE_LjoFHqUt219BKcJWqMkVIhiaxSqdOUlDotO-k97vY20KdCzdN-qsq/s320/95872.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">After
an entire week at home, I went for a walk at the beach today. A friend allowed
me to park on her property so that I could safely, following social distancing rules,
spend some time in nature, take a walk on the beach. Words cannot express how
much I needed the time outside. Time to feel the sun on my skin, breathe in the
salty air, hear the waves crashing against the shore. Time to take in nature. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTTm5QDxJ2XZ91orTrfaUSXmtQhR1uD0B2p3XDZmpUq5fPPJjlkPoGBRi1K-eukWRhgcew9PLvH2il9A7f0KnxkRTOTJJdVRVyOVSv_lmNqAUu9FWPMwsOsfjiKLg61cKl5IWtbY6S9ext/s1600/20200411_164723.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTTm5QDxJ2XZ91orTrfaUSXmtQhR1uD0B2p3XDZmpUq5fPPJjlkPoGBRi1K-eukWRhgcew9PLvH2il9A7f0KnxkRTOTJJdVRVyOVSv_lmNqAUu9FWPMwsOsfjiKLg61cKl5IWtbY6S9ext/s320/20200411_164723.jpg" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">In
the past few weeks, we’ve seen headlines about a global pandemic, about
requirements to shelter at home throughout the United States, about quarantines
and lockdowns throughout the world. And at the beginning of this month, Florida’s
governor enacted a stay at home law, and last week, the White House Covid-19 Coordinator
advised the nation to even avoid the grocery stores if possible. Such a strange
world we've stumbled upon. Between the headlines and posts on social media, like
many others, I am feeling scared. I spent the past week at home alone where I
only left the house for a quick walk around the lake. A week at home where I
had groceries delivered. A week at home with only my cats and an occasional
visit from Alaina.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
only thing that has kept me sane during this whole ordeal and this past week of
even stricter seclusion is the kindness of others, and I am so grateful for it.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFurlxnknRC4mcUZyaKJiu2gQ9LWrwreLmkttpWRFXMQ6UdFcWgYW_gq5x0G0xuTS-rayo0q1wcm9dcEzJpgAAGAMQvZYYKpzOv4Nu6rU1zORdt5fVL8RSrdtos4VCvnsklKY5u0eKbCNj/s1600/20200411_165139.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFurlxnknRC4mcUZyaKJiu2gQ9LWrwreLmkttpWRFXMQ6UdFcWgYW_gq5x0G0xuTS-rayo0q1wcm9dcEzJpgAAGAMQvZYYKpzOv4Nu6rU1zORdt5fVL8RSrdtos4VCvnsklKY5u0eKbCNj/s320/20200411_165139.jpg" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
am grateful for my friend who invited me to park on her property so that I
could take a walk on the beach today and who dropped off a surprise gift a week
ago. I am grateful for conversations with my sisters, cousin, daughters, and
friends on the phone, Messenger video chat, and Zoom. I am grateful for collaboration
with a friend during this pandemic where we are helping each other with our
writing. I am thankful to the friend who invited me to use her private pool so
that I could swim. I appreciate my sister sending me one of my favorite meals
via UberEATS when I was having a difficult time. I am grateful for my students
who are continuing to learn and complete their work even through the move to online
classes. I am so thankful that I am privileged to be able to work from home and
continue earning a living during this pandemic. I appreciate that I can pay my bills
and order food when needed. I am thankful for the peace and solace of nature,
for sunshine, for the ocean. This Easter, I am grateful for the love of Jesus
who sacrificed and gave His life for us and for what this holiday celebrates: that
He is risen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE1m6m28X1D13HpflNKEGLcYKLvdgqUiHK2xYDV4jSNI3T89_8Qg252xAkalmWACn68ywMPWWQfu52boxJsROC_ymuE9yu-gzol_OhX49vYloUsbg-3I-E4RUWH20VQQCmGiJb44QQPYbj/s1600/20200411_164618.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE1m6m28X1D13HpflNKEGLcYKLvdgqUiHK2xYDV4jSNI3T89_8Qg252xAkalmWACn68ywMPWWQfu52boxJsROC_ymuE9yu-gzol_OhX49vYloUsbg-3I-E4RUWH20VQQCmGiJb44QQPYbj/s320/20200411_164618.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
wish that Mom were still here on this earth, but I am thankful that I know Mom
is with Him now. Today at the beach, I found a rock with a hole in it (one
thing that Mom collected during her life), and I am grateful for the reminder of
Mom and the reminder that she lives on in those who come from her and in the
memory of those who love her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Ultimately,
I am grateful that, even during these troubled times, I have so much to be
grateful </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-align: center; text-indent: 0.5in;">for. Thank you to all of you whose kindness lifted my spirits during
the past month. Happy Easter! </span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<br />
<br />Rachel Rineharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289755862446875553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866037785549285847.post-21274611725378738542020-03-19T22:43:00.000-04:002020-03-19T22:45:35.854-04:00Spring Break 2020<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgygi1-OmSHpuP2bmnl-qxHetiwgA83nXFSNYsDQzYnBSRMwO_Z763jtW40CNl1R7FFxZYyzxY2HRdm31tu7kRXBE8cfoDokdz1EaCdFF7eUqCtW7WhkrndESfkj8JA0YGLOiErcr5W1Nxy/s1600/20200319_172733.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgygi1-OmSHpuP2bmnl-qxHetiwgA83nXFSNYsDQzYnBSRMwO_Z763jtW40CNl1R7FFxZYyzxY2HRdm31tu7kRXBE8cfoDokdz1EaCdFF7eUqCtW7WhkrndESfkj8JA0YGLOiErcr5W1Nxy/s320/20200319_172733.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">This
spring break is like none other in my lifetime. The weekend before spring
break officially began, the college where I work decided to suspend face-to-face
classes in light of the coronavirus (COVID-19) pandemic sweeping the globe. Even
though I knew it was coming, it is a devastating development. I teach both
online and face-to-face, and not only do I prefer face-to-face, but it is also better
for those students who choose it. On top of that, we had to cancel all college
events, including graduation. Moreover, Americans have been advised to remain
home as much as possible, to practice “social distancing,” and to wash our
hands often. So, schools have closed, social events have been postponed or cancelled,
bars and nightclubs have closed, many restaurants have closed, even some dental
offices have closed, our community pool has closed, and now beach parking and/or
some beaches have been closed. This has all happened in China first, then
Europe, and now here. The world shut down. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4jd0FGwiMXoF6H8Uer5-wSHg_LLmKIC9tlNKHTWYxYihRPj6SZ-_dZp3_WQWt1qBvv52oCxZcmGUxiIfsk81SvS_EL3mCgeWWdBST_PFazGqbbmUew4eS2YVP27DE96NSUEIIZTUhI36w/s1600/90156373_2597732840336062_7915365581086261248_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4jd0FGwiMXoF6H8Uer5-wSHg_LLmKIC9tlNKHTWYxYihRPj6SZ-_dZp3_WQWt1qBvv52oCxZcmGUxiIfsk81SvS_EL3mCgeWWdBST_PFazGqbbmUew4eS2YVP27DE96NSUEIIZTUhI36w/s320/90156373_2597732840336062_7915365581086261248_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">As
humans, we are programmed with fight or flight, and I have been “fighting” in
terms of preparing for survival with trips to Publix and Target as well as
online ordering. I haven’t taken an ungodly amount of food or necessities like cold
medication and toilet paper (like some have fought to do); however, I have
prepared for a two-month shut down. I pray that it doesn’t come, but because I
have been listening to primary sources from China, Italy, Spain, and France, I
want to be prepared for the worst. Because of being hyper aware right now, every
day feels like a week. And, I am dealing with additional grief because, with
all of this “fighting,” I want so much to be able to call my mom and talk to
her about it, to hear her say that I’ll be okay. Or, I want to have the option
to go to her house and shelter in place where she would be well stocked from
living on the family farm. As it is, I cannot imagine being home alone for
weeks, let alone months. To not see others in person, to not be blessed with hugs
and smiles. If it comes to that, how will I manage it?!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioYlXEHWK8-6Y81cvXX-UHlLxtD79nQ4lVsKTekJXD-FtmTK8JUfCWxmCgBAqX-O46lxkglMSVIGlDmkGHx4zIW2L5fxVIK7d-bjcoPtQQgVuC3_k2YpZGTU1tVWc3lHtWLSZByVMkGyj2/s1600/20200319_191157.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1458" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioYlXEHWK8-6Y81cvXX-UHlLxtD79nQ4lVsKTekJXD-FtmTK8JUfCWxmCgBAqX-O46lxkglMSVIGlDmkGHx4zIW2L5fxVIK7d-bjcoPtQQgVuC3_k2YpZGTU1tVWc3lHtWLSZByVMkGyj2/s320/20200319_191157.jpg" width="291" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">While
Americans are focused on the pandemic on all social media rather than politics
and other typical topics, people are still on opposing sides: those who believe
it’s all just a hype or hoax or conspiracy versus those who are preparing for Armageddon
and obeying the new regulations that come every day, every hour. And those two
sides are still butting heads: those who mock the other side for preparing
versus those who rail at anyone not following the new guidelines. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">This
is all unprecedented and such a historic time in our country and world. All of
this—the headlines about what is happening in the rest of the world, now in the
United States, as well as preparing for the pandemic and seeing our country
still so divided—has been stressful and traumatic and exhausting. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
exchange students are being sent back home, and in fact, all over the world, people
are being recalled to their country of origin. Everything is at a standstill as
everyone is going home. Because my Italian student had not yet visited
Sebastian Inlet, we went there yesterday, taking a short time in the midst of
this chaos for some spring break fun and fresh air, though we made sure to obey
the mandates to maintain distance from others and wash our hands after touching
something. Per normal, I took photos and documented the occasion, sharing it on
Facebook, and I sensed some judgment or chastisement from some FB friends. Perhaps
the comments were not meant that way, but this is an added stressor after an
attempt to decompress, unwind, relax. And the comments were perhaps not even meant
for me, but instead for those spring break party goers who congregated at the
beach like sardines in a tin can, ruining it for all of us. After three days of
crowded beaches in Brevard County, our beach parking is being shut down. According
to the news, by tomorrow morning, we will not be able to park at the beaches.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGLvppVisRB0odsPcSDZdJfeLkKCJj5zuKhMWzIzEwOB_7nJKvhWDQmrOnGaInOmCjoTFSh2QiUslwhzedSYMwuLB22iMMsIPg3EAdp_Lew0BVbw0dVayhTZJoLeej7mXfCFd-9hAxN6pj/s1600/20200319_191125.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1077" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGLvppVisRB0odsPcSDZdJfeLkKCJj5zuKhMWzIzEwOB_7nJKvhWDQmrOnGaInOmCjoTFSh2QiUslwhzedSYMwuLB22iMMsIPg3EAdp_Lew0BVbw0dVayhTZJoLeej7mXfCFd-9hAxN6pj/s320/20200319_191125.jpg" width="215" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Therefore,
today, I went back to the beach. While there were too many people there, at
least they were all staying in small groups away from each other. I stayed far
away from others, but I was able to take a long walk on the beach. It could be
my last walk at the beach for the foreseeable future. As I breathed in the
salty air and heard the call of the seagulls, I felt the weight of the past few
weeks fall away. I turned my mind to gratitude. Deprivation is something that
brings focus and clarity, and right now, I still have much to be grateful for. I’m
grateful for the sunshine that touches my face and skin. I’m grateful for the
roar of the ocean waves as they kiss the shore. I’m grateful for my health and
the security of being able to work online and still have money to pay bills. I’m
grateful for my daughters and their health. I’m grateful for my family and friends
and their health and thankful that we will be able to stay in touch through smartphones
and social media. I appreciate the humorous pandemic posts and memes that have
helped me find laughter this week, and I appreciate that social media can be a
source of connection and comfort during this time. I am blessed and privileged to
be able to prepare and stock up, and I’m thankful for my cats who are in this
with me. I’m grateful for the acts of kindness that I have witnessed and read about
this week. I’m grateful for nature and its calming effect. And, I’m grateful
for God and my faith in Him. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSRP8coT6w1LFgGaUpm29xrdeZCLF_mBW5h3sJhtPlNClx3K0WGMUJ3sm76lTWfP77neY_ZHfTNOQFGmJBfWK0gd5TG_k7yVr69F_xkoibPEHGbiFL-2YmGOE_A07bfcx58qIowy7D2WfB/s1600/20200319_191054.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1170" data-original-width="1600" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSRP8coT6w1LFgGaUpm29xrdeZCLF_mBW5h3sJhtPlNClx3K0WGMUJ3sm76lTWfP77neY_ZHfTNOQFGmJBfWK0gd5TG_k7yVr69F_xkoibPEHGbiFL-2YmGOE_A07bfcx58qIowy7D2WfB/s320/20200319_191054.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />Rachel Rineharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289755862446875553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866037785549285847.post-56606890532305678652020-03-15T12:15:00.003-04:002020-03-15T19:45:05.846-04:00Pandemic <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha9GxnkoplcnpLBgSD-OlnzUfXliep8NJkMb3CS7z3zRHuFV6HBP_7QEtk6Nf2M9QlQILoqH7zXfcfsvlAt-4g6wUup12cVSJSX4GyjIuRUuxMg3MKJaflBOjkYHXATuNqGd1jURe3ls8X/s1600/IMG_0636.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1124" data-original-width="1600" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha9GxnkoplcnpLBgSD-OlnzUfXliep8NJkMb3CS7z3zRHuFV6HBP_7QEtk6Nf2M9QlQILoqH7zXfcfsvlAt-4g6wUup12cVSJSX4GyjIuRUuxMg3MKJaflBOjkYHXATuNqGd1jURe3ls8X/s320/IMG_0636.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal;">
Dear UD,<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
The world is closed.
Shut down. And all I want to do is talk to Mom about it. Talk to you. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Mom would scoff at the
way everyone is panicking and at the mass hysteria of hording toilet paper for Coronavirus,
a respiratory illness. Like others, she would decry the world-wide pandemic,
saying, “It’s just a flu” and thinking that the world has gone mad. That, plus
she would preach that it’s proof that Jesus is returning soon. Whether I agreed
with her or not, I would give anything to hear her voice and her laugh right
now, to be able to talk to my mom about this global epidemic, to share news articles
and concerns, and at the end of the call, have her say, “Everything’s going to
be okay. Love you, honey.” How I miss my
mom and conversations with her. All day, every day. I miss her.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuaUMcW0sy4P6zxZLdlZSe2BIMDnC7DD9qL-6ddQmRiUpWsCo3OnVskkC5tzzGUELRPg4H9m0UdqetHODTdid8BD5tCElW-O_6yCve6_hpb0AsNBk8kPp8R021gjnJA_JxPFd6Dd7ZoLga/s1600/IMG_0651.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1044" data-original-width="1600" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuaUMcW0sy4P6zxZLdlZSe2BIMDnC7DD9qL-6ddQmRiUpWsCo3OnVskkC5tzzGUELRPg4H9m0UdqetHODTdid8BD5tCElW-O_6yCve6_hpb0AsNBk8kPp8R021gjnJA_JxPFd6Dd7ZoLga/s320/IMG_0651.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
And you, Uncle David, you
would sigh and point out connections between this scare and ones from the past.
You’d retell the story about when you were kids and had to hide under your
desks after the Second Red Scare to prepare for a possible nuclear attack
during the Atomic Age. We’d have a discussion that touched on history,
literature, theater, psychology, and current events. Whether we agreed or not,
I would give anything to hear your voice and your laugh, to debate this important
topic with you, and at the end of the call, have you say, “Everything’s going
to be okay. Love you, Rach.” How I miss you and our conversations. All day,
every day. I miss you.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Q9zx2O9KIhAh1XaFFK9epb7ndsSxsxgC3PffgKmZatu6kQaqXhv2ELW7Rlwtej51WXKUBkOX_g1CTkQRTWO-QXQGHO9ShoF3u92KXVE2gHBnsaBzzGvTIwPgVeLQMS4ni07bWwit0j1J/s1600/IMG_1376.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Q9zx2O9KIhAh1XaFFK9epb7ndsSxsxgC3PffgKmZatu6kQaqXhv2ELW7Rlwtej51WXKUBkOX_g1CTkQRTWO-QXQGHO9ShoF3u92KXVE2gHBnsaBzzGvTIwPgVeLQMS4ni07bWwit0j1J/s320/IMG_1376.JPG" width="320" /></a>No matter what side of
the debate one is on (people are freaking out for no reason versus the pandemic
is real and serious), the images seen around the world are surreal. From
Chinese in full hazmat gear to empty Italian streets to local stores with empty
shelves…the images are eerie and disturbing. I’ve been listening to information
from primary sources from the beginning (Uncle Bob sharing stories of Tim and
his family quarantined in China as well as the Italian student I’m hosting
providing news from her family in Italy). So I started stocking up before
everyone went crazy. Uncle David, you would stock up, just in case (and Uncle
Bob even stocked up after telling me all about the timeline of the Spanish Flu),
but Mom, she wouldn’t need to prepare, living on a farm with well water,
freezers always stocked with fresh farm meat, chickens roosting in the chicken
house providing eggs, a pantry full of canned goods from last year’s garden,
and the spring asparagus that just came up. Knowing that always made me feel
safe. The family farm was my backup plan, and now, like you and Mom, my backup
plan is gone. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrNbqQOTnsRb8g-0btaxxUzGkgjl1S2_4043qKVsLba48OYEgWysVF8oVND_SfQzoNMShz8jdWaCpX7GtD_N7HdMYDgmyygZHWwL8oI5f9HIfP0aAuW9oVN3C5Uow-7g1TytJebmPOcUq-/s1600/IMG_0643.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrNbqQOTnsRb8g-0btaxxUzGkgjl1S2_4043qKVsLba48OYEgWysVF8oVND_SfQzoNMShz8jdWaCpX7GtD_N7HdMYDgmyygZHWwL8oI5f9HIfP0aAuW9oVN3C5Uow-7g1TytJebmPOcUq-/s320/IMG_0643.JPG" width="320" /></a><o:p> </o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
I am adrift on a sea of
uncertainty, feeling unmoored, isolated, and alone. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
My school has moved
online for the rest of the semester, which means working from home. The U. S.
hasn’t quarantined the whole country like China, Italy, and now France and
Spain have. Perhaps it won’t happen here, but there are rumors that it might.
