tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10326951134243144562024-03-12T19:54:03.074-07:00CF FamilyA Catholic, homeschooling, Alaskan family with kids with cystic fibrosis. It's Life. It's Good. Thanks be to God.Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15243600795107249756noreply@blogger.comBlogger237125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1032695113424314456.post-3796792638996640332021-07-05T14:10:00.003-07:002022-02-22T17:32:51.077-08:00Corona Thoughts<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">This whole Covid thing is nothing new to us. Back in 1995,
when our son was diagnosed with CF and began needing two-week hospitalizations
many times a year, the CF kids would get together in the hospital’s rec room,
comparing IV sites, meds, and trash-talking the respiratory therapists and
nurses. They were full of antibiotics, antifungals, mucolytics, and who knows
what else, so it was expected that no bugs could pass between them. Then the doctors told us they had to wear masks while in there, so they decorated theirs with drawings, band names, and salty sayings. Then the doctors told us they couldn’t be
in the same room together and would have to sign up for hour-long slots by themselves, so they
constructed mailboxes outside their doors and slipped notes in as they moved
through hallways. Then the doctors told us they could not leave their rooms, so they managed exercise while confined, learned to FaceTime, and finagled permission to walk around the empty hallways alone late at night.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Somewhere in the middle of these years (early 2000’s), every
hospital staff person who entered a patient’s room began donning gowns, gloves,
and masks – a new set for every room. This was not so that they wouldn’t catch
what the patient had, but to keep bugs away from their patients' fragile lungs <b><i>just
in case</i></b><i> </i>they were carrying something<i>. </i><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Our Great Strides fundraising walk used to be a fair-like
festival of food, rides, games, swims, and hikes. It was summer’s celebratory
highlight to get so many CF families and friends, plus doctors and nurses all together
-- people walking the same walk. Then the doctors told us about the new, six feet apart rule
in order to keep CF people from sharing bugs, so organizers handed out matching
T-shirts to CFers, to identify from whom to stay six feet away, which put a
damper on the day. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">While we reviled every new restriction and were dismayed at
the social distancing and considered taking our chances and defying the new
rules, <b><i>we never thought the doctors and scientists lied</i></b>. We
understood that they were smart, driven, humanitarian scientists working to
understand, solve, and save lives. Their inquiry, experiments, research, and recommendations
(Remember learning about the scientific method in 6<sup>th</sup> grade science
class?) are lifesaving. They published their findings, and hospital authorities
on whose shoulders rest the heavy weight of people’s health responded by
amending rules. <b><i>And they were right</i>.</b> The median life expectancy
for people with CF has doubled in these past 27 years. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The experimental drugs are exciting. For decades, I have
signed up the children for studies, hoping they would be in the drug group
instead of the placebo group. Now they answer for themselves, and they’ve always
signed their names to participate. They are both taking brand new formulations:
our younger child just beginning a drug that her older brother guinea-pigged several
years ago! They are meticulously monitored so if their bodies react weirdly,
the doctors run tests to ascertain the reason.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I absolutely trust the procedure from petri dish to rodents to primates to
humans. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">The world at large has been living with Corona virus for
less than two years, but we have lived the respiratory virus story for close to
thirty years. Scientists figure stuff out, they publish information (which sometimes backtracks on previous stuff), and civil
authorities make the best decisions they can for public health, like no smoking indoors, mandatory seatbelts, and speed limits, to name a few. Masks and
social distancing and protecting other people’s lungs have been a part of our
lives for a long time. Of course they work. When people keep their breath and
body to themselves <b><i>in public</i></b> <b><i>places with scores of people</i></b>,
the airborne viral load lessens. Of course our immune systems are amazing;
smart scientists figured out how it operates and now we can work with it by
vaccinations. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">We are aggrieved not so much over viruses or public mitigation methods but over the assumption that we are fearful, uninformed sheep. Because along with a decent understanding of math, medicine, civics,
and Christianity; we have actual -- not internet -- doctors who have earned our trust
over decades of care and whose advice we wisely follow. If a manager mandates masking to shop in his store, we can handle 30 minutes; it’s not un-American. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If our pastor says to mask for
services with plenty of people, we can handle an hour; it’s not sin. We are pleased to be vaccinated and
be part of herd immunity so this virus – or any virus or bacteria – can’t make
inroads into our community. Now the restrictions are lifting as the vaccinations are available and our year of gentle masking is over. Our priest explained that we may find out over the months and years to come that it did no good; but in the meantime, this is how we're handling it. </p><p class="MsoNormal">It was not that hard, it
blessed others, and we followed Christ’s admonition to be good neighbors and our brothers' keepers.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> <br /><br /></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzTT-fFOF-6kdnRU60XmirH303kPL9QQsWZB1KTCVHBh_O-Na70NbjYO_-JxYOgNoZ__LpEOR6WBP3U6cjyJwXjZkqs8z6EG97vie_w0agJlSibatKeWzYeF1AwyG6IQNK4J5LBEo-ml0/s752/211050018_4185845284842963_1530456096939429232_n.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="text-align: left;"> </span></a></div><p></p>Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15243600795107249756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1032695113424314456.post-79915363363409570242017-12-08T10:43:00.000-08:002017-12-19T05:54:51.905-08:00Welcome, VestOur pulmonologist of 23 years now has a partner. Another doctor working in the CF clinic, listening to lungs, prescribing medications, getting throat cultures, drawing pictures on the table . . . and encouraging me to get Addie going with a vest. Yes indeed. He told me that he wanted her using one. <i>Dr. Roberts</i> <i>doesn't care for them</i>, I said. <i>Yes, but I do</i>, he said. My heart started pounding, and friends ~ I started to cry.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi30ORx1-Rm-06hBJKrX1Hn-crkUm462iHSQeWmfhsVR50KmByaFzV17y2RQ-KAoprFGA4PQK4a_LEcRo3c562uS4-JRYJeYxUj6mNcNfAlutgTruz2Rd3sJDpyiJfHg-gwV-JW0C4lGvk/s1600/WP_20171203_22_16_11_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="902" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi30ORx1-Rm-06hBJKrX1Hn-crkUm462iHSQeWmfhsVR50KmByaFzV17y2RQ-KAoprFGA4PQK4a_LEcRo3c562uS4-JRYJeYxUj6mNcNfAlutgTruz2Rd3sJDpyiJfHg-gwV-JW0C4lGvk/s200/WP_20171203_22_16_11_Pro.jpg" width="112" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She looks confident</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I don't cry. Well, only over movies and books, but not health stuff; I've gotten cold over the years. I was so embarrassed at my reaction and I could not process everything right there with him looking at me all concerned. This doc doesn't know our family like Dr. Roberts and probably thought I was weak-willed but I could not stop the tears from rolling. He toned it down to, <i>Think about getting one to have in your den for when you</i> <i>can't clap her.</i></div>
<div>
<i><br /></i></div>
<div>
As we were schlepping through the tight hallway, on our way out with 85 pounds of drink and vitamin samples, this new doctor came out of the control room and stopped us. He looked me straight in the eye and gently told me that his vest recommendation was not due to her sounding poorly (Her lungs were clear) or raised eyebrows over my short-ish clapping sessions (10-20 minutes twice a day). He told me that it can clap all lobes at once and it's just a good thing to have. I nodded and told him thanks, sorry for crying, I don't really know why, I'll think about it all later when I'm alone and quiet.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And I did. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
* I realized that I did not want to disrespect our beloved doctor, who is still not a vest fan. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
* I realized that I did not want to admit that My Way could use some help from a machine.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
* I realized that yes, I clapped Rees for 8 years until he could use a hand-held device, but by the time he was 8, I only had 6 year old John and 2 year old Clare. There's a lot more of us now. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZKVTP8ewUID6sDkCZLXX6YbHEumzYexLRqb_yEHISE1N44hWkDyDWFC4TYVRlgQpIg_WiQAUw3JX9bCjkeJB63am4MtXpLkJI1ETQ5Kt2u2AI9BRboNIi6SR_YknYnBa2llf4BVhBhJE/s1600/22780156_1616035461786927_4676653369915330379_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZKVTP8ewUID6sDkCZLXX6YbHEumzYexLRqb_yEHISE1N44hWkDyDWFC4TYVRlgQpIg_WiQAUw3JX9bCjkeJB63am4MtXpLkJI1ETQ5Kt2u2AI9BRboNIi6SR_YknYnBa2llf4BVhBhJE/s200/22780156_1616035461786927_4676653369915330379_n.jpg" width="150" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rees is doing great; this is at Clare's confirmation.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div>
* I realized that, while I still hold that the vest does not foster independence for the person with CF (after all, they are tethered to a machine), but rather fosters ease for the parents, that that ease for me is OK. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>So, my dear CF Mamas, Addie has a Hill-Rom vest in pink camouflage, decorated with camping stickers. </b></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Yup, I agreed 2 weeks ago. It arrived last weekend and a rep came over to show us how to use it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I keep a tight rein on my nerves and always ask her if she wants vest or clapping and when she says clapping (usually when she's tired and wants to fall asleep with me on the sofa!), that's what we do. This old Mom has learned a new trick. More change and stretching and tears, even with me; darn it. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I hope Dr. Roberts isn't mad at me.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi67KY_onVlsY3pYFq8tOJWF1P5WX9AqodllPmahnWT6h9dt7spOxZJPrFWk0Uyc7HG95QDwkzA4b04faK5Pf6jvpH_mtimb55JY-P8L-XL9OSBZOj8SZ83-QStPTVho9weNfi6oDsUOS8/s1600/WP_20171031_17_57_49_Pro+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1250" data-original-width="904" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi67KY_onVlsY3pYFq8tOJWF1P5WX9AqodllPmahnWT6h9dt7spOxZJPrFWk0Uyc7HG95QDwkzA4b04faK5Pf6jvpH_mtimb55JY-P8L-XL9OSBZOj8SZ83-QStPTVho9weNfi6oDsUOS8/s320/WP_20171031_17_57_49_Pro+%25282%2529.jpg" width="231" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Halloween, just because</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
P.S. ~ <a href="https://www.hill-rom.com/usa/Products/Category/Respiratory-Care/The-Vest-105-Home-Care/">Here's what it is</a> for non-CF families!</div>
Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15243600795107249756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1032695113424314456.post-80793340117630125972017-04-07T17:13:00.000-07:002017-04-08T00:37:47.142-07:00Blessed Because He is With Us<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-YVDAEnXQi2KqIX9bb43hOptfXnck_nvKiSkW-Ffu6inEqpxXnjAXdkp9n3OYq8zNikuo7AyQKN3cIR9zVwNMVbpeqW3TcjOHcjOPJ4otvgBFdJu7wyoAVzoxvPCISxO1YObq-cldbPM/s1600/WP_20170312_13_29_16_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-YVDAEnXQi2KqIX9bb43hOptfXnck_nvKiSkW-Ffu6inEqpxXnjAXdkp9n3OYq8zNikuo7AyQKN3cIR9zVwNMVbpeqW3TcjOHcjOPJ4otvgBFdJu7wyoAVzoxvPCISxO1YObq-cldbPM/s320/WP_20170312_13_29_16_Pro.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Snow girl</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Addie had another clean culture last month: normal respiratory flora and normal vitamin levels. We're all happy she's had such good luck. And I do call it luck, not blessings or hard work paying off. I don't know why saying "We're blessed" bugs me so much. I know that all good things come from God. I also know that some Christians have terrible problems. The ending of Hebrews 11 (verses 32-40) tells of those who had miracle lives and those who "did not receive what was promised." After all, Christ Himself said that the heavenly Father, "makes his sun rise on the bad and the good, and causes the rain to fall on the just and the unjust." God does not bless Addie more than Rees (who has had more trouble with his health) and I do not work harder at taking care of her than I did Rees. <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZY6VW_iDpXJ473lg0rBNXD1HcDky-4WJZyfJdLjLqS_k72vN-i6gKJFIgHHZCYnrn0wrjW46l5bAWCRtHsWjrlqT-Py0e-ya98zWXHI2SkqyJF6V2-0dzCW_xsp3DcRR-CrSUgd15_vA/s1600/chapel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZY6VW_iDpXJ473lg0rBNXD1HcDky-4WJZyfJdLjLqS_k72vN-i6gKJFIgHHZCYnrn0wrjW46l5bAWCRtHsWjrlqT-Py0e-ya98zWXHI2SkqyJF6V2-0dzCW_xsp3DcRR-CrSUgd15_vA/s1600/chapel.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our chapel</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I've knelt in our hospital's chapel after a CF clinic visit with a kid and given thanks together; and I've knelt in there alone, having signed over a kid upstairs for an admission. Tears both times, the crucifix and tabernacle before me a physical reminder of life's true love and pain. I turn to God in good luck and in bad luck through this journey from womb to earth and beyond. We all get through on our own trajectory and Eternal Love surrounds us whatever the lab reports read. That surrounding by God is his blessing.<br />
<br />