Either way, we’ve been cautioned to practice social distancing as much as
possible. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs-L5ZfbwLIO5jGV8zSk9q6YnW9oQcp2URraPrSo8NOGgo1rrsUR76PBeTxDJxCXLlA-FOSBUNXuFgA6UtKKEDb8EXbO0bndck4J-IVi6YXEKhc5AEFsIPkH2c2cNHdfM5CEuscJevjPmn/s1600/IMG_9297.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1044" data-original-width="1600" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs-L5ZfbwLIO5jGV8zSk9q6YnW9oQcp2URraPrSo8NOGgo1rrsUR76PBeTxDJxCXLlA-FOSBUNXuFgA6UtKKEDb8EXbO0bndck4J-IVi6YXEKhc5AEFsIPkH2c2cNHdfM5CEuscJevjPmn/s320/IMG_9297.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
I’ve prepared for
hurricanes here in Florida, but that usually only means a few days or a week at
home. The last time I remember even just two weeks stuck at home was when I was
living in the upstairs rooms in Mom’s house on the family farm in 2015 right after
Dad died and right before we lost you. That winter there was an ice storm and then a snowstorm that
kept us mostly indoors for two weeks, but it was okay because even with forced
“social distancing,” we had plenty of family members to hang out with. We
played Bridge, Spades, and Scrabble, watched movies like <i>Cool Hand Luke</i>,
<i>The Blues Brothers</i>, and <i>Moonstruck</i>, ate huge homemade meals
together, watched the Blue Jays, Cardinals, and chickadees at the birdfeeder,
and hiked outside down the road and along the rivers to see the glorious
ice-covered woods and structures. And the younger generation also went
ice-skating on the frozen pond and sledding. I even remember Sonny and Ben
attaching a gate to the <o:p></o:p></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirXVDggKFnMhiouN7VXk2eL3LoCMeMEG00ZlT0s5CQc4IfnT4NbVhnizbk3BGNXSc4mIbc1YtMctjuAwdTwX7qcAhHoLYdXIHC6OZITeUpSKsDPPZVpiDuQLubU_8OxfOIDhw6p48B1LIv/s1600/IMG_9314.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1020" data-original-width="1600" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirXVDggKFnMhiouN7VXk2eL3LoCMeMEG00ZlT0s5CQc4IfnT4NbVhnizbk3BGNXSc4mIbc1YtMctjuAwdTwX7qcAhHoLYdXIHC6OZITeUpSKsDPPZVpiDuQLubU_8OxfOIDhw6p48B1LIv/s320/IMG_9314.JPG" width="320" /></a>big red truck to take the kids sledding. Yes, we still
got a bit stir-crazy, and there were fights and annoying moments; however, we
were in it together, got through it together, and survived together. And now I
have those memories that I cherish. <br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
But staying home now,
here in Florida, for weeks or months with only a few rooms and only one other
person to share it with feels very different. I keep thinking of Anne Frank and
her family. They were in hiding for years. How did they do it? How could they
stand it? I know they didn’t have a choice, but it is still unimaginable. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3ndABRjFhpG-sqXzNpXRa3mYFF77CF0snfpAuVx_AjqE57gGvesYsgjwnGDzKX9fiVG2tzCWT1P_E7we0UzXx8z6l0ItciwOSctNF0mf-op_DCIio7wcmsoOaWL4TnV2TXfxkJe7IsIev/s1600/IMG_9343.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="998" data-original-width="1600" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3ndABRjFhpG-sqXzNpXRa3mYFF77CF0snfpAuVx_AjqE57gGvesYsgjwnGDzKX9fiVG2tzCWT1P_E7we0UzXx8z6l0ItciwOSctNF0mf-op_DCIio7wcmsoOaWL4TnV2TXfxkJe7IsIev/s320/IMG_9343.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
It’s not that I haven’t
gone without before. Mom and Dad scraped by, and sometimes we ate whatever Dad
could hunt. Mom birthed ten babies and only ever used cloth diapers. I grew up
sharing one bathroom with ten other people and grew up rarely eating out. But
I’ve gotten used to my comforts, including being able to go out and about
whenever I want and going to the store and buying what I need and want. But,
now the stores are out of some necessities.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
And now, no one wants
to talk anymore. They don’t want deep conversations, or phone calls. Just text
me, they say. Just message me. Send a video, a photo, an emoji. But no phone
calls, that human connection when not in the same physical space, that voice of
a loved one, the sharing of words, ideas, questions to one other person who is
really listening, who cares, who is taking time to share space together. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0GzoABlOzw-WNXlZG5Td-w_VeHLAk2AZnabHJ60Z3OXJmcHn0vBcfCQKtlDHgvDz_aA4eQ-IB3HLf6Ox148lTxngPd2aaBKFmEf0771ilwWRBLUIxF3NA7dR6x3fMm9zIWDu0BQfCniCv/s1600/received_322201991753313+%25281%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0GzoABlOzw-WNXlZG5Td-w_VeHLAk2AZnabHJ60Z3OXJmcHn0vBcfCQKtlDHgvDz_aA4eQ-IB3HLf6Ox148lTxngPd2aaBKFmEf0771ilwWRBLUIxF3NA7dR6x3fMm9zIWDu0BQfCniCv/s320/received_322201991753313+%25281%2529.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div>
I’ve
had a rough week, and not just because this one week held a time change where
we lost an hour, a full wolf moon, a Friday the thirteenth, and a national
emergency, but also because of communication struggles with loved ones. One
morning, I ended up in the bathroom at work, sobbing
before my classes started. Sobbing because I desire that human connection of
really talking to others, really sharing everything with them (both positive
and negative), and because I wish so much that I could talk to you and Mom
about it all. Sobbing because I want to be seen and accepted for all of who I
am. That day, I wiped away my tears, freshened up my makeup, and then went to
teach stories like Kurt Vonnegut’s “Harrison Bergeron,” and Ray Bradbury’s “The
Pedestrian.” Stories that have predicted so many things in our current society,
stories that are coming truer every day. Is the Coronavirus the ultimate pandemic
or is it the polarizing discord on social media or even the loss of human
connection as we give more and more of our lives over to media and machines?<o:p></o:p></div>
<span style="mso-bookmark: _Hlk35110409;"></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggvDavTya4_97Otgk_OwgN6NtfwL8YXJdv19Oi7_6zeHxExFRai76Bfh7HK08id_5qd-Mew1HIPgsOe8OwwT1boswQXGMGY4CT4977JpWrlf2H8c17x9vmoj0XpRJaOzHPXXw7Z4rgyH0N/s1600/IMG_0183.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggvDavTya4_97Otgk_OwgN6NtfwL8YXJdv19Oi7_6zeHxExFRai76Bfh7HK08id_5qd-Mew1HIPgsOe8OwwT1boswQXGMGY4CT4977JpWrlf2H8c17x9vmoj0XpRJaOzHPXXw7Z4rgyH0N/s320/IMG_0183.JPG" width="320" /></a>Plus, it’s March, which
means spring and your birthday. I remember six years ago when we were all gathered
together at your place to celebrate your birthday with you. The night before,
we stayed up with Sonny, Mom, and Uncle Bob, playing bridge until midnight to
ring in your birthday. Just before midnight, you jumped the bid to three
no-trump and made it! And when the clock struck midnight, we sang Happy
Birthday to you before heading to bed. The next morning, you made customized
omelets for everyone even though you were the birthday boy, and we spent the
day together playing games, talking, laughing, eating delicious food that you
prepared, and sharing your birthday cake. Obi, Harley, and Lucky galloped in
the backyard while you walked us around your property to witness the signs of
spring: crocuses and daffodils, asparagus shoots, buds on the trees, martins
and swallows around the birdfeeder, a lone red-headed woodpecker continuously
striking a tall evergreen, and the filled rain gauge from recent spring showers.
You and Mom both loved spring, and I love spring, though now it is bittersweet.
I, too, still search for signs of spring, but there’s an ache knowing that
we’ll never witness it together again.<br />
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8uD43-vHh8KotvSO-3pd_v0Du34704ZN2pXiXp6roJ8dBy0k4pdHN4WOUxnT20ZNDHGBnEJ-VzRp7Yb6838cEvF0_GBjHrZfYcD88bpVY8MiShwiYuBo2gi14HKdPl5KOruQyjSRjHMIc/s1600/IMG_0048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPeSFq5Ir0_qpJgtxMhtKTvGY2l610lgKf8v6tCyEoZjYNbSgX1KThyphenhyphen85o2LHPjTWzIID2jdtuegXgWZMTaWdyUReyO2u4duO_iHS1Rh27rdfbMcEZWIpiOcp745BrUCkJlKwkXnPA4bUx/s1600/IMG_0048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1372" data-original-width="1600" height="273" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPeSFq5Ir0_qpJgtxMhtKTvGY2l610lgKf8v6tCyEoZjYNbSgX1KThyphenhyphen85o2LHPjTWzIID2jdtuegXgWZMTaWdyUReyO2u4duO_iHS1Rh27rdfbMcEZWIpiOcp745BrUCkJlKwkXnPA4bUx/s320/IMG_0048.JPG" width="320" /></a>Happy 66<sup>th</sup>
birthday, Uncle David. I am blessed to have had you in my life, and I will pass
along the many treasures and lessons from you. And those from Mom. You would
both tell me to remember that God is with me through even this. While that
offers comfort, I still wish… <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
I wish we could rewind
to back when you and Mom were still with us. I wish you had both had more time
on this earth. I wish we were together again, celebrating your birthday or
riding out the pandemic or even just talking on the phone. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Love, Rach<o:p></o:p></div>
<br /></div>
Rachel Rineharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289755862446875553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866037785549285847.post-74399599092521753282020-02-01T17:52:00.001-05:002020-02-01T17:53:59.604-05:00Gifts from the Sea<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9GboZRvmyq54EzIne8DFEYP-WiuiFU4kd9YCE9UodLDMyhOQPyOI4L82eBOKY6-huf-wJFg1n7mheCtBZrVqMPrdsfy96BDBKfgZmF0EPX92blcWM1IFgK5d2j45UqJhqWuMix4kmpgOs/s1600/20200201_133144.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1284" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9GboZRvmyq54EzIne8DFEYP-WiuiFU4kd9YCE9UodLDMyhOQPyOI4L82eBOKY6-huf-wJFg1n7mheCtBZrVqMPrdsfy96BDBKfgZmF0EPX92blcWM1IFgK5d2j45UqJhqWuMix4kmpgOs/s320/20200201_133144.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3JF8X5khA2rsSb4AGA0fZNzBice1CD11-kNQGQcsL4fomsMfSv0Dm229Ga4nqToCZ_fdtSw8DpRBpTaiRwOAOn4kE8QTYu68hRb1irpIYHP0wr_kQPQ3nE64MxCYkKKa7N3gVaXeu4vG_/s1600/20200201_114008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3JF8X5khA2rsSb4AGA0fZNzBice1CD11-kNQGQcsL4fomsMfSv0Dm229Ga4nqToCZ_fdtSw8DpRBpTaiRwOAOn4kE8QTYu68hRb1irpIYHP0wr_kQPQ3nE64MxCYkKKa7N3gVaXeu4vG_/s320/20200201_114008.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Today, a month later, I walked outside again. When
I drive over to the beach, I enjoy walking outside. Overall, anywhere, anytime I
love walking outside in nature, but more than any other place, the wilderness
of the Missouri Ozarks speaks to me, feels like home. When I’m there in
Missouri, I tend to take walks outside more often, but I finally made it to Melbourne
Beach this morning. I took a walk along the beach, hunting for seashells,
snapping photos, and listening to the sounds of the seagulls and waves.</span></div>
<br />
<o:p></o:p><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYs9TdhV0cFvOGpmpZiycoTF7xvYGNVqSHMs-C-59tuD5nN6ovIPLfhtzbdwc-WWveiGCILbNm58g7wGZRMY5aGAkbvDwtjINvF3LFcqlBTP9tmzZLKb19LGtZBuq_X2AM5BjZtw8kHxsg/s1600/20200201_123749.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1227" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYs9TdhV0cFvOGpmpZiycoTF7xvYGNVqSHMs-C-59tuD5nN6ovIPLfhtzbdwc-WWveiGCILbNm58g7wGZRMY5aGAkbvDwtjINvF3LFcqlBTP9tmzZLKb19LGtZBuq_X2AM5BjZtw8kHxsg/s320/20200201_123749.jpg" width="245" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">So
far, this year has been rough. January was filled with too many anniversaries,
and not the good kind. And too many conflicting emotions and too many new
hurdles to handle. Not to mention too much work and too much time alone. It’s
strange because I am an introvert who loves having time alone and loves several
passive activities (reading books, writing, etc.); however, since losing Mom
and becoming an “orphan,” I find it difficult to be alone for too long. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8SEvRgNR5SJop0ocDs99RwzalRZ-uHNPO8pfnBKkWIdNm4rCDwETdIqmk_V_0kx9mg0f0m4wgn9xI9efwTfGlvf9DVZgQx-gOC5PxAvl03qqW41Hew0NAGvBHtRF4dI_aEOJTOT6vcga9/s1600/20200201_113741.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8SEvRgNR5SJop0ocDs99RwzalRZ-uHNPO8pfnBKkWIdNm4rCDwETdIqmk_V_0kx9mg0f0m4wgn9xI9efwTfGlvf9DVZgQx-gOC5PxAvl03qqW41Hew0NAGvBHtRF4dI_aEOJTOT6vcga9/s320/20200201_113741.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">But
today, I took a beach walk alone and found much to be grateful for. Even though
it’s an overcast, gray day, it was gorgeous outside. The fresh breeze
invigorated while the crash of the rolling waves refreshed. As I walked
barefoot in the wet sand, I realized that everything is okay in this present
moment. I left the beach feeling energized and even happy, and I am thankful
for the gifts from the sea. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Rachel Rineharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289755862446875553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866037785549285847.post-86626645342405562792020-01-01T20:22:00.002-05:002020-01-03T19:22:15.936-05:00Big Piney River<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgBK4DO2RXtQ6-SYqPayv5zmP4DLunshJWEuKdHdj6hzcwJSRcLHz1kOi_XxMQdy0fjLR432ZaxEfunuC2oYVgZ2ttmI4hGvMjU_o5qKaTyR59XgG4N0kNNG_SSaw5fCYn7lePHYkcQXj0/s1600/20200101_125756.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgBK4DO2RXtQ6-SYqPayv5zmP4DLunshJWEuKdHdj6hzcwJSRcLHz1kOi_XxMQdy0fjLR432ZaxEfunuC2oYVgZ2ttmI4hGvMjU_o5qKaTyR59XgG4N0kNNG_SSaw5fCYn7lePHYkcQXj0/s320/20200101_125756.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcRmCHCfdc5lx7O5KNQgeX0g7GU80AjKBvnQr6jcv_58NeBkq53RUUlS8rNAe48aMpzqe_LeDl8Ryb5CS4ZmdzxHwZw5a0PZ-J2JT6BV_7R7grnB_VVMm94tggZRbHN4B-c0YVvUDHgkdW/s1600/20200101_125534.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcRmCHCfdc5lx7O5KNQgeX0g7GU80AjKBvnQr6jcv_58NeBkq53RUUlS8rNAe48aMpzqe_LeDl8Ryb5CS4ZmdzxHwZw5a0PZ-J2JT6BV_7R7grnB_VVMm94tggZRbHN4B-c0YVvUDHgkdW/s320/20200101_125534.jpg" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Today, I hiked along the Big Piney River and up the hill at Simmons Baptist Camp in Houston, Missouri with my
Italian exchange student, two nephews, and a niece. We explored the river,
forests, and cliffs during our forty-five-minute walk, and I skipped rocks and
even found one rock with a hole all the way through it like Mom always looked
for when at the river.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwRe0SIECw3xhMTchtD67FMqApkhPZ1OIlhJSwwQAUjt-SriGwYyXv7ea99movRtxUTqzbGRq_5agtxnIoXCWU4rUmsyu08wrgQ8c8_3vqCQ1UPzBphONPuCwvmjHjpGLhOVDp3jr3NST1/s1600/20200101_131057+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1558" data-original-width="1138" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwRe0SIECw3xhMTchtD67FMqApkhPZ1OIlhJSwwQAUjt-SriGwYyXv7ea99movRtxUTqzbGRq_5agtxnIoXCWU4rUmsyu08wrgQ8c8_3vqCQ1UPzBphONPuCwvmjHjpGLhOVDp3jr3NST1/s200/20200101_131057+%25282%2529.jpg" width="145" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
2019 Christmas holiday season was our first one without Mom, which was
difficult to say the least; however, it helped to celebrate it with family. Furthermore,
I was dreading entering the New Year because it is the first one we are
starting without Mom in it. But here it is. For reasons that I will write about
in a future post, I am choosing to focus on Gratitude this year. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsZg5VPSYlw7whFCPCJ7M9g5VZeAAXECw7230qPNiVPWikrr0zu-l0zP9TB97_5gV60_C68MTBQqLXZYMdQZjeSWjiIRPFwg4oXiaaCJwgBY3HNeQVXwHJcnNaL2iOlxURNjdoPWlLt2LI/s1600/20200101_134935.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1416" data-original-width="1463" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsZg5VPSYlw7whFCPCJ7M9g5VZeAAXECw7230qPNiVPWikrr0zu-l0zP9TB97_5gV60_C68MTBQqLXZYMdQZjeSWjiIRPFwg4oXiaaCJwgBY3HNeQVXwHJcnNaL2iOlxURNjdoPWlLt2LI/s200/20200101_134935.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Today, I am grateful for time with my family in Missouri during the holiday season and especially for everyone who opened their home to me during my stay. In the past, I always set up camp at Mom’s house, so it was different this time. And, I am thankful for the fifty-degree weather and sunshine this afternoon as well as the beauty of nature in the Missouri Ozarks. I love taking walks here year-round, and when near a river, I always end up wading, no matter the weather. Finally, I am so grateful for finding the rock with a hole because it reminds me of Mom and how she lives on in all of us.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGZO0yH_Atv91jRSVEJjQZasG_pfRY_c2Rnj5HfForLN8wigCNRRua-wyH7CQzxuHgzI-PX8JoJcsqpsW5kxk_7vdzHmrM_UPz_8esvExZiETQgeensUZFfSRc0HFXW006h_5-d0uJjP-z/s1600/20200101_131819.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGZO0yH_Atv91jRSVEJjQZasG_pfRY_c2Rnj5HfForLN8wigCNRRua-wyH7CQzxuHgzI-PX8JoJcsqpsW5kxk_7vdzHmrM_UPz_8esvExZiETQgeensUZFfSRc0HFXW006h_5-d0uJjP-z/s200/20200101_131819.jpg" width="150" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 32px;">Happy New Year!</span></div>