I don't think to be blessed by God means health and prosperity. I think it means that we are watched by our Creator throughout this valley of the shadow of death (And aren't we CF families living with a shadow of death?) where we fear no evil because he is there to comfort us. We are blessed, then. When the cultures come back badly, we are blessed; and when they come back clear, we are blessed. He is with us.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimAs3indvZ9ZtDKkOUueSA1_AnUjjSJDKlnGyrEKD4hdQeJTsBm6mI_hJiAlSXg4bDn7h3qlRL9ZBZtmd8sziHIu9PGHES4PQZqJ-Z8UOKn5ZS4g4zSe1LFBIf4yfwfmJS7f7kd6G0kIk/s200/WP_20170306_10_51_23_Pro.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="112" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So serious</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimAs3indvZ9ZtDKkOUueSA1_AnUjjSJDKlnGyrEKD4hdQeJTsBm6mI_hJiAlSXg4bDn7h3qlRL9ZBZtmd8sziHIu9PGHES4PQZqJ-Z8UOKn5ZS4g4zSe1LFBIf4yfwfmJS7f7kd6G0kIk/s1600/WP_20170306_10_51_23_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;">. </a>I did a little digging on the word Blessed and found that it is used in the Scriptures several ways. <br />
<br />
*To praise God: Bless the Lord oh my soul.<br />
<br />
*As a desire for goodness: Blessed are you among women.<br />
<br />
*For sanctification: He took bread and blessed it. <br />
<br />
*As a gift: Children are a blessing.<br />
<br />
<strong>I did not look these up to be an annoying know-it-all, though!</strong> I needed to make sense of things. And my studies blessed me (haha, yes). <br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWn8drKFrL8xifK6p7dJwYxJUBs53f8xaIEdK2NgYNTZPIqZ_zNeqkqZKh6cG4Ws1dpYcdcyJ56mkZ4bySwXfoS6N901mioCBVD6Yt9ymySS6PD3LzJK3KUA2C6UQVZWWvfkbPCB9raQE/s1600/WP_20170224_16_11_12_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWn8drKFrL8xifK6p7dJwYxJUBs53f8xaIEdK2NgYNTZPIqZ_zNeqkqZKh6cG4Ws1dpYcdcyJ56mkZ4bySwXfoS6N901mioCBVD6Yt9ymySS6PD3LzJK3KUA2C6UQVZWWvfkbPCB9raQE/s320/WP_20170224_16_11_12_Pro.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cute purse, baby, large coffee.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
A friend of mine lost her son last month and a friend of hers wrote about the question of blessings for some and not others (<a href="https://ethikapolitika.org/2017/04/03/us-not-not-us/">Why Us and Not Her?).</a> We're all trying to make sense of things, aren't we? I wonder if I bristle at reports of health blessings because of the reminder that some are not blessed that way and the unfairness of it all exhausts me. It is still a good word, however, because it brings our focus back to God, so I need to <em>not bristle</em> (Help, Holy Spirit!). <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb5m5y9CQJIszdMDTXNNbICCwPi9dFu14ihdjdH3NfMDXV3Lhd1DxovLDv3m2_LA3XCvvqm4CCqesu8FoytGGZha-J682zh2Mavv9CwPGWwm6yBJ3uFq7V7gEcieVHNt8QiD9ZyGmjjtA/s1600/WP_20170312_12_57_27_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb5m5y9CQJIszdMDTXNNbICCwPi9dFu14ihdjdH3NfMDXV3Lhd1DxovLDv3m2_LA3XCvvqm4CCqesu8FoytGGZha-J682zh2Mavv9CwPGWwm6yBJ3uFq7V7gEcieVHNt8QiD9ZyGmjjtA/s320/WP_20170312_12_57_27_Pro.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The sun has returned to Alaska!</td></tr>
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I do hope and pray for all of us in this fight, that we rest in the blessing of God's presence in good luck and in bad luck.<br />
<br />
Love, Allison<br />
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Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15243600795107249756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1032695113424314456.post-32246760678537253542017-01-02T17:06:00.000-08:002017-01-02T17:06:16.287-08:00Beginning the New Year<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3EVHEFDFHONqByy0QXm8nQoWJ2iWk3qb_3x-Rv5MUd6Lmfgpcjm4ESY_rKF_oWle3XnUykCC1TNsivjof7ih5v5PNnMWeM42TEJ8hs2eR9us_g478cpQaAmMvukzOYTBenefsbcHMljQ/s1600/WP_20170101_13_16_31_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3EVHEFDFHONqByy0QXm8nQoWJ2iWk3qb_3x-Rv5MUd6Lmfgpcjm4ESY_rKF_oWle3XnUykCC1TNsivjof7ih5v5PNnMWeM42TEJ8hs2eR9us_g478cpQaAmMvukzOYTBenefsbcHMljQ/s400/WP_20170101_13_16_31_Pro.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On our way in</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIk88hXZzHgapWs6dpXRZC1YDwUfHCJKvunfpiDH9CpgUH7t5PW_7vEHPkVHXUU0uWeUW6ri4FBDJ_j93-ZTtMpGaLsOLrDkLmFZTGfdtKISxU5R-xGR1MsXfjR5QuVEN4cLhOK4X4Gv4/s1600/WP_20170101_13_40_59_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIk88hXZzHgapWs6dpXRZC1YDwUfHCJKvunfpiDH9CpgUH7t5PW_7vEHPkVHXUU0uWeUW6ri4FBDJ_j93-ZTtMpGaLsOLrDkLmFZTGfdtKISxU5R-xGR1MsXfjR5QuVEN4cLhOK4X4Gv4/s320/WP_20170101_13_40_59_Pro.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ian with his beginning pile</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;">We spent the day on an easy hike in a place called Sun Valley. The temperature ranged from zero to five degrees, the sun was shining (but not hot at all!), and the sky was bright blue ~ my favorite looking day. I had a new day pack to try out (Thanks, Ken) and the boys had new fire starter metal thingies to try out (Thanks, Dad). After walking for a few hours, we arrived at a lake, dropped our backpacks, and gathered material for a fire: first moss, then twigs, sticks, branches, and finally logs. It took longer than I like to get it to catch with the scrapings, but it worked!</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Success!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hard to capture just how high he was.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOX4aWuiphPMFULum4zbEebNLFwdbJHsyzX7CCtQUo_vffyMaQedb7xtsIlyOMaEwvTqXjyh3Rno1-GHFY5kESH3Dg7X1nmJu6TO4f2Gd07M1g271GGPZRa9IhaVBC8vMRciFEthAo4do/s1600/WP_20170101_13_40_17_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOX4aWuiphPMFULum4zbEebNLFwdbJHsyzX7CCtQUo_vffyMaQedb7xtsIlyOMaEwvTqXjyh3Rno1-GHFY5kESH3Dg7X1nmJu6TO4f2Gd07M1g271GGPZRa9IhaVBC8vMRciFEthAo4do/s320/WP_20170101_13_40_17_Pro.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy Joseph</td></tr>
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Not much feels as good as a fire in the woods when it's zero degrees! We kept them going for about an hour and had some snacks. Ian thought it would be a good idea to climb trees and question my mothering rules. Some of us (Clare and I, actually) stayed by the heat and toasted ourselves front to back. Luke, Joseph, and Addie took it upon themselves to rove about and pick up sticks to toss on the fire. Good job. It began to darken on the hike out and the temp dropped to a few degrees below zero but we felt good from the fire and food. <br />
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Facebook tells me that we hiked on New Year's Day last year as well. I guess it's a tradition now. Excellent. No phone service; no internet; no toys. Just us in Alaska. Perfect.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She walked the whole thing.</td></tr>
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Then, just as we were settling down and getting cozy at home, I received a text from Rees: Hey Mom, do you, Clare, and Ian want to meet me at the theater to see Rogue 1? So I put my smoky-smelling hair into a bun (Hey, it's Alaska) and out we went again. What a perfect day. The only dark spot was missing John, but he told us that he's doing fine and enjoying Christmas and New Year's pretty well with USO organized field trips (Field trip isn't the correct term, but that's what it sounds like to me). So it's OK.<br />