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Rachel Rineharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289755862446875553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866037785549285847.post-71197670939518272862019-11-01T08:07:00.000-04:002019-11-01T08:07:48.660-04:00Mom, A Thing of Beauty<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWoW207m2d0YwxKW5QygGAizcvuwki0E5LcXHwvj187bNEIsNHM_FWVRnppseTXxvooBUVOUgQujtIRC8TYLDg-r5MiLiBMJV754eoYG9jkkFQ8y7cykYiJ1JBzp6ugrW4bS-LXKfV8QmW/s1600/Mom+and+me+baby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1542" data-original-width="1272" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWoW207m2d0YwxKW5QygGAizcvuwki0E5LcXHwvj187bNEIsNHM_FWVRnppseTXxvooBUVOUgQujtIRC8TYLDg-r5MiLiBMJV754eoYG9jkkFQ8y7cykYiJ1JBzp6ugrW4bS-LXKfV8QmW/s320/Mom+and+me+baby.jpg" width="263" /></a></div>
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Dear UD,<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
I’ve been dreading this
November because last year’s November was the beginning of the end. A <o:p></o:p></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhoSrPyaaolnbE2ZQ3rOxF1ssYaooPgW3_0oyGCOiZFAHqxgFX2pe3KHGZ373qQk2M09hLBvIw4OgyFiWijkpMucLwrx5EnpajMMKyM-yY_b2fW4Ce9uYDnfIx4jNXas_Pfc6f2414IP3c/s1600/fall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1140" data-original-width="1600" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhoSrPyaaolnbE2ZQ3rOxF1ssYaooPgW3_0oyGCOiZFAHqxgFX2pe3KHGZ373qQk2M09hLBvIw4OgyFiWijkpMucLwrx5EnpajMMKyM-yY_b2fW4Ce9uYDnfIx4jNXas_Pfc6f2414IP3c/s320/fall.jpg" width="320" /></a>year ago,
Mom was healthy and alive, and everything was just fine. A year ago, we were oblivious
and happy. Yes, Mom hadn’t been feeling well for a while, but she’d been
working with a doctor, and we had no idea that cancer had taken root deep
inside. It was late November, a year ago, when, a day after my birthday, we got
the news that she had cancer. Six weeks later, she was gone. We lost her. And
now we face the first November without her. <br />
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
So, even trying to think
of thinking of thankfulness and gratitude, of finding a thing of beauty every
day this November, is painful. Difficult. Unthinkable. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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But, UD, during my time
of trying not to think of thanking, something occurred to me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Mom was beautiful. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbDezf7WYHTxyLtzcZNARXBV3sTl2fKW89kJpGCN2nsR_aZvxFCpiqs3y1joQr_Zg6jVYYsUAio-5txPzR__TgMS5wCjcXLK4Da4RAcdw2C0R8A41bQnp4MWRnLN-jK1PqiPzZPt2Kz0sB/s1600/matching+dresses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="566" data-original-width="571" height="317" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbDezf7WYHTxyLtzcZNARXBV3sTl2fKW89kJpGCN2nsR_aZvxFCpiqs3y1joQr_Zg6jVYYsUAio-5txPzR__TgMS5wCjcXLK4Da4RAcdw2C0R8A41bQnp4MWRnLN-jK1PqiPzZPt2Kz0sB/s320/matching+dresses.jpg" width="320" /></a>She was beautiful on
the outside, and she was beautiful on the inside. She had a beautiful smile,
her spirit was beautiful, everything about her was absolutely beautiful. Did
she know it? Did she know and feel her beauty? Did she know that I, her oldest
daughter, found her beautiful? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
I thought about
skipping <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44469/endymion-56d2239287ca5">"a thing of beauty" </a>this year, but now I realize that I have to do it in
honor of her. I want to find a thing of beauty every day this month, and I want
that thing of beauty to be something for or from my mom. From what she looked
like to what she did for people to what she believed to memories I have of her
to shared experiences and adventures. This month, I want to explore and honor
mom and everything beautiful in and of her.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Did Mom know how beautiful
she was? Did you know? Do I? Do any of us really know how beautiful and precious
we are?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
I hope so.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6nD_2E94rPr7efOqzS475qJqQ01tgy-jvrHntEEXmddAioz3R4mZMoQAbzOHKcDjpK-5ndc7Wt3rSHtk6DR9svF6ZBNWelLKMtCv9FIrLTaCKboNo1QcldRHNjl9OO0hzIuL1hh25gZRs/s1600/100_3363.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6nD_2E94rPr7efOqzS475qJqQ01tgy-jvrHntEEXmddAioz3R4mZMoQAbzOHKcDjpK-5ndc7Wt3rSHtk6DR9svF6ZBNWelLKMtCv9FIrLTaCKboNo1QcldRHNjl9OO0hzIuL1hh25gZRs/s320/100_3363.jpg" width="320" /></a>UD, one of the things
that I find beautiful about Mom was her connection with her siblings. You, Mom,
and Uncle Bob were the three musketeers, the three stooges, the amigos. When
the three of you were together, you were hilarious, fun, unstoppable. Uncle Bob
is always the class clown, while Mom was the athletic showoff, and you were the
smart goody-two shoes. But, you bound together and loved each other well and
loved us well, and you all showed us the importance of family, of <o:p></o:p></div>
frivolity, of
faith. <br />
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Mom and her connection
with you and Bob, her siblings—what a thing of beauty. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw5qQgBT8YPYhYssY_y0ZyWIogeDTlRvdN04xlT-cksrXhdnjWlI5bMJE5K-KSr-PdRU4ZG7BFXQXTpESJuweyYOcFHXo3PzUoJBV4ZeyTGW-X_-JTRfrga7D3QXuwzsP_-8fjj7o7Rlm-/s1600/young+siblings.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1539" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw5qQgBT8YPYhYssY_y0ZyWIogeDTlRvdN04xlT-cksrXhdnjWlI5bMJE5K-KSr-PdRU4ZG7BFXQXTpESJuweyYOcFHXo3PzUoJBV4ZeyTGW-X_-JTRfrga7D3QXuwzsP_-8fjj7o7Rlm-/s320/young+siblings.jpg" width="307" /></a></div>
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Love, Rach<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
PS: I hope that everyone
who reads this will go and tell people you love how beautiful they are and how
grateful you are for them in this world and how thankful you are to be sharing
space with them right now. <o:p></o:p></div>
Rachel Rineharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289755862446875553noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866037785549285847.post-71232831584223510442019-08-26T06:41:00.000-04:002019-08-26T06:41:55.226-04:00Facing It (Without Mom)<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4UReVWidQj9rtssRTM59cvLz16JVAjvbYgNX5d5SyQUwZ6HIQQFDzIwbmn-XEhyphenhyphenx5jk6qv-Simc-Yx9p4IrRUg9-cDGKWTH58PqIW73GkS4CUJJ59aVZnbxJe2RcVPaqhNFYOA7wei9f1/s1600/IMG_5316.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4UReVWidQj9rtssRTM59cvLz16JVAjvbYgNX5d5SyQUwZ6HIQQFDzIwbmn-XEhyphenhyphenx5jk6qv-Simc-Yx9p4IrRUg9-cDGKWTH58PqIW73GkS4CUJJ59aVZnbxJe2RcVPaqhNFYOA7wei9f1/s320/IMG_5316.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
Dear UD,<br />
<br />
It’s August, Mom’s
birthday month, and I can’t believe she’s not here. I am almost exactly 20
years younger than her, and I counted on her turning older a few months before
me. Mom would have been, should have been, 69 this year. How do I face turning
49 without her to show me the way?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Everything, everything,
everything reminds me of her.<br />
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</div>
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I walk to the pool and
find mushrooms, sprung up overnight, and I think of Mom. I spy wildflowers
growing near the fence, and I think of Mom. I see rippling rivers, and I think
of Mom. A fog rolls in, and I think of Mom. The sunset or sunrise splashes against
the sky, and I think of Mom. The moon rises, and I think of Mom. I reach for
the phone to send her a text or call her to tell her about something, and I
think of Mom. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZAuM6X-KUqdDJ9-d9p9hONBFCkh3H8Bv8VaIzL9g8kVAJ7ZK-GsMW5s9y_AmR7f21YAvPuTmVROJaPhOeadsxox-4PNKTUVQ5SixluW7lLqBzUVXOBOovbtOqwgs0qGi3SIXXbdvqMf4j/s1600/IMG_5290.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZAuM6X-KUqdDJ9-d9p9hONBFCkh3H8Bv8VaIzL9g8kVAJ7ZK-GsMW5s9y_AmR7f21YAvPuTmVROJaPhOeadsxox-4PNKTUVQ5SixluW7lLqBzUVXOBOovbtOqwgs0qGi3SIXXbdvqMf4j/s320/IMG_5290.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Everything, everything,
everything, all day, every day, reminds me of her.<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
There have been too
many changes in the past five years and way too many changes this year alone.
How do we face all of these changes? How do we face it when life changes
everything and everything changes? How do we face it when we no longer have you
or Dad or Mom to talk to?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
I went back to Missouri
this summer for Crawford Camp, our family reunion, and it was bittersweet.
Precious because all ten of us kids and most of the grandkids were there.
Special because there were strong connections yet little drama. Good because we
played hard and had fun. Nourishing because we had delicious and healthy
homecooked meals, like Mom taught us. Difficult because it was our first time
there without Mom. Challenging and sad without her, without you, without dad.
Her spirit, her lessons, her voice permeated everything we did that weekend. We
congregated in the kitchen or outside, cooking, talking, laughing, but every
second we were one hundred percent aware that Mom wasn’t there, that we missed
her. On Saturday morning, I woke up to fog and sunrise over the river, and tears
rolled down my face as I thought how much Mom would have loved that. Will we
ever have Crawford Camp again? How do we face family reunions without Mom?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
The next week, I stayed
with Jill and spent time with various family members during the week and helped
with VBS at Bado Church. The past two summers, I’d helped Mom prepare for VBS and
taken photos of the kids during it. This summer, it was surreal, distressing,
devastating that she wasn’t there teaching one of the classes. And three of her
grandkids were baptized that Sunday. I snapped photos of this joyous occasion,
but I almost didn’t make it through. Mom would have loved that night so much,
and it’s heartbreaking without her there. How do we face it? Sherry helped when
she said she knew Mom was rejoicing in heaven that night. But will I ever be
part of VBS at Bado Church again? Will the next generation still go there? <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiie38sF3Dojv-ctYRry48wyxXMKxovRi7HUKw2GsAFqaB9O_oPbQkPXLv72o7A63C86nD8TAq0ocuKTmFS3eDFSQN0nUc1sggIRqq0k48iJ6-e2nHPtjUZ8YP_d2XEpsehM4MymT1MySTG/s1600/20190721_173718.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1223" data-original-width="1600" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiie38sF3Dojv-ctYRry48wyxXMKxovRi7HUKw2GsAFqaB9O_oPbQkPXLv72o7A63C86nD8TAq0ocuKTmFS3eDFSQN0nUc1sggIRqq0k48iJ6-e2nHPtjUZ8YP_d2XEpsehM4MymT1MySTG/s320/20190721_173718.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I went to Union
Cemetery to visit Mom and Dad. First, I picked wildflowers and took them to the
grave. I cried and talked to Mom. It’s still so unbelievable. Words can’t
convey the pain and difficulty of facing a mother’s gravesite. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
As I drove away from
the family farm and the town where I grew up, I wondered if I’d ever stay there
again? If I’d ever attend a holiday celebration there again? How do we face it
when our childhood memories are being obliterated so that we can’t even recreate
them for the next generation and the only thing left is memory? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUYHQoLgCzl8pXlx2VmDAq_oe-ZXJ9Y0rVMKX7WSMKp2uEqI6GDLecLhiew2c0-FoQNHUfGhbiYUCqUHjNhDY7-ODRCvhaUqQclCecqjwJh69UwH3_w3FM2zeDH1eLGaa73D2GoaacCv5e/s1600/canned.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1060" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUYHQoLgCzl8pXlx2VmDAq_oe-ZXJ9Y0rVMKX7WSMKp2uEqI6GDLecLhiew2c0-FoQNHUfGhbiYUCqUHjNhDY7-ODRCvhaUqQclCecqjwJh69UwH3_w3FM2zeDH1eLGaa73D2GoaacCv5e/s320/canned.jpg" width="211" /></a>Summer 2019—the first
summer in my memory where I didn’t eat anything fresh out of my mom’s garden
when visiting that area. How do we face the lack of bounty? I found some jars
of canned beets and tomato juice, and this year, I shared the beets with my
sisters. The tomato juice sits in my fridge unopened. Once that is gone, I will
never again have anything to eat or drink that my Mom made. How do I face that?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Too many changes. Too
much loss. How do we face it?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
UD, the Amazon, the
lungs of the earth, is burning. Every day, it seems, there’s a new nightmarish
headline, and those unbelievable stories combined with such personal loss is
staggering. Cataclysmic. How do we
face it all?<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal;">
It’s August and Mom’s
birthday. Three years ago, I hosted a birthday party for her, and all the family
came. I hold precious memories of that day, the last birthday I celebrated with
Mom in person. I want her to have more birthday celebrations for me to attend.
Today, I want to call her up and wish her a Happy Birthday and tell her how
much I love her. But I can’t. How do we face the day without her?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
I don’t want to face it…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnFm7WNqxKlofqEf2TJRxxL6xM_sOLWxBT7qrEjbQbjNMeiTSSbI4IeGK-QS01Kah9fa-g25kAFAPrNGYJN23HkzPSQlLonUgSgoGXrU6k-FR0F3SiF4QWgSLzVfjEnOq25KjtdiUG_iRv/s1600/siblings+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnFm7WNqxKlofqEf2TJRxxL6xM_sOLWxBT7qrEjbQbjNMeiTSSbI4IeGK-QS01Kah9fa-g25kAFAPrNGYJN23HkzPSQlLonUgSgoGXrU6k-FR0F3SiF4QWgSLzVfjEnOq25KjtdiUG_iRv/s320/siblings+.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
In “the Journey Through
Grief: The Mourner’s Six ‘Reconciliation Needs’,” Alan Wolfelt states, “Grief
is what you think and feel on the inside after someone you love dies. Mourning
is the outward expression of those thoughts and feelings. To mourn is to be an
active participant in our grief journeys. We all grieve when someone we love
dies, but if we are to heal, we must also mourn.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Although I don’t want
to face her birthday without her here, it has come regardless, so I will
surround myself with some of Mom’s favorites. I brought home sunflowers for the
dining room table, and I’ll listen to the Beach Boys sing “Barbara Ann.” I’ll make
an egg sandwich for breakfast, and for dinner, I’ll eat the hamburger, potato,
carrot dish that I made from Grandma Bonnie’s recipe in the family cookbook.
Then, we’ll watch <i>Prince of Persia</i>,
one of the last few movies I watched with Mom and one that she loved. And, I’ll
drink herb tea and light a candle that smells like honeysuckle. Every moment of
this day will be in honor and love and memory of Mom.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjyBlnRgO0xdiKkkIkNjcHDCIJ4ouidha-o-KHcIFx-zUmbUGTQ5GHVm4X6iBO0vnjcZ0ovZfYGuJpJHPCtes128WvuJSwSzmj0I4SAjO4oh3FdIQWaxks-ie5qwRAkHHrD_G5QH4uRAbl/s1600/sisters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjyBlnRgO0xdiKkkIkNjcHDCIJ4ouidha-o-KHcIFx-zUmbUGTQ5GHVm4X6iBO0vnjcZ0ovZfYGuJpJHPCtes128WvuJSwSzmj0I4SAjO4oh3FdIQWaxks-ie5qwRAkHHrD_G5QH4uRAbl/s320/sisters.jpg" width="320" /></a>UD, I’ll end with a <i>Bible</i> verse that she loved and lived: Finally,
brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right,
whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is
excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. Philippians 4:8. I thank Mom
for the gift of her example, and today and every day, I aspire to be like her
and live this verse. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Love, Rach<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Rachel Rineharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289755862446875553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866037785549285847.post-41551300913899106492019-05-11T00:54:00.001-04:002019-05-11T11:54:27.806-04:00Mothers Carry Love<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFANVcdex47TtMMF81Ho1bsBdC5U65u7r33EbsnfaR0e4tdgXv4G7g4fW1ToD6BKbG7-uAN_8AZIoQ5dsVW7VBqjg0WF81_jz9Aakz0JdCLZvLaFTnyCLOIICvPGZIrn-aVjCkTT8WQIR0/s1600/59482554_2244499508998494_1347329325199785984_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFANVcdex47TtMMF81Ho1bsBdC5U65u7r33EbsnfaR0e4tdgXv4G7g4fW1ToD6BKbG7-uAN_8AZIoQ5dsVW7VBqjg0WF81_jz9Aakz0JdCLZvLaFTnyCLOIICvPGZIrn-aVjCkTT8WQIR0/s320/59482554_2244499508998494_1347329325199785984_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal;">
Dear UD,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
It’s May, the month of
mothers, May flowers, and graduation celebrations. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgzbOuXJYIfFu7fxsguBuPllH0Y-Gg1PL-WZxkCzIv9Pkuh_IlBKFm11FeF7mHxINlHAHmcNDcMmDjliFHidmQLse0EoCxDn-pBawz03QWvnkGA3Ki79qmmKqNbfF8sQZa-j3sZO_1I4z7/s1600/58441312_1255343644613251_1025268140197543936_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgzbOuXJYIfFu7fxsguBuPllH0Y-Gg1PL-WZxkCzIv9Pkuh_IlBKFm11FeF7mHxINlHAHmcNDcMmDjliFHidmQLse0EoCxDn-pBawz03QWvnkGA3Ki79qmmKqNbfF8sQZa-j3sZO_1I4z7/s200/58441312_1255343644613251_1025268140197543936_n.jpg" width="150" /></a>“I remember all the
flowers you picked for me for Mother’s Day,” Mom said when I stayed with her
last December. I remember too. I see me at 14, walking the family farm, hiking
the rivers, climbing the bluffs, clutching a fistful of Missouri wildflowers.