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<br />
Big breaths into 2017 and love from the Howells.<br />
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<br />
<em>P.S. ~ I feel that I should share what happened to </em><a href="http://www.catholicsistas.com/2016/12/adventgratefulnessandemptiness/"><em>a baby of ours</em></a><em>. It took me a long time to write.</em><br />
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Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15243600795107249756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1032695113424314456.post-90279587283887001372016-12-29T09:22:00.001-08:002016-12-30T15:15:23.814-08:00A Familiar Sadness<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Morningtime neb with the mouthpiece</td></tr>
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Something happened last night that hasn't happened in many years: Addie fell asleep in my arms breathing <a href="https://www.verywell.com/tobi-tobramycin-inhalation-solution-998344">TOBI</a> and I was overwhelmed with sadness. I recognized it of course, but had not felt it for a long time. Watching her peaceful face covered in a plastic mask while smoky medication swirled around her stirred up an old panic of hopelessness. She was sleeping safely in my arms, but not really safe. She doesn't know. <br />
<br />
With Rees, who is an adult, I fight fear (because I'm so happy he's OK but afraid of the years) and occasional anger (because I wish he would sleep more, exercise more, and do his <a href="http://www.cfcareli.com/livingwithcf_acts_flutter.php">flutter valve</a> more!). <br />
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I have hardened myself over these 22 years and simply do not allow sadness to wash over me. I imagine I'm seen as cold by friends when I'm not as supportive in their sadnesses as I should be. I usually think of ways to be better afterward, when it's too late. I'm sorry about that. Love. Hardness. Sadness. Me.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Another night with the fish mask</td></tr>
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Since TOBI is administered twice a day for 28 days, Ken has hooked her up many evenings and read books while she breathed it in. He also told me one night that he felt a long-buried sadness. I wonder if his sharing that made a tiny unconscious chink in my armor and my emotions grabbed the chance to flood my heart when she fell asleep on me. I know it's good to feel the feelings sometimes (I'm not that cold!). <br />
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So that's it, dear friends. This is just a sharing of Something That Happened to an old CF mom with another little one. We're in this together. We must allow the feelings, recognize them, own them -- then get up and grab a book or DVD for clapping and TOBI or make lunch before playing outside or get out a new puzzle to work on while in the hospital. We've got today to love and be loved!<br />
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<br />Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15243600795107249756noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1032695113424314456.post-47867153838118713852016-11-24T08:18:00.001-08:002016-11-24T08:18:53.015-08:00Dear Thanksgiving MomsWhen you're shopping for Thanksgiving and see a lady with powdered potatoes and gravy packets, please don't roll your eyes and think she's doesn't know how to cook. She may be very tired from getting up in the wee hours to attach IV tubing to her kid's central line, waiting an hour while it runs, and flushing the line with saline and heparin. Then beginning again seven hours later. Then seven hours later. <br />
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When you see a lady with canned cranberry sauce and packaged rolls, please don't assume she doesn't appreciate real food. Her mind may be gripped with worry over her child's lack of appetite and digestion problems, charting every bite and potty visit. Or lack thereof.<br />
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When you see a lady with bakery pies and a tub of pumpkin ice cream, please don't imagine she doesn't know that homemade is cheaper. She may be putting it all on a credit card to have something for her family that doesn't require the time and attention she simply does not have.<br />
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She loves her family. She wants a decent Thanksgiving. She's worried and tired, though; and sometimes modern grocery conveniences and credit cards are precious. It's the best she can do this year.<br />
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Love, AllisonAllisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15243600795107249756noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1032695113424314456.post-81007560038742877582016-11-21T13:05:00.001-08:002016-11-25T09:09:37.913-08:00Swing dancing at the state fair<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i9.ytimg.com/vi/OL-lHisMcvM/default.jpg?sqp=CNDAzcEF&rs=AOn4CLAkMPYE-7kA4RFxjNZS1iVR1i0HVg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/OL-lHisMcvM?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
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<br />
Rees and his partner are on the far right.<br />
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Recorded by my 9 year old.<br />
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Lots of fun!Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15243600795107249756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1032695113424314456.post-49704638062319097282016-11-21T12:52:00.000-08:002016-11-21T20:27:58.758-08:00Stopping by Hallways on a Messy Afternoon<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjto8qPnjBfpnPlA5lI91TbwMM5kBz0tt_AY4IOLz9DSsqLIf-EMYS5s_ZSSJ8oxmc4HCCANLu6-J1rKoVB_tfxqXk78CSM41T-Yi1Mhi72Ggfm5dS3DUCTUumbKdssDrgsxFo7Vnw9d6o/s1600/WP_20161118_18_27_39_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjto8qPnjBfpnPlA5lI91TbwMM5kBz0tt_AY4IOLz9DSsqLIf-EMYS5s_ZSSJ8oxmc4HCCANLu6-J1rKoVB_tfxqXk78CSM41T-Yi1Mhi72Ggfm5dS3DUCTUumbKdssDrgsxFo7Vnw9d6o/s400/WP_20161118_18_27_39_Pro.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An actual picture from Sunday morning</td></tr>
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<strong></strong><br />
<br />
<br />
Whose shoes these are I think I know.<br />
Their minds are lost in childhood though;<br />
They will not hear me calling names<br />
Or care that I pick up and go.<br />
<br />
My little dogs must think it queer<br />
To see me stand and wipe a tear<br />
Between the door and dirty hall<br />
This messy season of the year.<br />
<br />
They frown and give their heads a shake<br />
To ask if there is some mistake.<br />
The only other sound's the din<br />
That happy children playing make.<br />
<br />
This house is cluttered, small and sweet<br />
But I have promises to keep ~<br />
And miles to love before I sleep<br />
And miles to love before I sleep.<br />
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<br />
(My apologies and affection to <a href="https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/42891">Robert Frost!)</a><br />