Purples, yellows, whites galore, but on I walked, searching for the rare red
ones to round out the bouquet. Every year until I married and moved away, I
brought Mom a handful of colorful wildflowers. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
The past two summers I
stayed with Mom in July, and even then, I hunted for wildflowers to bring her.
Wildflowers and rocks with holes in them. I just realized that I don’t know why
rocks with holes were so special to her, but she collected them so we searched
for them anytime we walked or swam the rivers.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
And now there’s a hole
in my life because she’s gone.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkt25VZZ0rfB4pgVwDhtFuOmuw2ZxQcSoK4dVMDbMwYDgQDxEAf1N6aGS5I71PUanp6XhEqg-pJH8SRuZh5z4oOiVdDykEQfyorHAsmdZiUBw4bxxoczIpB04Vmuzm6WyRwVNONmb8GyQo/s1600/IMG_8972.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkt25VZZ0rfB4pgVwDhtFuOmuw2ZxQcSoK4dVMDbMwYDgQDxEAf1N6aGS5I71PUanp6XhEqg-pJH8SRuZh5z4oOiVdDykEQfyorHAsmdZiUBw4bxxoczIpB04Vmuzm6WyRwVNONmb8GyQo/s320/IMG_8972.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I never even
contemplated a Mother’s Day without Mom. Incomprehensible. Inexplicable. Inconceivable.
Completely and utterly unfathomable. Unimaginable. Unbelievable. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
At least not this soon.
Not this quickly. Not when she was only in her sixties. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcD5IeP5kexV6_4ZIk0Vg_0ckgRcFz5naM2dLfmWNCicb-NPlNUJncTOlbDKWeRQ7CO65DSNhJlk56msZO1ECli7_HjBWeej586oFhJhQF5hISr6h84jdnsXdnNWVGYNl9Opcs7gh6k-Oa/s1600/IMG_5315.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcD5IeP5kexV6_4ZIk0Vg_0ckgRcFz5naM2dLfmWNCicb-NPlNUJncTOlbDKWeRQ7CO65DSNhJlk56msZO1ECli7_HjBWeej586oFhJhQF5hISr6h84jdnsXdnNWVGYNl9Opcs7gh6k-Oa/s320/IMG_5315.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
Aidan is graduating
this month, and his Granny won’t be there. An empty seat that should be filled.
An empty place that once was filled. That only months ago would have been
filled. A generation of grandkids who will miss her, some who may not remember
her. Unthinkable. Unacceptable. Unbearable. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
This week is rough, UD.
I’m heartbroken. All the time. Everything reminds me. Makes me sad. Everything,
everything, everything.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Mom is irreplaceable. Rare.
Exceptional. She is loved and missed more than words can convey.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDD8L3wKSpwIL86mOO_9fpoxXRh3-CHqkWCtUUFRDRxV_01Zb4JTMSFHOr5uuh8l7VhkxLtOVgciRw04ovxfDeZ4fvkcBC4CXx6DjSV7APe4-GwGIObzWG1aryvSBNuVZlrFFn1i764LAF/s1600/IMG_1828.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="891" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDD8L3wKSpwIL86mOO_9fpoxXRh3-CHqkWCtUUFRDRxV_01Zb4JTMSFHOr5uuh8l7VhkxLtOVgciRw04ovxfDeZ4fvkcBC4CXx6DjSV7APe4-GwGIObzWG1aryvSBNuVZlrFFn1i764LAF/s320/IMG_1828.jpg" width="178" /></a>Moms are life; they
give birth to new beings. Moms are selfless; they sacrifice for their
offspring. Moms are home; they offer grounding, place, <o:p></o:p></div>
and foundation. <br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
It’s Mother’s Day, UD, and
we’re motherless. Motherless, without a mom here on this earth. Motherless—no
synonyms, substitutes, replacements for mothers. Motherless for the rest of our
lives. How do we go on from here? You lost your mom, Grandma Bonnie, in your
thirties. How did you do it? How did Mom?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
But you had each other,
and we had you both. It’s so lonely without you, without Mom. I miss her voice,
her fresh garden vegetables, her smile, her cooking, her advice, her
adventurous spirit, her welcoming and giving service to everyone. I miss her presence
here on earth, knowing I could reach out and she would be there. Knowing I had
someone on my side, always. Knowing I had a place to go, no matter what. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_J56l-bbSM8T7GXZNJxfgrz5N1KhcmbA5_MwMEwDuxrnjDHuZGl_hHNiK5oSN8pnYwlChCg-XX1XvNEwhsOWiW-OO0d_hGfXMRoY_EtdF1zg-mql3kRB7oxiWonHmqJ_lAQRVGUw16tXV/s1600/100_3363.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_J56l-bbSM8T7GXZNJxfgrz5N1KhcmbA5_MwMEwDuxrnjDHuZGl_hHNiK5oSN8pnYwlChCg-XX1XvNEwhsOWiW-OO0d_hGfXMRoY_EtdF1zg-mql3kRB7oxiWonHmqJ_lAQRVGUw16tXV/s320/100_3363.jpg" width="320" /></a>One of the most
precious lessons I learned from Mom is this—to include and welcome everyone.
<o:p></o:p><br />
Mom never met a stranger, and her home was always open for those in need. Like
a mother hen collecting chicks, Mom surrounded herself with those who needed.
Always, she gave, fed, welcomed. Her love carried on her hands as she gave to others.
Her love carried on her heart as she shared with others. Her love carried on
her prayers as she remembered everyone. </div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
</div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-HgBy_wmosImch_Yw9gXyNLvvR2Qb7pYXmderD6eXAUppJztOtwtnKRC2E6eQEOqGF3F_UDvJ0u3pqFAiPlpcoJpkdLDgVFg4ZAs2POkly0ZaCT6L2JU8zprueWU7omRsh7GMFNsgEdy1/s1600/59386778_2167233883373511_4221065679228370944_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1409" data-original-width="1600" height="281" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-HgBy_wmosImch_Yw9gXyNLvvR2Qb7pYXmderD6eXAUppJztOtwtnKRC2E6eQEOqGF3F_UDvJ0u3pqFAiPlpcoJpkdLDgVFg4ZAs2POkly0ZaCT6L2JU8zprueWU7omRsh7GMFNsgEdy1/s320/59386778_2167233883373511_4221065679228370944_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
And now, UD, even
though we are motherless, heartbroken, devastated, and inconsolable, we must survive,
remember, and band together. Through the tears and grief, remember Dad, you, Mom.
Through the pain and sorrow, remember the moments we treasure. Through the anguish
and loss, remember the lessons and love from you all. Together we stand
stronger. Together we welcome others. Together we carry love on our hands,
hearts, and prayers. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Love, Rach<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<br />
PS: Thanks to my sister Jill Adams for some of these nature photos.Rachel Rineharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289755862446875553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866037785549285847.post-91655552104546813142019-04-28T10:47:00.002-04:002019-04-28T10:57:43.736-04:00It's April<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0ZYeERYM2CoXAQiNutp0pXBAHhYuzPJFEEkkheYsGLhwII4YWzeAToEFJ0jCdN3t1mnvc_4Nzpc4DmdbYSsgN6gVRYkVS0rg-dy2EuR8zARRpfd_TERMjDEodyTFyez_wLnR6lD0MxXYL/s1600/56696925_2414119765541402_1173105608925118464_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0rSbu47kelUjJA7ic1F4HJkj_4Ky4KFhYG2lyQ82kOsw6WwYOHZI2o3wCibFax47ayixDvScDUJkmcPwycqSXv6O3xkPfKNp5DPoSCE3vuIbuKCH_n0Z03bWNFX5lpnNof9ICXwRCJo2y/s1600/received_595467720935558.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0rSbu47kelUjJA7ic1F4HJkj_4Ky4KFhYG2lyQ82kOsw6WwYOHZI2o3wCibFax47ayixDvScDUJkmcPwycqSXv6O3xkPfKNp5DPoSCE3vuIbuKCH_n0Z03bWNFX5lpnNof9ICXwRCJo2y/s200/received_595467720935558.jpeg" width="150" /></a></div>
Dear UD,<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid5NwuSFfsXT_UEAiVHD3EU1fdHp329MRWzVAS0FysnoIDkYpUdAEpSuNp9TsRLHMZ6fZY6lqTMtvtyeWt1H1OJypl6qhqJX0pp8vCX0eoloRX8nPKVhLhWBz7oThBAcdyP-V3-viBc43g/s1600/56691422_1297116200438784_9140275182865219584_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid5NwuSFfsXT_UEAiVHD3EU1fdHp329MRWzVAS0FysnoIDkYpUdAEpSuNp9TsRLHMZ6fZY6lqTMtvtyeWt1H1OJypl6qhqJX0pp8vCX0eoloRX8nPKVhLhWBz7oThBAcdyP-V3-viBc43g/s200/56691422_1297116200438784_9140275182865219584_n.jpg" width="150" /></a>It’s April, the month
of newness and spring and green—new births, spring buds, pink tulips, purple
hyacinths, fresh asparagus, morel mushrooms, early garden planting. The time
when box turtles awaken, baby goats frolic, and baby chicks chirp. The time
when we color Easter eggs and celebrate a risen Savior. The sun is shining
again, and in between April showers, blue skies spark warmth and happiness, enticing
us outside for fresh air and the <a href="https://onbeing.org/poetry/the-peace-of-wild-things/" target="_blank">“peace of wild things.” </a><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
It’s April, the month
we lost you four years ago, the month that brought unwelcome change. We’d just
lost dad that January, and then months later, you, and everything changed for
all of us. That year, Mom moved from the main farmhouse into a trailer on the
upper part of the family farm and started over. New place, new vegetable
garden, new flower garden planted with the bulbs you’d previously given her.
She’d taken care of grandpa and then dad. She’d survived losing her baby
brother. She was starting over.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-fCtTGOWJ4K8xSXBIO6BFrR0UX0ZPGoWcX0zuuLd-6SR9RiKts8v4sl61nQgc4k4dCnvfWmWxFLI-PV1bnHjsJTb39udETJf0zTHpNGYuJv35bAHZ_Mpgc3ceSY9ZDRn49Y19mhKLA7vI/s1600/56737255_407794536701155_9087904619400527872_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-fCtTGOWJ4K8xSXBIO6BFrR0UX0ZPGoWcX0zuuLd-6SR9RiKts8v4sl61nQgc4k4dCnvfWmWxFLI-PV1bnHjsJTb39udETJf0zTHpNGYuJv35bAHZ_Mpgc3ceSY9ZDRn49Y19mhKLA7vI/s200/56737255_407794536701155_9087904619400527872_n.jpg" width="150" /></a>It’s April, and Mom’s
asparagus finally came up. Two years ago, she planted it. For two years, she
cultivated it, waited eagerly for it, and now it’s here. Ready for her to eat,
enjoy. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
But she’s not here.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaOYx3-yYixfG-92YtrGlZ-TIqxRGn6s945bPOANCjynGp9pTJKxdI15v39s-WDK_ILUIXKIE7CC3l02IKL9gSpuUXR03i7Twt0tM4zh2YtMHV2WpfkgNacyl9AjzM9XBlLUPsdO3A0gW1/s1600/received_322201991753313+%25281%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaOYx3-yYixfG-92YtrGlZ-TIqxRGn6s945bPOANCjynGp9pTJKxdI15v39s-WDK_ILUIXKIE7CC3l02IKL9gSpuUXR03i7Twt0tM4zh2YtMHV2WpfkgNacyl9AjzM9XBlLUPsdO3A0gW1/s200/received_322201991753313+%25281%2529.jpeg" width="150" /></a>It doesn’t make sense,
UD. I was just talking to a friend who is fifteen years older than me, and she
talked of generations ahead of her and how she knows the time is coming for her
to start losing them. One generation leaving to make room for the next. Sad,
difficult, but part of the cycle of life. But you, dad, mom…you were all taken
too soon, too young, and now we are orphans facing too much time alone, without
your generation’s guidance and wisdom and support. It doesn’t seem fair, right.<o:p></o:p><br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
I hate it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgudW2fdqXCF-mOToFHlYa1x2oqVAMSXy0Q4YNhEn-U7I7DrMNKl_CWnYZ_6PacS24SEVNOAE-K8PGRhzmExu0btw9JFGB6_FReS1incCmqDHFcBGBF7WZ_prkFkO6vcwRidZFYsj-HBeQB/s1600/received_455273935214828.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgudW2fdqXCF-mOToFHlYa1x2oqVAMSXy0Q4YNhEn-U7I7DrMNKl_CWnYZ_6PacS24SEVNOAE-K8PGRhzmExu0btw9JFGB6_FReS1incCmqDHFcBGBF7WZ_prkFkO6vcwRidZFYsj-HBeQB/s200/received_455273935214828.jpeg" width="150" /></a>For the first time in
my memory, Mom’s vegetable garden is empty, earth untilled. Her flower garden
is overgrown with weeds. Her yard unmowed. The position of matriarch of the
family vacant. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Empty, barren,
useless—that’s how the future feels right now without you, without Mom.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyLDCRqEtBGz_-ASCWoI3MMr2MAJRmgqAsF7jIfOgb5lCWjk4hYVk6qp0in4nQ22gMkgI1aSTE6WR3Xhzgfpv-60J1E1oJx3fq-FP439uISzvRiTEDcVx8Kr-qj1WpeCPxIqimOsx06VOZ/s1600/received_432994110603000.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyLDCRqEtBGz_-ASCWoI3MMr2MAJRmgqAsF7jIfOgb5lCWjk4hYVk6qp0in4nQ22gMkgI1aSTE6WR3Xhzgfpv-60J1E1oJx3fq-FP439uISzvRiTEDcVx8Kr-qj1WpeCPxIqimOsx06VOZ/s200/received_432994110603000.jpeg" width="150" /></a>In her voice, I hear
the echoes of her last words to me, “I love you, honey.” Though I will never
hear her say those words to me again in this lifetime. That’s unbelievable. Unacceptable.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
UD, it’s April, and the
world looks so bleak without you, without Mom.<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
On April 13,<span style="background: #fefefe; color: #262626; font-family: "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 13.5pt;"> </span>the last known female Yangtze giant softshell
turtle died in China, perhaps dooming the species to extinction. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
On April 15, Notre Dame
burned. That day, we didn't know the extent of the damage, but either way, it
was still tragic. Horrific. And while I posted about it on Facebook, I didn't
have anyone to call to mourn with me. Because it would have been you and Dad
and Mom. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Notre Dame burned, and
that day, one<a href="https://www.vox.com/culture/2019/4/15/18311758/notre-dame-fire-victor-hugo-hunchback?fbclid=IwAR1ttGiep2b0nUvnKGfYVRQ60F2oBYy4h-6iIUeOi2D7oM0ewn-u5EjixxM" target="_blank"> journalist wrote,</a> “Notre Dame is a symbol of human
accomplishment, and more than that, of social accomplishment. It’s not the work
of any one person, but of generations upon generations of labor.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0ZYeERYM2CoXAQiNutp0pXBAHhYuzPJFEEkkheYsGLhwII4YWzeAToEFJ0jCdN3t1mnvc_4Nzpc4DmdbYSsgN6gVRYkVS0rg-dy2EuR8zARRpfd_TERMjDEodyTFyez_wLnR6lD0MxXYL/s1600/56696925_2414119765541402_1173105608925118464_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0ZYeERYM2CoXAQiNutp0pXBAHhYuzPJFEEkkheYsGLhwII4YWzeAToEFJ0jCdN3t1mnvc_4Nzpc4DmdbYSsgN6gVRYkVS0rg-dy2EuR8zARRpfd_TERMjDEodyTFyez_wLnR6lD0MxXYL/s200/56696925_2414119765541402_1173105608925118464_n.jpg" width="150" /></a>When I talked to Alyssa
last weekend, she told me a story about how you nurtured her, reminding me of
how much you meant to her, to me, to all of us. For years, you were so vital to
my life. Talking to you helped me process emotions and life. Working with you
was part of my creative, artistic process—beginning, middle, and end—you
assisted throughout. I knew you would listen anytime, about anything. Your
unconditional acceptance and love sustained me, fueled me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
It’s been three months
since we lost Mom, yet it feels like forever. Constantly, reverently, I reach
to call Mom, text Mom, talk to Mom. All my life, she was there. Only a phone
call away. No matter what, no matter how long, no matter why…I could reach out
to her, the one constant in my life. And now, suddenly, she’s gone. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7wQrMP_S1127-ycrvC_idrCj8fdmGMZA6_oSufHT0mL-JdmqFNNps1SOzMDbL82YR1NDg99cngerdWlaXz14fNhyphenhyphenYfeq3-wSWfXhitHBa0QahvsEiyKi4JhCOWkdfbX4t4Z8dCGFaHh1g/s1600/received_336699883870406+%25281%2529.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7wQrMP_S1127-ycrvC_idrCj8fdmGMZA6_oSufHT0mL-JdmqFNNps1SOzMDbL82YR1NDg99cngerdWlaXz14fNhyphenhyphenYfeq3-wSWfXhitHBa0QahvsEiyKi4JhCOWkdfbX4t4Z8dCGFaHh1g/s200/received_336699883870406+%25281%2529.jpeg" width="150" /></a>Without you, without
Mom, where do we go from here? How do we survive? How does our large family
stay connected?<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<a href="https://www.vox.com/culture/2019/4/15/18311758/notre-dame-fire-victor-hugo-hunchback?fbclid=IwAR1ttGiep2b0nUvnKGfYVRQ60F2oBYy4h-6iIUeOi2D7oM0ewn-u5EjixxM" target="_blank">The journalist</a> also
shared that “[Norte Dame] survived riots from the Huguenots. It survived the
French Revolution. It survived Napoleon. It survived World War II. Notre Dame
represents the most beautiful things that we as human beings can make if we
pour unimaginable amounts of labor and wealth and resources and time into the
effort.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsDOushOb_b3jir7BVZLCvc1gnzm2NWjEYl-SO_756oYYcUNxCzn_ks8lvocL8CL27ezNZhPxShOPfyoDnQzwILULRWQOBlHhBd9g-Nt-X3Jyx7eLbCVVZtunWRxNub3BTeFl64fq0-psC/s1600/56608830_437749953696124_3877114918524157952_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsDOushOb_b3jir7BVZLCvc1gnzm2NWjEYl-SO_756oYYcUNxCzn_ks8lvocL8CL27ezNZhPxShOPfyoDnQzwILULRWQOBlHhBd9g-Nt-X3Jyx7eLbCVVZtunWRxNub3BTeFl64fq0-psC/s200/56608830_437749953696124_3877114918524157952_n.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Likewise, all we can do
now is survive. Survive and continue using the “resources” we learned from you,
from Mom, from the generations before and pass them along to the generations
that come after.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
It’s April, UD, and we
miss you. We miss Mom. We wish you’d both stayed with us a while longer.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Love, Rach<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Note: It’s April, and my
sister Jill took these photos on the family farm.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Rachel Rineharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289755862446875553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866037785549285847.post-20850664812098194412019-03-15T22:40:00.001-04:002019-03-15T23:06:29.473-04:00Of March and Memories<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh70Pc9gIk4KC6DLtJXUmItL0prg8pUIKsWiC38UYEqof1awLlH2oh3NLCqjHIOVvRLRxFpZjxbdVRTgvGDN8W6JptTxren-wNfFCEuZsf0vxlRq3DutY7c3D9Mo4qosX6PShY4Ffj7YjDb/s1600/With+Helen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh70Pc9gIk4KC6DLtJXUmItL0prg8pUIKsWiC38UYEqof1awLlH2oh3NLCqjHIOVvRLRxFpZjxbdVRTgvGDN8W6JptTxren-wNfFCEuZsf0vxlRq3DutY7c3D9Mo4qosX6PShY4Ffj7YjDb/s320/With+Helen.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal;">
Dear UD,<br />
<br />
First dad, then you, and now Mom. Gone. All within a few years. We lost you all
too soon, too young, too quickly, and I can hardly stand it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
I didn't want to write
you again because it makes it more real that mom's gone. When we lost you four
years ago, I wrote about feeling “unmoored,” like I’d lost a rare safe haven in
this turbulent world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And now that we’ve
lost mom too, I feel like I’ve lost my touchstone. Talisman. The saying that we
don’t know what we’ve got until we’ve lost it is so true. You helped us process
everything that life throws at us, and we felt wanted, loved, safe in this
world. Mom prayed for us and guided us as we turned to her to measure
everything in us, everything in this world. With a million little things
throughout our life, every day, in every way, she helped us, and we felt
wanted, loved, safe in this world. The matriarch of our family is now gone, and
I don’t know how to feel safe in this world anymore.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMDJOz8vqP4SJpJ3QfGx_03lXKba4WhnIs-528x18Go58fbhWIKXIRafJ0zzbYNpZbPkP1dcepX9avXAQQorKOsBNTHzDEjgcwEFKSXWrruY9Pudkx0ylL0NDpus1-He_yxPmZ4LKVnm_i/s1600/Mom+and+me+wedding+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="489" data-original-width="846" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMDJOz8vqP4SJpJ3QfGx_03lXKba4WhnIs-528x18Go58fbhWIKXIRafJ0zzbYNpZbPkP1dcepX9avXAQQorKOsBNTHzDEjgcwEFKSXWrruY9Pudkx0ylL0NDpus1-He_yxPmZ4LKVnm_i/s320/Mom+and+me+wedding+%25282%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Orphaned. On the way to
your funeral, I rode with Mom and Sonny, and I remember him telling the story
about how, at your dad’s funeral, you repeatedly cried, “We’re orphans now.