Love, AllisonAllisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15243600795107249756noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1032695113424314456.post-41030524919921709242016-08-22T17:58:00.000-07:002016-08-22T18:03:21.106-07:00It's Been a While<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDdGuVNT1McmVRBuAD5PTwDDo_Ol_t7zKxuBNVZm6V6onidk9T03Yx46Nr5dfM2PByuX1oxsh9ssHeACQ7a29mcklgYuimgiH-H3sccZXeh9o0e-ZSQ4BVc7CiB-nK1q7EJ7OcR5gCn1A/s1600/IMG_0675.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDdGuVNT1McmVRBuAD5PTwDDo_Ol_t7zKxuBNVZm6V6onidk9T03Yx46Nr5dfM2PByuX1oxsh9ssHeACQ7a29mcklgYuimgiH-H3sccZXeh9o0e-ZSQ4BVc7CiB-nK1q7EJ7OcR5gCn1A/s320/IMG_0675.JPG" width="240" /></a>It's been over three months since my last post. What in the world? <br />
<br />
John is now home from basic training and loved it. Ken and Clare had a wonderful graduation weekend with him, visiting the San Antonio zoo, screaming through a haunted house, and strolling along the River Walk. John misses being there and can't wait to return to Texas for tech school in mid-October. He's a great airman, telling me that he's been complimented several times on his excellent military bearing during drill weekends. Of course he is.<br />
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I've had some weird health issues and wrote about it for my latest <a href="http://www.catholicsistas.com/2016/08/peace-in-pain/">Catholic Sistas post.</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhavg5sMCQ-Eh43Jks_knKdPNVAaMcXFtOx7kAJpxi7Zh7K3eMTW667c2EOcodlHSOxa6qPmSdtCp0mzay1RZOeWyxx5pm4lFRRMYH3v9Bfy91x8c3Au_BKm608sfTyjTD66-XrglygSvA/s1600/WP_20151129_17_48_54_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhavg5sMCQ-Eh43Jks_knKdPNVAaMcXFtOx7kAJpxi7Zh7K3eMTW667c2EOcodlHSOxa6qPmSdtCp0mzay1RZOeWyxx5pm4lFRRMYH3v9Bfy91x8c3Au_BKm608sfTyjTD66-XrglygSvA/s320/WP_20151129_17_48_54_Pro.jpg" width="180" /></a><br />
And Clare's Panea dog died last Wednesday. We knew it was coming and asked John to carry her downstairs and onto the porch. She breathed her last in the sunshine, with her girl's hands resting on her head and side. Ken came home early and while we waited for him, everyone colored pictures, wrote notes, collected treasures, and painted rocks for her grave. Clare chose a small clearing in the spruce trees. We call it "Panea's Cove" now. She was such a perfect dog, we will be looking for an older dog again. She was eleven. <br />
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We're all anxiously awaiting six boxes to arrive in the mail, this year's School Stuff. Addie, Joseph, Luke, and Ian will begin working through material from <a href="https://www.memoriapress.com/">Memoria Press</a> (Halleluia for a state that reimburses for educational expenses!), and going off on any rabbit trails they like<br />
<br />
Clare and our contact teacher have patched together her first year of high school, from Memoria Press, Saxon Math, and classes in drawing and theater from <a href="http://www.ndcde.org/Home.aspx">ND Center for Distance Education</a>. I'm certainly excited, but I loved schoolwork and grades; not sure about this free-spirited girl. We'll do our best.<br />
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We had a great family camping trip north to Byers Lake. The bit of rain we had wasn't much of a problem, as Clare and Ian had their copies of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harry_Potter_and_the_Cursed_Child">Harry Potter and the Cursed Child</a> and happily holed up in the tents to read. The fishing stunk but the hiking was super.<br />
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Caribou and bear hunting season is upon us and Ken will be heading out most weekends for the next month or so. I love our bear-hunt mountain and will pencil myself in to tag along on a Normal Knee weekend! Really hoping for meat to carry us through the winter.<br />
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Addie (four years old) will complete the <a href="https://clinicaltrials.gov/ct2/show/NCT02054156">Optimize drug study</a> next month and I can't help but think she had the antibiotic and not placebo, for she has had no extra illnesses this past year. Her doctor will have to decide to prescribe the actual drug or let it go and see what happens. She continues to cheerfully grow along the 30th percentile weight for height. Sweet petite! <br />
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Rees is awesome. He'll be ending out his summer internship with Fish and Game with five college credits and money in the bank before moving back to part time work and full time college classes.<br />
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The leaves are already yellowing and falling and it smells wonderful outside. Autumn is upon us!<br />
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Happy days to all;<br />
Love, Allison<br />
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<br />Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15243600795107249756noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1032695113424314456.post-21226777125714153602016-05-10T06:57:00.001-07:002016-06-10T20:31:48.176-07:00My John<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBTplq2SljlauTILBHn84G4Oy07sRstP_QAEoyyHlElJIg8AeflrPkMGwkylZswuQ8DIw-ClfQFRHoCU6V9xr4Fnh98FCpdOxxm0cj-pEesSw5everpX05UkfO62PRwmki06sdpVc6GB4/s1600/11402906_10205953598071912_8607068111085713128_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBTplq2SljlauTILBHn84G4Oy07sRstP_QAEoyyHlElJIg8AeflrPkMGwkylZswuQ8DIw-ClfQFRHoCU6V9xr4Fnh98FCpdOxxm0cj-pEesSw5everpX05UkfO62PRwmki06sdpVc6GB4/s200/11402906_10205953598071912_8607068111085713128_o.jpg" width="175" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> 18th birthday, almost a year ago.</td></tr>
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I folded a few of John's T shirts early this morning -- Joe Cool, Colonel Sanders, and Iron Man. He won't be needing them for two months because he left in the middle of the night for Lackland Air Force Base in Texas for basic training. I cried while folding of course. I'll add them to Rees' pile and hope he puts them away nicely for his brother. Both of the big boys and Ken don't really like it when I fold their clothes. <em>Don't do that, Mom; we can. Don't do that, Honey; they should</em>. And I know; I know. But folding clothes in the very early morning with a cup of (now) decaf is an odd pleasure of mine. It gets something tangible done while I'm able to think about whatever my mind wants. The only interruptions are from my own brain's thoughts flitting here and there and I like it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjosFjafGhs8HXXPd60S4DcwwFCJQtuj00u54tQfNwJ7qTjfgfcLNMRhAEI-BRmSibWOxp4JB1wP6KalGVA39cTf-27HIi2e25PbgHIBt4_aTVimU2gIwx-wZLsmDHVszoySZmrtHh3LOU/s1600/339721_2274572116635_1183696276_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjosFjafGhs8HXXPd60S4DcwwFCJQtuj00u54tQfNwJ7qTjfgfcLNMRhAEI-BRmSibWOxp4JB1wP6KalGVA39cTf-27HIi2e25PbgHIBt4_aTVimU2gIwx-wZLsmDHVszoySZmrtHh3LOU/s320/339721_2274572116635_1183696276_o.jpg" width="232" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">About 18 months, always with Rees</td></tr>