We’re orphans now. We’re orphans now.” I remember that day and how you wept
unashamed in front of all of us. At the time, I had no idea how you felt. Now I
do. Orphaned. There are no words to describe it. Losing that sense of knowing
and being known completely by someone who's known you from birth. Looking at
the preceding generation, at the place your parents occupied, and seeing it
empty. There are no words for such loss.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
No wonder I’ve been
plagued with anxiety, panic attacks, nightmares, and sleeplessness since losing
Mom. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
After I wrote the first
part of this letter, I discovered this quote:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTM1AG4mIBHKIkxJA-Qx18SGEeNNkyjwgfdhyphenhyphenICMexhWfsskIy2clasy_wHWBY0h4v7fqOuE5MXZh6vKr5_dVaarNj9DcPL_Sry68KLVZLcS-MEjSiIcxXuNLVRHBcpGz68IdsVPsqEHtB/s1600/Sisters+with+mom+selfie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTM1AG4mIBHKIkxJA-Qx18SGEeNNkyjwgfdhyphenhyphenICMexhWfsskIy2clasy_wHWBY0h4v7fqOuE5MXZh6vKr5_dVaarNj9DcPL_Sry68KLVZLcS-MEjSiIcxXuNLVRHBcpGz68IdsVPsqEHtB/s320/Sisters+with+mom+selfie.jpg" width="320" /></a>“A person who has the
habit of hope also has the habit of remembering. Hope needs memories the way a
writer needs notes. This is partly because hope depends so much on imagination.
Our images of the future are sweepings from our remembrances of things past. If
we expect to keep hope alive, we need to keep memory alive. Happy memories of
good things we hoped for that were fulfilled, and grateful memories of bad
things we survived.” Lewis B. Smedes, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Keeping
Hope Alive</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
I found the quote in my
new Jeremiah Study <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bible</i>, the last
gift Mom gave me. Last December when I stayed with her, she said that she
wanted me to have a good study <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bible</i>,
and we picked this one out together. During that month, I made many new memories
with her, some happy memories and others difficult ones because it was so terrible
to see her struggle, to watch her body betray her as the aggressive cancer
advanced. But one memory that is both happy and difficult (happy because I
shared it with her, tough because of the reason that I needed to read to her) is
of me reading Psalms to her one Sunday morning. Normally, faithfully, she went
to church every Sunday; however, by then, she had no energy and too much pain. Also,
she read the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bible</i> daily and was in
the process of reading through Proverbs and Psalms in a month; however, she
could hardly keep her eyes open on that morning, so on December 23, I read Proverbs
23, Psalms 23, 53, 83, 113, and 143 to her. Then, we sang several hymns and
prayed together. I am grateful for moments like that, for so many memories and
conversations.<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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But this week as I
struggled through the grief of missing Mom and the sorrow of missing you, I read
that quote and Psalms 63.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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When I remember You on my bed, I mediate on You in the
night watches. Because You have been my help, therefore in the shadow of Your
wings will I rejoice. My soul follows close behind You; Your right hand upholds
me. Psalms: 63 6-8<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidc3wSvo_cs4FbyHNm0q_ttaeHOS38LdIfyKpTCL2uWJwg88NGQIf9KZ9J66Hkgy8-m6BnQacpworqDqC2zt61M2tHEqxmGhnw7jr8it88EjX8cOjE4GgAwfxWEB9UDR1gVZpMJGRmz5wS/s1600/48935544_341099853411489_8452233516673925120_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidc3wSvo_cs4FbyHNm0q_ttaeHOS38LdIfyKpTCL2uWJwg88NGQIf9KZ9J66Hkgy8-m6BnQacpworqDqC2zt61M2tHEqxmGhnw7jr8it88EjX8cOjE4GgAwfxWEB9UDR1gVZpMJGRmz5wS/s320/48935544_341099853411489_8452233516673925120_n.jpg" width="320" /></a>I was reminded to remember
those moments, to celebrate the love shared, and to find hope in those memories,
that love, and in God. Hope that God is with me right now, hope that He is with
me when I’m tossing and turning in bed at night, and hope that we will all be together
again in heaven one day.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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UD, it's your birthday
month and Dad's, and I would give anything if we could all meet again at your
place for cake, cards, celebration with the family. But all we can do is
remember you, remember Dad, remember Mom, remember those we lost too soon. I
imagine you all together in heaven, celebrating your birthdays, watching over
us. I raise a toast to you today, and I want you all to know what you meant to
us, to me. How you shaped our lives, how much we miss you, how we love you so.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Love, Rach<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Rachel Rineharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289755862446875553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866037785549285847.post-59779189787329305562019-01-08T22:31:00.000-05:002019-01-18T19:05:53.572-05:00Barbara Ann Cunningham Crawford <br />
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<h2>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">A
Legacy of Faith, Family, and Forgiveness:<br /> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Barbara Ann Cunningham Crawford aka Granny</span></h2>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 200%;">She
is worth far more than rubies. Proverbs 31:10<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">Barbara Ann was
born on a grain and sheep farm in Kansas in late summer of 1950 to Robert Bruce
Cunningham and Bonnie Jean Volesky. She grew up on the farm with her brothers
Bob and </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTnKuAW-d46uFOzaSSMZTtCEeibS9-PioO3Ydvu0BopJu1W0jIm6yOnuYufbSpZ9yaPhGEIwEzwdAfM4fQ_T3Q-psUjcvIAScay5HgzVTCYd3f8A8_XiI1VQZatpE1vhg6wOXmVkd0E8Ty/s1600/siblings+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTnKuAW-d46uFOzaSSMZTtCEeibS9-PioO3Ydvu0BopJu1W0jIm6yOnuYufbSpZ9yaPhGEIwEzwdAfM4fQ_T3Q-psUjcvIAScay5HgzVTCYd3f8A8_XiI1VQZatpE1vhg6wOXmVkd0E8Ty/s320/siblings+.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">David until a job change took the family first to Dodge City, Kansas
and eventually to Clinton, Missouri where Barbara graduated from Clinton High
School. Last summer, she attended her 50-year class reunion where she found a newspaper
article from her senior year that said, “Friendly, lively, being gay and always
wearing a big smile are only a few of the many features that crown Barbara
Cunningham. She is very active in sports, her favorite pastime.”</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZpT3tBJTC2bjGtvCtXrOLweUDjAnsB1z_tlgC-BOP5ukzgoYXAE0yfehpYDuJz5Zlnx4fLR-o3ZBPWGZKxxcai5jowvmYFqmm-9DvoGGWHNtIx1D5HQXjmM3qK26XJaQ9opwT_q-sbISA/s1600/Marriage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="638" data-original-width="532" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZpT3tBJTC2bjGtvCtXrOLweUDjAnsB1z_tlgC-BOP5ukzgoYXAE0yfehpYDuJz5Zlnx4fLR-o3ZBPWGZKxxcai5jowvmYFqmm-9DvoGGWHNtIx1D5HQXjmM3qK26XJaQ9opwT_q-sbISA/s320/Marriage.jpg" width="266" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> After high school, Barbara attended
college at the University of Missouri for a year before taking time for
exploration as young adults often do. During that period, she lived in
California for three months where she went sailing for the first and only time
before moving back to Missouri, worked as a waitress at a local restaurant and
as secretary at the Chamber of Commerce, married Shelley Gene Rinehart, and had
her first child. Within a year, the marriage ended, and in August of 1972, Barbara
married Newton Ulysses Crawford, Jr. and started a family. They moved several
times and had a few children before settling in Kansas City where they attended
Baptist Temple and where they were both baptized. Barbara, who was saved at 13
at a summer Bible camp and then who rededicated her life to God when she was
baptized, said that “knowing and having a relationship with Jesus saved her,”
and over the years, it transformed her life and family. <o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg-QW3jCmRki6KxbzwdOBbGOiZrhj5bJRCi7lgAyKXQlkUTvJmMBmOhtEsPI3kqIZb2X0HeX7GPklzp8-rSPFG8l40jAywcx8M90U_m6aoQEuFKSDvPK5fLIv0pfmQubgNj9SLcE_NHsKD/s1600/Young+family.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="858" data-original-width="598" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg-QW3jCmRki6KxbzwdOBbGOiZrhj5bJRCi7lgAyKXQlkUTvJmMBmOhtEsPI3kqIZb2X0HeX7GPklzp8-rSPFG8l40jAywcx8M90U_m6aoQEuFKSDvPK5fLIv0pfmQubgNj9SLcE_NHsKD/s320/Young+family.jpg" width="223" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Another job change came after a
round of layoffs at TWA airline, so Barbara moved with her family to Houston,
Missouri for a few years before relocating to the Crawford century family farm
in Cabool where they lived for over thirty years. There, she raised a family of
ten children, helped take care of farm animals (chickens, calves, goats,
rabbits), gardened, attended church, welcomed anyone and everyone to her home, helped
take care of her twenty plus grandkids, kept bird feeders that eventually fed a
variety of birds every winter, feed numerous barn cats and dogs, worked as an
enumerator at the Department of Agriculture, and took care of her inlaws when
they became elderly. From taking care of children to working the land, Barbara
was a hard worker. And through it all, she prioritized time with God and time
with those she loved, making many memories and creating lasting experiences. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Far and away the best prize that life has to offer is
the chance to work hard at work worth doing. Theodore Roosevelt.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">With
10 children, 26 grandchildren, and one recent addition of a great-grandchild,
Barbara’s house was always full of noise, craziness, rivalry, rowdiness, wrestling,
fun, laughter, love. She loved watching her children and grandchildren in their
various sports or extracurricular activities and never missed a game or
concert. In recent years, she had a grandchild in nearly every grade in the
Houston School District, so she attended numerous events. She also loved
exploring nature, swimming, and walking the river with her kids and grandkids. She
loved playing Scrabble and Bridge and watching sports, especially </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLO-Ic_P5h_0UZubjkWLKA6zWL1aVT3yiS1jPRXvCFUyXsauiQeymrhzH2w-wlu8eMpYw-K9_cohoNDWmMX6Z4ogolcDChSgwda1m9mFnVZWhE9NJ1Un7Q7dbFddvKzlMxQqQP1mL6kQVQ/s1600/football.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLO-Ic_P5h_0UZubjkWLKA6zWL1aVT3yiS1jPRXvCFUyXsauiQeymrhzH2w-wlu8eMpYw-K9_cohoNDWmMX6Z4ogolcDChSgwda1m9mFnVZWhE9NJ1Un7Q7dbFddvKzlMxQqQP1mL6kQVQ/s320/football.JPG" width="240" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">football. Every
spring, she planted a flower garden and a vegetable garden, and she enjoyed
working in the garden and eating the fresh produce, especially her asparagus.
Barbara attended Bado Church and loved taking her children and then
grandchildren with her. She also served at Bado Church as needed on Sundays, in
the summers for VBS, and as part of the women’s prayer group.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Therefore, my dear brothers and sisters, stand firm.
Let nothing move you. Always give yourselves fully to the work of the Lord,
because you know that your labor in the Lord is not in vain. 1 Corinthians
15:58 <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Every
fall, she attended the Cunningham Family Apple Butter Day, and every summer,
she hosted Crawford Camp at Baptist Camp. For events like these, all family and
friends were invited, and she helped plan and make delicious, homemade meals.
There was always enough food to feed an army, but with so many family members
and friends, the food was always eaten.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Last
Christmas at the family dinner, we watched some old family videos, and one of
the them was Katch’s second birthday where Carly kept opening all of his
presents for him. One thing he got was a Tonka truck, and Mom said that was a
story she loved. Little Sonny and Aidan were about 10 or 11, and they were
upset that they’d missed sledding that winter, and they thought it would be
like sledding so they took an old Tonka truck up to Possum Creek hill and took
turns riding </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;">it down. She laughed as she retold the story. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">She
was always about bringing people together and letting go of bitterness and
anger. For instance, in the summer of 2018, she hosted a reunion and
reconciliation for extended Crawford family. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">In
recent years, she was known to remark on how lucky she was and how much she
loved her life—the days of having her children and grandchildren visit,
attending family events, working in her garden, attending her church, taking
road tips to see her brother, enjoying special lunches with her friends. She
enjoyed life, and she loved us all.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Reading
through her last journal, a picture emerged of one who always thought of others,
one who always praised God, and one who gave of herself. Throughout 2018, she
wrote about spending time with her children and grandchildren, about praying
for them, about concern and love for her family and friends. Even though she
was in intense pain for months, she rarely mentioned it, instead focusing on
what mattered to her—God, family, friends, prayer, experiences. In her journal,
her spirit, grace, positive attitude, kindness, and love shine through. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWs3osNKWZUzroHK6Ehi1HneDmON_HNgmuzM7NImEu13-ShbfkWUU4AKFsYjblRKMZD10wGMQA_p15umewFbVrq0MYxZ7bMTOb19-TwUuPlcVXdQO7l_6tnD5qYV9JdFbuPZEJxdIZiVTT/s1600/With+girls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWs3osNKWZUzroHK6Ehi1HneDmON_HNgmuzM7NImEu13-ShbfkWUU4AKFsYjblRKMZD10wGMQA_p15umewFbVrq0MYxZ7bMTOb19-TwUuPlcVXdQO7l_6tnD5qYV9JdFbuPZEJxdIZiVTT/s320/With+girls.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Strength and honor <i>are</i> her clothing;
She shall rejoice in time to come. She opens her mouth with wisdom, And on her
tongue <i>is</i> the law of kindness. She watches over the ways of
her household, And does not eat the bread of idleness. <b><sup> </sup></b>Her
children rise up and call her blessed; Her husband <i>also,</i> and
he praises her:<b><sup> </sup></b>“Many daughters have done well, But you
excel them all.”<b><sup> </sup></b>Charm <i>is</i> deceitful
and beauty <i>is</i> passing, But a woman <i>who</i> fears
the Lord, she shall be praised. Give her of the fruit of her hands, And
let her own works praise her in the gates. Proverbs 31:25-31<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">A
beloved mother and grandmother, a virtuous wife, and a loving sister and
friend, she leaves a legacy of faith, family, forgiveness as well as Christian
living, homemade cooking, and sacrifice. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Thich
Nhat Than said, “If you look deeply into the palm of your hand, you will see
your parents and all generations of your ancestors. All of them are alive in
this moment. Each is present in your body. You are the continuation of each of
these people.” So I will look for her influence inside me and my siblings
and all of those she touched with her spirit and generosity, her dedication and
support, and her strength and positivity.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Mom/Granny,
we love you. Thank you for always being there for us, for welcoming us, for
loving us, for feeding us, for teaching us so much, and for praying for us. You
are loved, and you will be missed more than words can say. We are blessed that
you are our Mom and Granny.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">*****************************************************************<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt;">We want to honor Mom, her
life, and the ways that she influenced us, so if friends or family have a
memory and/or photo that you want to share, feel free to email it to me to add
to this blog or any of you can add your memory in the comments below.</span></div>
<h4>
Remembering Barbara (Mom/Granny)</h4>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><i><u>Rachel:</u></i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
read recently that simply hearing your mother’s voice lowers your stress level.
I also read recently that mothers and their children literally share DNA, share
cells. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj41qD71Kjj_YvO7QBEq-Ji5JqhaSehhsAUPi9wTw-IwSJRtWEkAN20YaSJtoHh19v6WqnPom74UvSo2v3tD_67Beo4Oc4xDY6BPYnZoZufn8XFmQUNKsVp6ZPm3rXXgJtQIEq29ioZ-jOe/s1600/Cooking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj41qD71Kjj_YvO7QBEq-Ji5JqhaSehhsAUPi9wTw-IwSJRtWEkAN20YaSJtoHh19v6WqnPom74UvSo2v3tD_67Beo4Oc4xDY6BPYnZoZufn8XFmQUNKsVp6ZPm3rXXgJtQIEq29ioZ-jOe/s320/Cooking.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> I think of memories, some sweeter than others, some
mundane with daily chores and living, some filled with adventure and joy, some
complicated with misunderstandings or emotions, but every piece of me is
layered with pieces of you. Your words (advice, lessons, criticism) surround
me, fill me, build me. Whether I want it or not. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> How I cook, how I speak, how I think, how I clean, how I
view the world, how I learn, how I love—so much shaped by your hands, your
heart, your voice, your behavior, your life, you. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
can't imagine the world without you in it and don't want to. Only one thing has
not changed during my lifetime, and that is you in my world, my mom.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Adventure
as in viewing life as an adventure. As in going on adventures with you. As in
finding adventure in every day details. As in hunting for rocks with holes in
them at the riverbank. As in apple-picking, mulberry-picking,
blackberry-picking. As in walking to the slab, walking the river, hiking to the
narrows in snow and 20-degree weather that feels warm after the temperatures
had fallen below zero. As in naming the tiny river turtles we found Mishas and
putting them in a fish tank. As in searching for arrowheads in the cemetery
when mowing it. As in mushroom-hunting, even in a thunderstorm. As in going
outside to see the tornado funnel in the sky. As in stopping to roll down the
windows and howl at the full moon on the drive home. As in listening to you
read books to us. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFS9FAIlfm0uh-VZhSDzHhx02KNDlcA0eo9evSxYOzFfjFe7d0LJc8yGsnOK0MhnM3I7_h42VZn5KyIf3THQca2rxTdzunfgJ4oYl6cNf5AuVmnO-NnbooM-GX9Hz4-D_HcezRc8OxLO_z/s1600/sonny.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1043" data-original-width="1600" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFS9FAIlfm0uh-VZhSDzHhx02KNDlcA0eo9evSxYOzFfjFe7d0LJc8yGsnOK0MhnM3I7_h42VZn5KyIf3THQca2rxTdzunfgJ4oYl6cNf5AuVmnO-NnbooM-GX9Hz4-D_HcezRc8OxLO_z/s320/sonny.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Bridge
as in playing Bridge with you. As in crossing bridges to get to the family
farm. As in swimming near the bridge at Flat Rocks. As in water over the
bridge. As in a bridge between you and me, always. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Churches
on every street corner in the Bible Belt; churches in our lives. I first
remember Tri-City Baptist Church in Kansas City, Missouri, where we were saved
and baptized. During that time, I went to a Christian school, but then we moved
back to the family farm and went to First Baptist Church in Houston, Missouri,
where I would one day marry my college sweetheart as you sat in the front pew.
We attended First Baptist until you switched to Bado Church, a small country
church, where you still take your grandkids and where you lead the prayer
group. Churches where </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Christianity is taught, where Christians fellowship,
where Christ is celebrated. Christmas programs in the church. When I was a
teen, I wrote and directed a play at Bado. Two years ago, I helped organize a
play where Alaina played Mary and Aidan played Joseph while other cousins
played various characters, again at Bado. A beautiful and fun Christmas program
that we still talk about to this day. This year, we watched the Bado Christmas
program where Cassius sang a solo and Jessalyn played a character. Christmas
Eves where I babysat while you and Dad went shopping. Christmas Eves where you
made a birthday cake for Baby Jesus, read the Christmas story to us. We sang
Happy Birthday to Jesus and </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">
blew out the candles. Or we gathered around the
piano and sang, “Do You Hear What I Hear?” while Dad played. Christmas mornings
where I passed out the presents to everyone, and we each took turns opening our
gifts. Christmas Days where we played games, ate a huge Christmas dinner, and
hung out. Churches where we memorized Bible verses and went to church camp in
the summers. Churches—where your heart is, there your treasures lie.
Churches—as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Dinner
at six sharp every evening with freshly homemade rolls. Dinners started with a
prayer of thanksgiving. Dinners ended with homemade desserts. Daily dinners
when we shared food and family, conversation and laughter. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Farm
eggs, farm animals, farm-fresh beef, farm-fresh milk, century farm, farming.
Growing up, we had chickens, rabbits, goats, cows, horses, dogs, cats. We
hauled hay, jumped from the barn rafters, and helped work the farm—steering
cattle, tilling dirt, planting seeds, hauling hay, milking goats and cows,
fishing in the pond for catfish or bass or perch, mowing the lawn, picking the
garden, shelling the peas, snapping the beans, shucking the corn, canning
pickles or beets or tomato juice or salsa. </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;"> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Garden,
gardening, gardenia, keeping a garden, no matter where you lived, you have
always had a vegetable and flower garden. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Journals,
journaling, journal writing, writing in journals. When I was little, you bought
me a little pink diary that had a lock and tiny key. I remember writing in it.
When I was older, you gave me notebooks to use as journals. For as long as I
can remember, I’ve journaled, filled notebooks, written words of my daily life
and innermost thoughts in journals. All because you first bought me a diary and
invited me to share my thoughts on paper.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Kids,
10 kids, 25 grandkids, 1 great-grandkid, babysitting kids, teaching kids,
watching kids play sports, talking to kids, walking with kids, swimming with
kids, reading to kids, chasing kids, loving kids. House full of kids. The
noise, the craziness, the rowdiness, the wrestling, the tea parties, the
sleepovers, always you love a house full of kids. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Pretty
smile, pretty spirit, pretty woman.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzA0auKCjn26eGxiA6tKNAaWqlrhpfyVyKTSDS1WVfnZ58btAo1zXhArDTsYHF1VqvJnjk2F5nx7FhLx6IO2W4EUF-dNmLm8jjHUwmGM327fI-L3KYAb_eY5SQVTghFQin0ORD-6ZQ4V_A/s1600/Lexi+grad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzA0auKCjn26eGxiA6tKNAaWqlrhpfyVyKTSDS1WVfnZ58btAo1zXhArDTsYHF1VqvJnjk2F5nx7FhLx6IO2W4EUF-dNmLm8jjHUwmGM327fI-L3KYAb_eY5SQVTghFQin0ORD-6ZQ4V_A/s320/Lexi+grad.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Service,
selfless, giving of self to others…your greatest lesson to all of us. You live
this, love this, show this in all that you do every day in every way. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Wild
flowers— I remember all the flowers I picked for you for Mother’s Day. I walked
up and down the Ozark hills, through the woods and fields of the family farm,
over the rivers, hunting for splashes of red, purple, blue, yellow. One by one,
I picked the flowers and walked back to hand you a colorful bouquet of wild
flowers.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i><u>Jill:</u></i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 10.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
pain felt upon departure of loved ones from this life will generally mirror the
joy we felt while they remained with us. –Sam Storms.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV7zIRFQeapWPieTjPrgTwcgilNCxHvONIPCWc_vePyaB7PKR74VDEA8MgK3wIoThnAzECISiEtqvTOKw27YmokCIqbp3i8XG2NcXE33eco7UKQaPETszPEQI9mayTHuyHgNF3bPVhbsZ4/s1600/jill.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="627" data-original-width="662" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjV7zIRFQeapWPieTjPrgTwcgilNCxHvONIPCWc_vePyaB7PKR74VDEA8MgK3wIoThnAzECISiEtqvTOKw27YmokCIqbp3i8XG2NcXE33eco7UKQaPETszPEQI9mayTHuyHgNF3bPVhbsZ4/s320/jill.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
can only speak for myself, but one thing that I know for sure is that my mom
brought me more joy in this lifetime than any other person, therefore her death
stings in a way that is hard to describe. My heart will always both ache and
leap for joy at the sound of her name and every day will hold a little reminder
of her as her name no longer flashes across my text or call screen as it did
every single day before. My mom was an incredible woman. She loved her children
and grandchildren deeply. If you know her at all, you know that I don’t say
this lightly. She was there. At every event, every game, every award ceremony.
She cheered us on, bragged on us, and prayed for us daily. We can each say that
she was our biggest fan and we each know that she loved us in a unique and
incredible way. To love 10 kids, 26 grandkids, and one great grandchild so
deeply takes a very special kind of woman. I would say with great confidence,
that there is no other person on this Earth that could have done a better job
of loving all of us than she did. This death that we are mourning today would
completely wreck me if it weren’t for one thing. That is my hope of eternity. I
take comfort in knowing that I will see my beautiful mom again one day. I take
comfort in knowing that my mom is in a beautiful place with a new, healthy body
and is experiencing unspeakable joy. Death from cancer is a very difficult
thing to experience.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF7jtcJpJgfoa-pxkett9iSfB81qhAjTGhTGCAQOYxZINqWkzj2kZxGOI_Jfocw-mhuD6CSGtRZx3iboIxX2Y0EBd6SjOUWIh38YaSTse8TExvWz5IPL3yev7vmrbmpkfCNDasseMaRHRe/s1600/50721793_525065637990087_9032040778645372928_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="676" data-original-width="452" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF7jtcJpJgfoa-pxkett9iSfB81qhAjTGhTGCAQOYxZINqWkzj2kZxGOI_Jfocw-mhuD6CSGtRZx3iboIxX2Y0EBd6SjOUWIh38YaSTse8TExvWz5IPL3yev7vmrbmpkfCNDasseMaRHRe/s320/50721793_525065637990087_9032040778645372928_n.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Watching
someone that you love desperately who is vibrant and full of life decline so
quickly hurts in a way that is difficult to explain. The minute I found out
that my mom had cancer, I knew that God had called me to go to her. To help her
in any way that I could, so I went. The experience was both beautiful and
traumatic and I know for sure that God carried me through every bit of it. As I
sat by that hospital bed and held my mom’s hand and stroked her hair, every bit
of me just wanted to scream in frustration. Why was this happening? Why my mom?
Why so soon? Why did she have to suffer in this way? In the midst of this
heartache, God threw his arms around me and stilled my heart. He strengthened
me in a way that I can’t explain, and I stood to my feet and began to tell my
mom of her future. She already knew, but I told her that she was on her way to
Jesus, that she would soon run into his arms. That she would be out of this
hospital bed and instead dancing in his presence. I told her that she would
receive so many crowns for her steadfast life and that she would never ever
feel sorrow again. These words, breathed through me by the spirit of God,
brought me comfort in an indescribable way and I know they did the same for
her. As I was telling her all of this, I replayed a conversation that we had
earlier in the week when she was coherent, and I’d like to share part of it
with you today.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir7DznxokT_4sENJ_QBPINe-9GuYCT2CCpgaghABS4elo2NbgqhYHUozVEXJW_Jr2eItpntqVKPpM8h6yZF2kFDWOVJLXV-pdKqU7zukNPrH9INGjsjx8tx6n1bXBdnwkdKs3QFver-Hsc/s1600/garden+kids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="867" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir7DznxokT_4sENJ_QBPINe-9GuYCT2CCpgaghABS4elo2NbgqhYHUozVEXJW_Jr2eItpntqVKPpM8h6yZF2kFDWOVJLXV-pdKqU7zukNPrH9INGjsjx8tx6n1bXBdnwkdKs3QFver-Hsc/s320/garden+kids.jpg" width="295" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
following is a message that she personally asked me to pass along in case she
didn’t get the chance to: “I have greatly enjoyed every minute that I have
spent with my children and grandchildren. They have given me so much joy. I need
them to know though, that it all will be for nothing if they don’t join me in
eternity. I really hope that each of them will accept Jesus as their savior so
that I will see them all again one day.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">It
is easy to wonder after a loved one passes, what they’d say if you could have
just one more conversation with them. Today you have been given a beautiful
gift of knowing exactly what she’d say if given the chance. I am hoping that
this message from the grave is one that is taken to heart by every person in
this room even if you didn’t call this woman Mom/Granny.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCxOQ0sY9DZy-VY3ycOZ-UbER_rQ9TekcR9_3OKby9SV40Ytu4_AiDwQRi6MKVrgAy9YHRe9UiAs5Mgqv8CYRgWaJTAFwRIubMiNhyphenhyphenKOtHKuzzc5E94wzB6WZ5oj7nKOsUk_NmH_MM29Ua/s1600/IMG_9422.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="882" data-original-width="1600" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCxOQ0sY9DZy-VY3ycOZ-UbER_rQ9TekcR9_3OKby9SV40Ytu4_AiDwQRi6MKVrgAy9YHRe9UiAs5Mgqv8CYRgWaJTAFwRIubMiNhyphenhyphenKOtHKuzzc5E94wzB6WZ5oj7nKOsUk_NmH_MM29Ua/s320/IMG_9422.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">This
next song is a song that I played for Mom, in her distress, on her death bed. I
hope that you will listen to it and imagine that you are in her place when I
played it for her…think about whether or not the words would give you peace in
that moment. If they wouldn’t…if the thought of those words doesn’t stir your
heart with great anticipation of eternity, if it doesn’t make your hair stand
on end and your heart leap for joy, then I desperately pray that you evaluate
your heart and make the decisions you need to get to that place. What this song
portrays is something that nothing and no one can ever take away from you. Not
death or life, not cancer or any other disease, not fear or failure…nothing can
separate us from this beautiful reunion with our savior. That you would secure
this destiny was her hope. It is what she lived her life for. It is what her
legacy was meant to represent and, in my opinion, the greatest legacy a person
could possibly leave. I am so grateful to her for being the example that helped
me find the incredible love of God. I have had much suffering and heartache in
the last month. Everyone in this room has. There have been so many tears shed,
and so much sadness. I can only imagine what it will be like when tears will
never fall again. When every bit of life is filled with joy and my heart will
never break again. When I get my inheritance…not the one on this earth that
moths and rust destroy, but my inheritance of eternity, I hope the mansion God
prepared for me is right by hers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
song that played after was “<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N_lrrq_opng" target="_blank">I Can Only Imagine.</a>”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px;">***************************************************************</span></div>
</div>
</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<h4 style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">In Barbara’s
words:</span></h4>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ12XhPzGQWRwyfFUqRd2SypWwv3ib5iSvulZRKwdKvIgXDpqGmtvHNTF9uFzEcHCrvtGPt96wbJIjCytBZN608myPIL7BiXv4SSG5SolZ3stkLH7wmcCSVoLWzsW7O17uTKFqD1EG8r4a/s1600/baby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1138" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ12XhPzGQWRwyfFUqRd2SypWwv3ib5iSvulZRKwdKvIgXDpqGmtvHNTF9uFzEcHCrvtGPt96wbJIjCytBZN608myPIL7BiXv4SSG5SolZ3stkLH7wmcCSVoLWzsW7O17uTKFqD1EG8r4a/s320/baby.jpg" width="227" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
was born on a grain (corn and wheat)/sheep farm in Kansas in 1950, and we lived
five miles from town, next door to my grandparents (Myrtle and Claude—Grandpa
Bruce’s parents). My dad helped his dad farm but always had to take other jobs
working on the turnpike and such, things that took him away from home, to make
ends meet. Daddy’s brother, Uncle Jim, lived on a farm on the other side of
town, and they once bought a buffalo and Daddy rode the bulls in the rodeo and
Mom (Grandma Bonnie) got so mad that she made him shave off his beard. John
Charles was born at seven months, and he died. Back then they didn’t have the
technology, though now he probably would have lived. In 1952, Bob was born, and
in ‘54 David was born.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCNRQi8h60Bd2N11HJtp_FEcbw3p1oR53AM8AIpywM64dslAK9lRxHp_VOJ-vpYRBpPe57-Roru2PXzbC7sPlHPWjfvMkdDdY4DFsFGLaXDn-49zCiopQV_8j3gLoNBlenAOzSMhrK9nID/s1600/young+siblings.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1539" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCNRQi8h60Bd2N11HJtp_FEcbw3p1oR53AM8AIpywM64dslAK9lRxHp_VOJ-vpYRBpPe57-Roru2PXzbC7sPlHPWjfvMkdDdY4DFsFGLaXDn-49zCiopQV_8j3gLoNBlenAOzSMhrK9nID/s320/young+siblings.jpg" width="307" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">We
had a pony and Daddy was off working on the turnpike; we had a drought and by
the time he got back, the pond had dried up and the pony had died. I remember
the trailer taking the pony away. One time, Daddy brought home baby skunks; we
kept them in the tractor-trailer sandpile and played with them. One night it
rained really hard, and they all drowned. We had a dog named Lassie, a Collie.