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This morning I thought about John. About how cute he was and how handsome he is. About how ready he is for this tough adventure and good plan. About how old and strong he looked last night saying goodbye to his little brothers and sisters and about how I noticed a flicker of nervousness while he explained to Ken about how the airport in San Antonio has an Air Force desk because there are so many recruits passing through and he'll just need to get to that desk and they'll put him on a bus.<br />
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When I hugged him goodbye, I told him that I wasn't worried about his "making it" ~ he's been itching to go since February ~ but that I would miss him terribly. We gave him a replica of a WW1 Rosary, the kind handed out to Catholics by the US government back then (Imagine that!), and the Combat Prayer Book, a tiny book, easily slipped into one of the many arm pockets. But not during boot camp, he tells me. That's OK. Someday he'll want it and he'll have it.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">About 12; shot a grouse. </td></tr>
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It's bearable because he'll be back in mid-July (Until they send him away again for Tech school, but I won't think about that yet.). Ken warns me that he will be changed when he returns. Just typing that sentence makes me drip tears on my keyboard. It's good, though. I'm happy for him. He needs to do something that is Just John. He has always been with Rees, making what breaks he could. Doesn't like hiking; doesn't like country music; doesn't like to read. I imagine they will miss each other terribly, anyway.<br />
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He tells me to wait two weeks, then call a number on a paper he gave me (Good Lord, I'm awful about keeping track of papers.) and they will tell me where to send letters. He also tells me that he may not get to read them or write back if he gets in trouble. Lovely. So I will busy myself with writing to him and helping Clare pick out a Million Degrees Hot Texas wardrobe, for she and Ken will fly to San Antonio for his graduation. She's never been out of Alaska; never even been on an airplane. It's a trip of a lifetime and I will love picking out clothes with her!<br />
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So my John is gone. But he's all right. And I suppose I am. <br />
St. Michael, the archangel, pray for him please.<br />
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Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15243600795107249756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1032695113424314456.post-49120283085365678302016-04-18T18:42:00.000-07:002016-04-18T18:42:57.912-07:00Clare's Take on Dorian Grey<em>(Every once in a while, I copy and paste something from Clare's locked blog. I'm especially proud of her notice of the lack of conversation between Dorian and his grandfather during his formative years.)</em><br />
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<a href="http://clearlyclarea.blogspot.com/2016/04/dorian-grey.html"><span style="color: #8a2e2e;">Dorian Grey</span></a> </h3>
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Mum said I post too many H.P. things, so she suggested I publish this essay I wrote about Dorian Grey.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span>I have just finished <i>The Picture of Dorian Grey</i> by Oscar Wilde for literature, and throughout the </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span>whole book, one thing seemed to strike me as a recurring theme: Dorian Grey's absurdly weak will </span></span><br /><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span>coupled with his insatiable curiosity—and why that's a dangerous combination. Every time he makes a </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span>plan to do something good, he allows himself to be talked out of it. </span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span>The story starts out with Dorian Grey as a rich young man, ready to go out into the world and </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span>be a philanthropist. At the art studio of his friend Basil Halward, he meets Lord Henry, a middle aged</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span>man with a very immoral view of the world, telling Dorian things like, 'Conscience is just a polite word </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span>for cowardice. No civilized man regrets a pleasure.' Dorian was raised by his reclusive grandfather </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span>and never had anyone to talk to deeply about such issues. Therefore, Lord Henry was the first person </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span>he had ever met who explored the three-dimensional meanings of religion and art, and the curious </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span>young Dorian snapped up his ideas greedily.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span>There is a life-size portrait of Dorian Grey at his english manor, and as the young man slowly </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span>sinks into an evil life (encouraged by the ever-present Lord Henry), he suddenly notices that, while his</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span>body stays young and his visage pure, the painting grows old and become a mirror of his wretched </span></span><br /><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span>soul. He is horrified by this realization and resolves to change and marry Sybil Vance, the girl he loves. B</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span>ut right after he privately pledges this to himself, Lord Henry shows up. He tells Dorian that Sybil is </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span>dead and that marriage is 'just a habit, and a bad one at that.' Without giving Henry's words any </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span>thought, Dorian agrees with him and keeps following his way of life, like a little puppy that can't fend </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span>for itself without its master. This a good example of his weak will.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span>This happens over and over again, until Dorian is known all over London as a bad, immoral </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span>man. The last straw is when, for heinous reasons, he murders the only good person who </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span>ever really loved him. After that he becomes completely unhinged, and any scrap of goodness left in him</span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span> is obliterated. He blackmails a chemist to help him destroy the body, he lies about regular </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span>matters that don't even call for lying, and he continues to visit the corrupting Lord Henry. In the end, </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span>he stabs the portrait in an attempt to destroy the last bit of evidence of the murder. But in doing so, </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span>he ends up killing himself because he and the painting are one.