She wasn’t fixed, but since we lived close to the highway, most of her puppies
were killed on the highway. A miniature Shelty showed up once, and we called
every name we could think of and the dog finally came to Nicey so we named her
that and took her with us when we moved.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">We
went to a two-room schoolhouse, riding the bus, and Mom made me take my egg
sandwich on the bus because I wasn’t eating it. I was so mad I threw it under
the bus when we were leaving. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">We
had rock collections and would go to this wooded area on the other side of our
garden where we built forts and played. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">When
I was eight, Daddy needed help in the field, so I had to stand up to drive the
grain truck. It was huge, and I was terrified, and to this day, I hate driving
big things. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Daddy
took us out to teach us to shoot. When I shot the shotgun, I remember it about
knocked me over; I was around seven.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Bull
snakes were everywhere (yellow but similar to Black snakes in Missouri). My mom
would open up a closet or cabinet and find a snake. Daddy would always catch
them and show us how to hold them, and we played with them all the time. In
high school, when boys tried to chase me with snakes, they failed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Every
Easter, Mom got us a baby duck or chick, and we would play with them until
eventually the cats or dogs would get them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">One
time my mom told me to play with the kitties in a shed or outhouse. I was
playing with them when my mom came to check on me and discovered that a tomcat
had bit off all their heads. At age five or under, I was just in there playing
with them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">One
of my favorite things was that we would go to the barn after they parked the
truck of wheat. We’d climb up into the rafters and jump down into the bed of
wheat. Probably dangerous, you could suffocate, but it was fun!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">We
were wild, and we played up in the barn with forts. One time my cousin Tim was
scared to jump from the loft onto the ground, so I pushed him, and he broke his
arm.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
love windmills, and I still remember my grandma’s windmill. Would love to see
it again. After grandpa died, we found a dead baby bird and put it in a
matchbox. We went up into the windmill and held a funeral for it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnt1OWh3lIfnlSfW7xNe9uDitv-PtboegtlHS1W1A1YEGVdPBTbmmiU7naeH7b8YhQjWBCBcELxLaeIR1zRR75KIRtgHfLLuOkylb0duZfkBy2ZKJmphhyRwZ1gADJHiVZMdyBwjoDi9Lz/s1600/Four+generations.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="616" data-original-width="627" height="314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnt1OWh3lIfnlSfW7xNe9uDitv-PtboegtlHS1W1A1YEGVdPBTbmmiU7naeH7b8YhQjWBCBcELxLaeIR1zRR75KIRtgHfLLuOkylb0duZfkBy2ZKJmphhyRwZ1gADJHiVZMdyBwjoDi9Lz/s320/Four+generations.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
always felt sorry for my mother because she went to high school when she was
nine and lived in an apartment in town until she was 13 and then went to
college and lived in a rooming house and got degrees in foreign languages and
business. But she never learned anything about cooking or keeping a house. She
met Daddy at K-State, got married, and went to live on the farm. Grandma Myrtle
was an accomplished, high society person (she was featured in <i>Life</i> magazine for her mint-chocolate
sherbet ice cream—she had an herb garden that I loved, and in a tree by it, she
had a Baltimore Oriole nest that was so cool), and Aunt Betty had a degree in
home economics. Mom learned quickly and worked hard, but it was difficult for
her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Mom
was in <i>Life</i> magazine for being a
“wonder” kid, starting high school at nine. Here’s how it happened: she went to
a one-room school house with her sister. Aunt Carol was a few years older than her,
but Bonnie had a photographic memory. She listened to everything when Carol was
studying for the test to pass high school and memorized everything. She took
the test and passed and moved into town with her sister.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">She
was offered a job to go to South America and work as a secretary but instead
got married and had kids. On a typewriter, she could type 80 words a minute.
She was a secretary off and on throughout her life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">When
I went to kindergarten, she got a job to pay for it because you had to pay for
it back then. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
used to love when they sheered sheep. We had 500 sheep, and there was always a
lamb that wasn’t claimed, and we’d have a Coke bottle with a black nipple on
it, and we’d feed them. When they sheered the sheep, they had big rectangular
bags and would throw the wool in there. We would stomp on the bags to compact
the wool and thought it was fun.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Bob
and I had the measles and had to lay at my grandma’s in a dark room and
couldn’t go anywhere. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">When
I was nine, Grandpa Claude died suddenly of a heart attack when in a meeting.
He’d been a senator in the state office, professor of math at K-State, and a
judge at the state fair. I remember going to the state fair and seeing a huge
fat man who weighed a 1000 pounds and would say in a slow, monotone voice, “Don’t
ever eat enough to get like this.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">After
Grandpa died, Daddy bought a bunch of irrigation equipment, feed, and seed, and
then found out his mom had signed over the farm to the government for money.
They paid you not to farm. He was devastated. We had to move from the farm to
Dodge City, Kansas where there were 42 kids on one neighborhood block. Daddy
got a job as an agriculture salesman and would leave every Sunday night and get
back on Friday evening. Mom got a secretary job. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW7m7HE1V_-EdQqKTNZTblk0HR7WlhnTjAxDHytO2wfDX3zdmgIhMevpoKAGjMaD-j1jjUzDmn4R8yPgbuM73J4S4k4Au6HE0IjSi2sVO2i0kVZlU4Iv7YWqH8haMI_6R72EYplgjjqHKr/s1600/grandpa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1435" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW7m7HE1V_-EdQqKTNZTblk0HR7WlhnTjAxDHytO2wfDX3zdmgIhMevpoKAGjMaD-j1jjUzDmn4R8yPgbuM73J4S4k4Au6HE0IjSi2sVO2i0kVZlU4Iv7YWqH8haMI_6R72EYplgjjqHKr/s320/grandpa.jpg" width="286" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Bob
went everywhere with Daddy on the farm while David was always with Mom. I ran
across the field through cedar trees to get to my grandma’s house and was there
a lot. I remember making cinnamon rolls with her, learning to play cribbage, having
tea parties together, and working in her herb garden. Once Daddy had a job that
took him away every week, it about killed Bob. I remember Bob watching for
Daddy to come home, and sometimes Daddy would go to the bar instead. We always
had a garden, even in town, and each of us kids had our own garden too. Once, some
neighborhood kids came over and stomped on our gardens. Bob wanted to beat them
up, he may have, and David went across the street to one of the kid’s house. He
had something behind his back and knocked on the door. When the kid answered,
he gave him a cookie to make peace.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">We
were backward and didn’t know how to ride bikes. The other kids made fun of us.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">We
had tall trees in our backyard and would climb up in them and fly when the wind
bent them low; Spookyville—we called the trees. We were still wild.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Once
we got used to all the kids, we played games with them: walk the chalk,
kick the can, draw a
face on the old man’s back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">There
were dust storms there….one year it was so bad it was black out, and we
couldn’t see out the window at all. One year on David’s sixth or seventh
birthday (March 15), we had a blizzard, and it was so bad that we couldn’t get
out of our back door while our neighbors couldn’t get out of their front door.
The snow was piled up to the roof!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">We
lived there for two years…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left; text-indent: 0.5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
don’t know how we dealt with all the moves. Kids just survive things. You just
survive it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpxbZTA3RdKc70aIVM9GAjOoQaLr-A0rzDepvXPOajIy0JG_cNb1djSVqf2ywD92-RgQoMfIvBbonJ7O5wwqlI2oz2AS7hS7lREyhDssvEvmkozyaMZFlEQfTD_Demu3_9BDDfHEL5VJeU/s1600/senior+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1128" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpxbZTA3RdKc70aIVM9GAjOoQaLr-A0rzDepvXPOajIy0JG_cNb1djSVqf2ywD92-RgQoMfIvBbonJ7O5wwqlI2oz2AS7hS7lREyhDssvEvmkozyaMZFlEQfTD_Demu3_9BDDfHEL5VJeU/s320/senior+2.jpg" width="225" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> Daddy got what he thought was a
great job in Garden City, Kansas. We moved there, and he started the
agriculture job only to find out that one of the numbers he originally saw was
missing. The pay was so bad (like $6000 instead of $60000) that he immediately
quit and got a job in Sublet. He worked there while Mom and us kids went to
stay with my Grandma in Marysville, Kansas for December. Then, Daddy got a
better job, still with agriculture sales, with Chevron in Palmyra, Missouri,
and we moved there for a couple of years. When they transferred him to Clinton,
Missouri, I did not want to move. I told my parents that I refused to move.
Once school started in Clinton, it ended up being better, but I threw a fit and
hated everything that summer. When Daddy was 50, Chevron let him go so that
they wouldn’t have to pay him retirement. It was age discrimination. He fought
it and then bought the Mayview Plant Foods and started his own business. Daddy
and Mom moved to Higginsville, and he eventually bought RB’s Feed and Seed and
built his business up so that he had a quarter of a million dollars at the end.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"> I want everyone to hear these
stories and remember those who came before. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><br /></span></div>
<br />Rachel Rineharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289755862446875553noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866037785549285847.post-64994928406547064822018-12-01T10:47:00.000-05:002018-12-01T11:35:00.869-05:00Mom's 2016 Christmas Letter<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJEX2YKOx52MTxVnMsocqf7p0MjzYDu6JPFnfeKVBRRy5BmxG_P44CSWnT9FwOO1ILWk7z70WqjC_mXEvt2zB14o886YDkJyb3qDUsrH44D9ZuAdxATqKWR-ni2ZkVLSxRKeIr6HB-hQ3S/s1600/IMG_6782.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="872" data-original-width="1600" height="174" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJEX2YKOx52MTxVnMsocqf7p0MjzYDu6JPFnfeKVBRRy5BmxG_P44CSWnT9FwOO1ILWk7z70WqjC_mXEvt2zB14o886YDkJyb3qDUsrH44D9ZuAdxATqKWR-ni2ZkVLSxRKeIr6HB-hQ3S/s320/IMG_6782.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
December 12, 2016<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="background: white; color: #212121; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Greetings,</span><span style="color: #212121; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background: white; color: #212121; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">This year, instead of writing a letter all
about the family, I feel called to speak of something serious that is on my
heart. Like many can relate to, there have been a lot of changes in my life
these past two years—some difficult changes and others positive. For instance, I
lost Dad, Newton, and my brother, David. Too much to grieve in too short a
time. Yet, I also have much to celebrate as I have gained a daughter-in-law
Lynn, her daughter Hailey, a granddaughter-in-law Chelsea, a new granddaughter
Zoëy Grace, and a "coming in June" grandchild. Furthermore, I moved a
mile down the road and have a crazy life trying to keep up with my job and 23
grandchildren.<span class="apple-converted-space"> That being said, I am feeling
blessed and wish blessings for you too.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBkHX6pL6CMX-MjrIgfmTGM3uk0u_GsmS_ukFC1AfuQP3cCu_mywiw4yDgSEPtp4C3l38DrX34NRMzJa0ZJaDJ5WAnZVrXM4AN427XhH3KG8HR5tVM5pDcX0RX2EycFx00UeSboOtvcep_/s1600/IMG_6776.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1058" data-original-width="1600" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBkHX6pL6CMX-MjrIgfmTGM3uk0u_GsmS_ukFC1AfuQP3cCu_mywiw4yDgSEPtp4C3l38DrX34NRMzJa0ZJaDJ5WAnZVrXM4AN427XhH3KG8HR5tVM5pDcX0RX2EycFx00UeSboOtvcep_/s320/IMG_6776.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="background: white; color: #212121; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">God put a message on my heart that I want to
share. This is Christmas season where we all focus on the baby Jesus, Christmas
programs, gifts, dinners, parties....... At the same time, many disturbing
things have been happening in the world: wars, famines, fires, floods,
earthquakes, blizzards, plane crashes, martyrs dying for Jesus, lawlessness,
and hatred and discontent. People are wondering why so many extreme and bizarre
things keep occurring, and <span class="apple-converted-space">I see parallels
from my Biblical readings and with everything that I have read recently and
wanted to share the message.</span></span><span style="color: #212121; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: .5in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<i><span style="background: white; color: #212121; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Multitudes, multitudes in the valley of decision. For the day
of the Lord is near in the valley of decision. Joel 3:14<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background: white; color: #212121; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I believe that God is using these events to get
our attention and give everyone a chance to choose before He comes back again.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: .5in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<i><span style="background: white; color: #212121; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">At that time the people will see the Son of Man coming in
clouds with great power and glory. Mark 13:26.<span class="apple-converted-space"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background: white; color: #212121; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Even the social climate has polarized, giving
everyone a chance to choose between this world and the next, a battle for
morality. Those of you who don't know Him have a chance to receive Him while those
who are already Christians can choose to love and serve Him with all your
heart. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: .5in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<i><span style="background: white; color: #212121; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Do not fear; you have done all this wickedness; yet do not
turn aside from following the Lord, but serve the Lord with all your heart. And
do not turn aside; for then you will go after empty things which cannot profit
or deliver for they are nothing. 1 Samuel 12:20, 21<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: .5in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background: white; color: #212121; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">This season, we are celebrating the first time
Jesus came to earth as a baby, which is wonderful! But there are too many empty
things that we choose in our daily life that will profit nothing! And, He will come
again soon. When that day comes, I pray we will all be ready rather than found
following empty things.</span><span style="color: #212121; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; margin-left: .5in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIeQVKhW82t-eGTnXsz5R1vcsbm9-8BdWArvUCyIR3qU98b1DRZVFpH7JSi1yTaPg0YHOr9jW4QSOQwiiS7E6xHXB_-DWvnScUJg2Xbd6B_oZvmTFTuiuD6GrvTmc33A54xJWcoFhsnOar/s1600/Mom+and+me+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIeQVKhW82t-eGTnXsz5R1vcsbm9-8BdWArvUCyIR3qU98b1DRZVFpH7JSi1yTaPg0YHOr9jW4QSOQwiiS7E6xHXB_-DWvnScUJg2Xbd6B_oZvmTFTuiuD6GrvTmc33A54xJWcoFhsnOar/s320/Mom+and+me+2.jpg" width="320" /></a><i><span style="background: white; color: #212121; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">For unto us a Child is born, unto us a Son is given: and the
government will be upon His shoulders; and He shall be called Wonderful,
Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. Isaiah 9:6<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background: white; color: #212121; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I choose to love and serve Jesus with all my
heart. I pray you will join me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="background: white; color: #212121; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span class="apple-converted-space">
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: .5in; mso-add-space: auto;">
<span style="background: white; color: #212121; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">In His love,</span><span style="color: #212121; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><br />
<span style="background: white;">Barbara</span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<br />Rachel Rineharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289755862446875553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866037785549285847.post-45884161337903419902018-11-16T15:27:00.002-05:002018-11-17T13:51:53.098-05:00Faith Over Fear<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieU813ZnAFSI1Ym04zUjkrIJ39e7HvXXLFtviRa1xmjlfhwmh3HjV-iLA0hwhZAaAQDoQ68cFmrUNM23_WE3D-_LoD1zomZP3mYoElN3d1-fQh8vWHgw-ypkFVxxcbVqhrxiKeBYs3m303/s1600/IMG_5319.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieU813ZnAFSI1Ym04zUjkrIJ39e7HvXXLFtviRa1xmjlfhwmh3HjV-iLA0hwhZAaAQDoQ68cFmrUNM23_WE3D-_LoD1zomZP3mYoElN3d1-fQh8vWHgw-ypkFVxxcbVqhrxiKeBYs3m303/s320/IMG_5319.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">When
your mom has been healthy all her life and she starts feeling badly and you tell
her to go to the doctor and she finally goes to the ER in a bigger city after
months of local doctors not helping, you don't expect to hear words like “cancer”
and “stage-four” and “incurable.” Especially when she's been seeing medical
professionals locally for the past three months and has repeatedly been given prescriptions
for antibiotics to treat simple infections. While the medicine hadn’t been
working, you don’t expect to go from “simple infection” to “incurable cancer”
in a matter of months. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">However,
that was the news we received this week, and we are still in shock and experiencing
many emotions. My emotions are rolling around like a nightmarish rollercoaster where
they are knocking into each other and tumbling over and over again and there's
nowhere to go and there's no end in sight: disbelief, anger, sadness, a sense
of unfairness, heartache, fear. So much fear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIFm5aw5e108dsUcgNruSsDnNa4lYFUYtjTYLaG0Yhb8OIZAAdz4kdx78g6NeHBrHdk_JRjUqvOR6gcFWxmKx5SNmJRA7y0Uaona7-pGcVDTePZgoql2NdIHmt-KynJl1pCeZrMSuQrpBe/s1600/IMG_6735.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="977" data-original-width="1600" height="195" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIFm5aw5e108dsUcgNruSsDnNa4lYFUYtjTYLaG0Yhb8OIZAAdz4kdx78g6NeHBrHdk_JRjUqvOR6gcFWxmKx5SNmJRA7y0Uaona7-pGcVDTePZgoql2NdIHmt-KynJl1pCeZrMSuQrpBe/s320/IMG_6735.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Plus,
I am the only one not in Missouri right now, and I feel so helpless and
powerless and alone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">When
we were waiting for test results last weekend, before we had heard the C-word, I
was at a church retreat and heard a Bible verse that spoke to me. It felt as if
God was saying to trust, that everything would work out, that my mom has a lot
more living to do. Then, the worship team started singing, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0B_lnQIITxU" target="_blank">“Do it Again” </a>by
Elevation Worship, and I held onto these words from the song:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I've seen You
move, You move the mountains <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">And I believe,
I'll see You do it again <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">You made a way,
where there was no way <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">And I believe,
I'll see You do it again<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Since then, we have
received some of the results and Mom had an outpatient surgery that is helping
her start to feel better. Now we're still waiting for more tests and more
results. Waiting is so difficult, not knowing is so difficult, worrying and
wondering is so difficult, and all of it can create fear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">We
have already had so much loss in the past few years, and I don't see how… I
don't accept another one. Sometimes it feels like anytime life is starting to feel
free or good again something horrible happens in my personal life. That brings
fear that things will never be okay.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Fear—it
all comes back to this word, this feeling. Worry, stress, anxiety, fear. How
much of my life have I given to this? How much will I continue to give? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">More
and more, I'm learning to lean into God and turn it all over to Him. To rest in
His words and His promises and to be comforted by songs of His love and His
healing and His amazing strength that we have if we just accept. In <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sc6SSHuZvQE" target="_blank">“RecklessLove,”</a> Cory Asbury sings of how God loves us so much that He “leaves the
ninety-nine” (John 3:16) to chase after us with His “overwhelming, never-ending,
reckless love” and claims:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">There’s no shadow
You won’t light up <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Mountain You won’t
climb up <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Coming after me <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">There’s no wall
You won’t kick down <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Lie You won’t tear
down Coming after me<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal; text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmmXM0Vo22Q0GpRtWPUkT1vG7LL_PP_HADdbQMOTtIjzeXaXlEqja1aaLSgBOnfaoRjbk1jofeZs14so6ysm1gGfq_aQoPxP1Yc9Tpnieb-PnZI2kDG7CZNGM7fZXKJpIHH6d7H1qy-Wa6/s1600/Mom%252C+me%252C+Britt+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmmXM0Vo22Q0GpRtWPUkT1vG7LL_PP_HADdbQMOTtIjzeXaXlEqja1aaLSgBOnfaoRjbk1jofeZs14so6ysm1gGfq_aQoPxP1Yc9Tpnieb-PnZI2kDG7CZNGM7fZXKJpIHH6d7H1qy-Wa6/s320/Mom%252C+me%252C+Britt+.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">In <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NJpt1hSYf2o" target="_blank">“Our God,”</a> Chris
Tomlin sings that “Our God is Healer, awesome in power” (Exodus 15:26), and in <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=knuHDPbE5es" target="_blank">“StrongEnough,”</a> Matthew West sings about how we “can do all things through Christ who
gives” us strength (Philippians 4:13). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">This
morning, I found a quote in my Facebook memories that affirms what I have been pondering
this week: “Feed your faith and fear will starve to death.” ~Les Brown<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Fear
or faith. Do we choose fear or faith? The Bible says if we have the faith of a
mustard seed we can move mountains (Matthew 17:20). I choose faith that God can
do anything, that God can do the impossible, that God is the Healer. I choose
faith. God told me that Joy comes in the morning and that prayers are answered
(Psalm 30). I choose faith. Jesus said that if we ask, it will be given
(Matthew 7:7). I ask that God heal my mom. I pray that God cures my mom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I believe that God can heal my mom, that He
can give her complete healing, that she is already healed. In Mark 5:34, “Jesus
said to her, ‘Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in
peace and be freed from your suffering’.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKeFC9Mp9bCBt60oOKJeYF028M9Aq4kAUeNKuan3eeZ72NQM-LVAbgDepnBs-629BQjX5l0WTN2IUcxhRJ1ySQn7aS2-Af78Q7Y9xal5R67B7Be5LRTdjp6uBeqcZamXvzg0k8ZacAXkGq/s1600/IMG_6923.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKeFC9Mp9bCBt60oOKJeYF028M9Aq4kAUeNKuan3eeZ72NQM-LVAbgDepnBs-629BQjX5l0WTN2IUcxhRJ1ySQn7aS2-Af78Q7Y9xal5R67B7Be5LRTdjp6uBeqcZamXvzg0k8ZacAXkGq/s320/IMG_6923.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Also,