</span></span><br /><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span></span></span><br /><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span>Dorian Grey's story loosely reminded me of Pinocchio's. The little wooden boy also had a weak </span></span><br /><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span>will and kept letting Honest John and other questionable characters lead him astray. And although he </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span>doesn't actually appear in the story (he is just discussed), I think that Dorian's grandfather also played </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span>a big part in his grandson's corruption, as I briefly touched upon earlier. Maybe if he had spent more </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span>time with Dorian when he was younger and taught him the difference between right and wrong, good </span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif;"><span>and evil, etc., he may have been able to put his foot down and tune out Lord Henry's blasphemy. </span></span><br /><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIiGDFA8xfN3M6BEbpX_30z4mWo6_zDoKTfxKBiZ4GbJXX-ICEISZL3Y_hg0LscES5-ZeUonzUEjm0vgFLuwJ7GCZeLQIZoIBGzp97Zgx2DLbYFkROnq1n7zMLZpvk9QOfF5mKce28V6E/s1600/the-picture-of-dorian-gray-ivan-albright.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIiGDFA8xfN3M6BEbpX_30z4mWo6_zDoKTfxKBiZ4GbJXX-ICEISZL3Y_hg0LscES5-ZeUonzUEjm0vgFLuwJ7GCZeLQIZoIBGzp97Zgx2DLbYFkROnq1n7zMLZpvk9QOfF5mKce28V6E/s640/the-picture-of-dorian-gray-ivan-albright.jpg" width="424" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is a famous depiction of The Portrait from a museum</td></tr>
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Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15243600795107249756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1032695113424314456.post-60685639451587427422016-03-20T22:41:00.001-07:002016-03-21T08:22:38.145-07:00Kids' Expo CutenessOur homeschool charter school had a student expo last week. Students could display any project they wanted.<br />
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Six year old Joseph collected some of his favorite artwork, named them all, and glued them to a board ~ <br />
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Nine year old Luke is obsessed with the Titanic, so he gathered up pictures he'd drawn, put together a few paragraphs, made a small diorama, and built the famous ship out of old-fashioned legos (no kit) ~ <br />
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Eleven year old Ian is currently into the Civil War (or the War for Southern Independence, as he informs me is more accurate). He wrote biographies, made a diorama of Little Round Top and baked real hard-tack~ <br />
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Fourteen year old Clare is a bona fide Potter-head and has drawn some fan-art. I insisted on an essay and she popped one out in half an hour ~<br />
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<em>Here's her essay, as a clue to how our homeschooling looks in the dreary grayness here. Just add their mathematics, and they're good.</em><br />
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HOGWARTS<br />
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Lately I have invented a fun game for my younger siblings. I teach them and then test their knowledge on five different subjects. It's called Hogwarts. Yup, I set up our living room to look like the legendary school and I teach Addie, Joseph, Luke, and Ian what the kids in the books learn. I am the teacher: Professor Lyra Burke, pureblood head of Slytherin house.<br />
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The five subjects are all from the Harry Potter books and I teach them all. There's Defence [She has adopted British spelling.] Against the Dark Arts, where I teach the kids all about the evil Wizarding things and how to defeat them. Herbology is the study of magical plants such as Mimbulus Mimbletonia, Bubotubers, and Mandrakes. Almost everyone likes Care of Magical Creatures, and I'm sure you can guess what I teach in this class! Potions, however, is hard of most of the students because they have to memorize the ingredients, the way to make it, and how to use it. For the fifth class I choose either Quidditch or Astronomy, as an extra. <br />
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I have sorted each of my siblings into separate houses. Eleven year old Ian is a proud Gryffindor who is very good at taking notes during class. Nine year old Luke and four year Addie are studious Ravenclaws who often achieve high marks during exams. Last but not least, six year old Joseph is a happy-go-lucky Hufflepuff who goofs around a lot but like Herbology. They're all good students for the most part. <br />
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But they are naughty sometimes. I have a notebook where I keep records of the classes, and also a tally of points. The students' achievements will earn their house points. Any rule-breaking or not listening to the teacher and their house will lose points. When exams (which are going on now) are over, I will figure out which house has the most points and I will give its members a prize. The looming threat of defeat helps the students work harder to gain points and sit still in my classes.<br />
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Right now we are in the middle of exams, and Gryffindor is in the lead with 80 points. However, it is closely followed by Ravenclaw, which is boasting an impressive 72 points. Poor Hufflepuff, however, is still trailing a the bottom with 25 points. Still, it's a fun game and everybody involved loves it.<br />
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(<em>Especially this mother!)</em><br />
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Hurry up, Spring!<br />
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Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15243600795107249756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1032695113424314456.post-53424967262314785362016-03-04T09:13:00.000-08:002016-06-10T20:39:33.942-07:007 Ways Homeschooling Surprised MeBefore jumping on the "7 Reasons I Love Educating One Way or Another" bandwagon, here are my credentials:<br />
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I am 46 years old.<br />
I have been married for 25 years.<br />
We have 7 children, aged 21 down to 4.<br />
I have been homeschooling since 1999.<br />
We have 2 sons that have graduated from a course of study acceptable to our state.<br />
They both work and take college classes.<br />
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Sure, I love homeschooling and it's what we've done for 17 years. But I also love Catholic schooling and public schooling. I love kids learning stuff and parents engaging with their kids. It happens in all the places, each with its own dance between the pros and cons. The fact that tempers my points below is that homeschooling did not exactly pan out how we thought when our eldest was five. The rose-colored glasses got lost. I may have thrown them in the trash. We had all the feels about faith and family unity; all the plans for excellent books and science journals and museums; and all the expectations of academic curiosity driving them to be active learners. I was sure all the beautiful benefits would be ours. After all these years, I offer our surprises to the families just starting out.<br />