I submit the situation to God. In Psalm 147: 3-5, it says, “He heals the
brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. He determines the number of the
stars and calls them each by name. Great is our Lord and mighty in
power; his understanding has no limit.” I know that He heals and I know that His
understanding is beyond me and I know that I trust him, that my faith will be
rewarded. If it is God’s Will to heal her as I choose to focus on, I'm even
more blessed. However, if what I believe and have faith in does not come to
pass, if it is God’s Will to take her home sooner than I want, then I will have
spent the remaining time with my mom in a positive frame of mind. A mind of faith,
mind of belief, mind of hope, mind of peace. I choose living in faith, hope, peace,
love.<span style="background: white; color: #212121;"> <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
choose faith.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Every
day, every morning, every moment, I have a choice. From now on, I choose faith.</span><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Faith & Peace<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I am confident in what I hope for and
have assurance in what I do not see. Hebrews 11:1<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">So faith comes from hearing, and
hearing through the word of Christ. Romans 10:17<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Ask, and it will be given to you;
seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and he who
seeks finds, and to him who knocks it will be opened. Or what man is there
among you who, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks
for a fish, will he give him a serpent? If you then, being evil, know how to
give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in
heaven give good things to those who ask Him!” Matthew 7:7-11<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Just as Jesus stood in the boat and
spoke to the storm, I too can stand in the midst of the storms in my life and
rebuke the winds and the waves to command calmness in my life. My faith
overrides all my fears. Matthew 8:26<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I activate my mustard seed of faith
and say to this mountain of sickness and disease in my life, “Be removed and go
to another place.” Nothing will be impossible to me. Matthew 17:20<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Because You have anointed me, I
have faith and do not doubt that I can speak to any illness, curse it at the
root, and cause it to dry up and die, just as You did to the fig tree. I also
know that if I tell to this mountain of sickness that is in my way to move and
be cast into the sea, it shall be done. Matthew 21:21<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">That your faith might not rest in
the wisdom of men but in the power of God. 1 Corinthians 2: 5<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">And this is the confidence that we
have toward him, that if we ask anything according to his will he hears us. 1
John 5:14<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">For God gave us a spirit not of
fear but of power and love and self-control. 2 Timothy 1:7<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">So the Lord said, “If you have
faith as a mustard seed, you can say to this mulberry tree, ‘Be pulled up by
the roots and be planted in the sea,’ and it would obey you.” Luke 17:6<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“Most assuredly, I say to you, he
who believes in Me, the works that I do he will do also; and greater works than
these he will do, because I go to My Father. And whatever you ask in My name,
that I will do, that the Father may be glorified in the Son. If you ask
anything in My name, I will do it.” John 14:12-14<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">And the peace of God, which
transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ
Jesus. Philippians 4:7<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I can do all things through Christ
who strengthens me. Philippians 4:13<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The Lord is on my side; I will not
fear. What can man do to me? Psalm 118:6<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">So do not fear, for I am with you;
do not be dismayed, for I am your God I will strengthen you and help you; I
will uphold you with my righteous right hand. Isaiah 41:10<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The Lord Himself goes before you
and will be with you; He will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid;
do not be discouraged. Deuteronomy 31:8<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Be strong and courageous. Do not be
terrified; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever
you go. Joshua 1:9<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Though an army besieges me, my
heart will not fear; though war break out against me, even then will I be
confident. Psalm 27:3<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I sought the Lord, and he answered
me; He delivered me from all my fears. Psalm 34:4<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Cast your cares on the Lord and He
will sustain you; He will never let the righteous fall. Psalm 55:22<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">For you did not receive the spirit
of bondage again to fear, but you received the Spirit of adoption by whom we
cry out, “Abba, Father.” Romans 8:15<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">God’s Love<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">How precious is your unfailing
love, O God! Psalm 36:7<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Have mercy on me, Lord, for I am
faint; heal me, Lord, for my bones are in agony. Psalm 6:2<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">See, I have engraved you on the
palms of my hands. Isaiah 49:16<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The Lord your God is in your midst,
a mighty one who will save; he will rejoice over you with gladness; he will
quiet you by his love; he will exult over you with loud singing. Zephaniah 3:17<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">For God so loved the world that He
gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but
have everlasting life. John 3:16<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">God shows his love for us in that
while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. Romans 5:8<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">But God, being rich in mercy,
because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our
trespasses, made us alive together with Christ— by grace you have been saved. Ephesians
2:4-5<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">See what kind of love the Father
has given to us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are. The
reason why the world does not know us is that it did not know him. 1 John 3:1<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Beloved, let us love one another,
for love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God. Anyone
who does not love does not know God, because God is love. 1 John 4:7-8<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">For I know the plans I have for
you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to
give you hope and a future. Jeremiah 29:11<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Healing & Safety<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">“I am the Lord, your healer.”
Exodus 15:26<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Lord my God, I called to you for
help, and you healed me. Psalm 30:2<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Hear, Lord, and be merciful to me; Lord,
be my help. You turned my wailing into dancing; you removed my sackcloth and
clothed me with joy. Psalm 30:10-11<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The Lord protects and preserves
them— they are counted among the blessed in the land - he does not give them
over to the desire of their foes. The Lord sustains them on their sickbed and
restores them from their bed of illness. Psalm 41:2-3<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">My flesh and my heart may fail, but
God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever. Psalm 73:26<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Praise the Lord, my soul, and
forget not all his benefits - who forgives all your sins and heals all your
diseases, who redeems your life from the pit and crowns you with love and
compassion. Psalm 103:2-4<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Then they cried to the Lord in
their trouble, and he saved them from their distress. He sent out his word and
healed them; he rescued them from the grave. Let them give thanks to the Lord
for his unfailing love and his wonderful deeds for mankind. Psalm 107:19-21<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I shall not die, but live, and
declare the works of our Lord. Psalm 118:17<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">He heals the brokenhearted and
binds up their wounds. He determines the number of the stars and calls them
each by name. Great is our Lord and mighty in power; his understanding has no
limit. Psalm 147:3-5<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">But he was pierced for our
transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the
punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his
wounds we are healed. Isaiah 53:5<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">‘I have seen what they do, but I
will heal them anyway! I will lead them. I will comfort those who mourn,
bringing words of praise to their lips. May they have abundant peace, both near
and far,' says the Lord, who heals them. Isaiah 57:18-19<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">You will restore me to health and
let me live. Isaiah 38:16<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Then your light will break forth
like the dawn, and your healing will quickly appear; then your righteousness
will go before you, and the glory of the Lord will be your rear guard. Isaiah 58:8<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Heal me, O Lord, and I shall
be healed; save me, and I shall be saved, for you are my praise. Jeremiah 17:14<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">For I will restore health to you,
and your wounds I will heal, declares the Lord. Jeremiah 30:17<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">You have redeemed my life. Lamentations
3:58<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Jesus
said to her, “Daughter, your faith has healed you. Go in peace and be freed
from your suffering.” Mark 5:34<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">And He
laid His hands on her, and immediately she was made straight, and she glorified
God. Luke 13:13<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">And my
God will meet all your needs according to the riches of his glory in Christ
Jesus. Philippians 4:19<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Come
close to God, and God will come close to you. James 4:8<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Is anyone
among you sick? Let him call for the elders of the church, and let them pray
over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord. And the prayer of
faith will save the sick, and the Lord will raise him up. James 5:14-15<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Therefore,
confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be
healed. The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much. James
5:16<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">He gives
strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Isaiah 40:29<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Peace I
leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives.
Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid. John 14:27<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Come to
me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke
upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will
find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light. Matthew
11:28-30<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Never
will I leave you; never will I forsake you. Hebrews 13:5<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Psalm30 The Blessedness of Answered
Prayer<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I will extol You, O Lord, for
You have lifted me up,<br />
And have not let my foes rejoice over me.<br />
<sup>2 </sup>O Lord my
God, I cried out to You,<br />
And You healed me.<br />
<sup>3 </sup>O Lord, You
brought my soul up from the grave;<br />
You have kept me alive, that I should not go down to the pit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<sup><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">4 </span></sup><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Sing
praise to the Lord, you saints of His,<br />
And give thanks at the remembrance of His holy name.<br />
<sup>5 </sup>For His
anger <i>is but for</i> a moment,<br />
His favor <i>is for</i> life;<br />
Weeping may endure for a night,<br />
But joy <i>comes</i> in the morning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<sup><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">6 </span></sup><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Now
in my prosperity I said,<br />
“I shall never be moved.”<br />
<sup>7 </sup>Lord, by Your
favor You have made my mountain stand strong;<br />
You hid Your face, <i>and</i> I was troubled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<sup><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">8 </span></sup><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I
cried out to You, O Lord;<br />
And to the Lord I made supplication:<br />
<sup>9 </sup>“What
profit <i>is there</i> in my blood,<br />
When I go down to the pit?<br />
Will the dust praise You?<br />
Will it declare Your truth?<br />
<sup>10 </sup>Hear, O Lord,
and have mercy on me;<br />
Lord, be my helper!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<sup><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">11 </span></sup><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">You
have turned for me my mourning into dancing;<br />
You have put off my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness,<br />
<sup>12 </sup>To the end
that <i>my</i> glory may sing praise to You and not be silent.<br />
O Lord my God, I will give thanks to You forever.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Psalm 23 The Lord the Shepherd of
His People<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The Lord is my shepherd;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I shall not want.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">2 He makes me to lie down in green
pastures;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">He leads me beside the still
waters.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">3 He restores my soul;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">He leads me in the paths of
righteousness<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">For His name’s sake.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">4 Yea, though I walk through the
valley of the shadow of death,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I will fear no evil;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">For You are with me;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Your rod and Your staff, they
comfort me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">5 You prepare a table before me in
the presence of my enemies;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">You anoint my head with oil;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">My cup runs over.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">6 Surely goodness and mercy shall
follow me<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">All the days of my life;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">And I will dwell in the house of
the Lord<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Forever.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Psalm 91 Safety of Abiding in the
Presence of God<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">91 He who dwells in the secret
place of the Most High<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Shall abide under the shadow of the
Almighty.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">2 I will say of the Lord, “He is my
refuge and my fortress;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">My God, in Him I will trust.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">3 Surely He shall deliver you from
the snare of the fowler<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">And from the perilous pestilence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">4 He shall cover you with His
feathers,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">And under His wings you shall take
refuge;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">His truth shall be your shield and buckler.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">5 You shall not be afraid of the
terror by night,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nor of the arrow that flies by day,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">6 Nor of the pestilence that walks
in darkness,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nor of the destruction that lays
waste at noonday.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">7 A thousand may fall at your side,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">And ten thousand at your right
hand;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">But it shall not come near you.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">8 Only with your eyes shall you
look,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">And see the reward of the wicked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">9 Because you have made the Lord,
who is my refuge,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Even the Most High, your dwelling
place,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">10 No evil shall befall you,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Nor shall any plague come near your
dwelling;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">11 For He shall give His angels
charge over you,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">To keep you in all your ways.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">12 In their hands they shall bear
you up,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Lest you dash your foot against a
stone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">13 You shall tread upon the lion
and the cobra,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">The young lion and the serpent you
shall trample underfoot.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">14 “Because he has set his love
upon Me, therefore I will deliver him;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I will set him on high, because he
has known My name.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">15 He shall call upon Me, and I
will answer him;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I will be with him in trouble;<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">I will deliver him and honor him.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">16 With long life I will satisfy
him,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">And show him My salvation.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<br />Rachel Rineharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289755862446875553noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6866037785549285847.post-60088655183244985252018-11-01T22:08:00.001-04:002018-11-01T22:16:37.556-04:00A Thing of Beauty 2018<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiej1t1lx8LJ4YyFhlH_H3SjN8xBFM_5tjH7bRkPxvNiKnccYaxysRDHVNySrwJdivXbRkblD5DGkVhwh-0ndraGcYDRO51vUkihRHq4rjcsq3mP_9_965EtqacYpi77M4Bu-pBmNx6pssO/s1600/20180520_170152.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1040" data-original-width="1386" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiej1t1lx8LJ4YyFhlH_H3SjN8xBFM_5tjH7bRkPxvNiKnccYaxysRDHVNySrwJdivXbRkblD5DGkVhwh-0ndraGcYDRO51vUkihRHq4rjcsq3mP_9_965EtqacYpi77M4Bu-pBmNx6pssO/s320/20180520_170152.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Dear UD,<br />
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpFirst" style="line-height: normal;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
I've been thinking
about you a lot lately. Still missing you. Still miss talking to you. Still
missing family parties at your place. It’s Apple Butter Day weekend, and you
are not here. In fact, mom’s been ill so much lately, she didn’t even go. I’m
still in Florida and busy with too many classes, and it’s crazy that my side of
the family wasn’t even represented at Apple Butter Day this year. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Since I started writing
you these letters three years ago, I’ve been telling you about the darkness
falling in the world nowadays, the darkness in America that’s emerging again. I
keep hoping that someday there will be a shift, and there won’t be that much
evil to share. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
2018 and migrant
children are in cages in America. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
October 2018 and, along
with ten other victims, a 97-year-old woman was gunned down while worshipping
in her synagogue. Here, in an American city. While she wasn't a Holocaust
Survivor as first reported, she was alive during that terrible time, and she
survived and grew and loved and lived until finally taken too soon by hate.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
Uncle David, you said
wherever we go, God is there. And I know He is. But sometimes when I read the
headlines or scroll down my Facebook news, it’s hard to remember His love and
goodness. I don’t see how people can be so horrible, hateful, horrid. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormalCxSpMiddle" style="line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq0vESRl-Xr5EySZlv02ITb8hGM-GLL-Ut_7j7_9Sei4c-HASFZpcElvPNOLardPqCdfSz0pOwAyERiry4b_t_ejht8anHn0DLZJ3TGKPulj_vbiEdFulkjq93LmGKm_mSFZmUvNqL1TPt/s1600/IMG_8663.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq0vESRl-Xr5EySZlv02ITb8hGM-GLL-Ut_7j7_9Sei4c-HASFZpcElvPNOLardPqCdfSz0pOwAyERiry4b_t_ejht8anHn0DLZJ3TGKPulj_vbiEdFulkjq93LmGKm_mSFZmUvNqL1TPt/s320/IMG_8663.JPG" width="320" /></a>November is here again.
Four years ago, I wrote that “a Thing of Beauty is combining gratitude with
seeing things in a new way and with authenticity; it’s living in the moment and
acknowledging what is (good and bad) and reinventing what life gives us.” And now,
more than ever, we need to look for a Thing of Beauty. Something that we can
reimagine as beautiful, an act of kindness, something we're thankful for. In
the midst of the violence, the fighting, the political antics, and the hate
that we are reminded of every day in the media, we must find the beauty, the
wonder, the truth. And so this year, I will again express a Thing of Beauty, but
I will also share a quote or poem to combat white supremacy and hate in all its
forms. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“It’s utterly
impossible for me to build my life on a foundation of chaos, suffering and
death. I see the world being slowly transformed into a wilderness, I hear the
approaching thunder that, one day, will destroy us too, I feel the suffering of
millions. And yet, when I look up at the sky, I somehow feel that everything
will change for the better, that this cruelty too shall end, that peace and
tranquility will return once more. In the meantime, I must hold on to my
ideals. Perhaps the day will come when I’ll be able to realize them!" Anne
Frank<o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It’s difficult in times like these: ideals,
dreams and cherished hopes rise within us, only to be crushed by grim reality.
It’s a wonder I haven’t abandoned all my ideals, they seem so absurd and
impractical. Yet I cling to them because I still believe, in spite of everything,
that people are truly good at heart.” Anne Frank<o:p></o:p></div>
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“I don’t think of all
the misery but of the beauty that still remains.” Anne Frank<o:p></o:p></div>
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If Anne could still see
beauty while in hiding for two years, then I can find it too. Today and every
day this month, I will search for beauty, love, kindness, gratitude, goodness…..<o:p></o:p></div>
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Love, Rach<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />Rachel Rineharthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03289755862446875553noreply@blogger.com0