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1.) Children will not work without force. Maybe in the beginning when it's sunshine and roses but not as the months and years plod on. To leave them be means that they will play legos and fight (teenagers, too), not cheerfully look up interesting things and journal with abandon. And sure, legos are smart toys but that's not going to teach them times tables or geometric proofs. It must be insisted upon. Ballast becomes necessary. Shocking surprise.<br />
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2.) Most science experiments did not work. The rockets never went up; the paper never turned purple; the potato never shriveled; and what in the world is agar and why does the box say "common items easily purchased?" Grumpy surprise.<br />
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3.) Even if you read nothing but beautiful picture books and classic chapter books to children; even if you assign important literature to teenagers, you may get a kid who, at 18, does not read for pleasure but shrugs and says, "I don't like to read." This will embarrass you. But that kid may understand vehicle manuals and be a great mechanic. This will not embarrass you. Still a surprise.<br />
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4.) We rarely go on field trips because they are expensive for a big family (and absolutely crazy with a ton of kids). Galleries, museums, and shows all cost an arm and a leg. If I go with just the older ones, then I need a babysitter for the younger set. More money. Huge coffee table books are good friends and can usually be found on the bargain table at Barnes and Noble and Sam's Club. Actually, we don't have a coffee table anymore due to too many split lips, black eyes, and goose eggs. You can find gorgeous oversized books on art, architecture, Civil War, battlefield maps, and the real Ingalls family, and you might not have to force the kids to flip through them. OK surprise.<br />
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5.) My children don't love morning prayer time. In fact, I pass out sticks of gum if they are decent and there's usually at least one who doesn't get gum. We've been Catholic for 11 years, so most of them are cradle Catholics and know all the liturgical seasons and prayers. They still make jokes for prayer requests, balk at leading, and generally goof off. Worried surprise.<br />
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6.) Catholic school seems wonderful ~ the uniforms are crisp, cute, and scream Smart Kid. Daily rosaries and an extra Mass a week is a dream come true for this mother who often goes to Sunday Mass with a wet head and an empty stomach. If only it didn't cost 6 weeks' pay per child. There is no sacrifice to be made (Food? Gas? Braces?). May we have some teaching sisters, please? Sad surprise.<br />
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7.) I signed my children up for a homeschool public charter school in our town. What this means is that I bring my kids to a building full of teachers teaching classes for homeschoolers ~ grades K-2 one day, grades 3-5 another day, and grades 6-12 on another. So I get to lose a few kids each day and they get to do science experiments, oil paint, deal with bullies on the playground, and obey another teacher. I never thought this would be something I would desire. But surprise.<br />
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My sweeping proclamations in the first few years of homeschooling ~ of Christianity, unity, beauty, logic, community, academia, Kids that aren't lazy and don't make stupid decisions ~ didn't exactly come to fruition. I've been surprised both at them and at myself. Mostly, I now know that all the ways of educating children are good with parents' love. I no longer think any other way is second-best. It's what we do and we like it. We like reading science texts and good stories on the sofa with hot chocolate; we like older kids helping younger kids with math (sometimes what I have them do if they're not understanding theirs); we like high schoolers getting up at 6am to get their work done before the younger kids get up; we like taking off whatever days we want because Daddy's off; and we like arguing over what Jesus meant in Luke 6:30 (what we're memorizing for Lent).<br />
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I raise my cup of tea to all of us with children and adult children ~ to their growth and education in academics and virtue and to our growth and education in wisdom and charity. And surprises.<br />
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<br />Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15243600795107249756noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1032695113424314456.post-30236712363433373622016-02-29T17:14:00.000-08:002016-02-29T17:14:09.198-08:00What Happened? Oh Help!<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBsP-dHijO2s8EZqf37qu-KSqQdUA_x96pJ3xtCiVcniwfW6WAKmdCEGTMzQJWc9Ann7y-izJ-UnW5c1UcQU-mjy5u-N_mvFKzAm7izwVlg5ZwS1zupra2dqshkPZ1JDsg_Tx3SSIZsAM/s1600/dance2015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBsP-dHijO2s8EZqf37qu-KSqQdUA_x96pJ3xtCiVcniwfW6WAKmdCEGTMzQJWc9Ann7y-izJ-UnW5c1UcQU-mjy5u-N_mvFKzAm7izwVlg5ZwS1zupra2dqshkPZ1JDsg_Tx3SSIZsAM/s400/dance2015.jpg" width="250" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">February 2015</td></tr>
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A church down the road has an annual Father Daughter Dance close to Valentine's Day. Last year was the first time Ken took Clare and Addie.<br />
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And then exactly one year later . . .<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj07jz0vErI-pfcq83wUKnUpZ24piPeJHkWQfxgrKx5EKWOqA2T8cydMjKo31M8SPg9PMGPgoDYHrnl_y3BwRGNX4xMplGulGjCEDNSCwZ7xFo0AJQ2Yn1o6ZW9_XN-Hcr-G3RNfvR2K2k/s1600/Father+Daughter+Dance+2016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj07jz0vErI-pfcq83wUKnUpZ24piPeJHkWQfxgrKx5EKWOqA2T8cydMjKo31M8SPg9PMGPgoDYHrnl_y3BwRGNX4xMplGulGjCEDNSCwZ7xFo0AJQ2Yn1o6ZW9_XN-Hcr-G3RNfvR2K2k/s320/Father+Daughter+Dance+2016.JPG" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">February 2016</td></tr>
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That's all. I'm going to take a nap now. Hopefully for ten years. <br />
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'Night, all.<br />
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Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15243600795107249756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1032695113424314456.post-39956229401086435972016-01-31T20:38:00.001-08:002016-02-02T16:14:44.238-08:00Proposal and Some New Marriage Stages<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYtNOda9ziIaPot2Gbmf_S7R5furDHJKWoz-0aOEuO53MthWuAQAZR2NQOmK5NxExsJEOIXTuM3Y9BdVHsNJz0NNFeCS6y1p-_Aaji7mi_rFF1_B22DX0cPQVvRVxlzRK4rkX7qE6uU9g/s1600/mom+and+daddy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYtNOda9ziIaPot2Gbmf_S7R5furDHJKWoz-0aOEuO53MthWuAQAZR2NQOmK5NxExsJEOIXTuM3Y9BdVHsNJz0NNFeCS6y1p-_Aaji7mi_rFF1_B22DX0cPQVvRVxlzRK4rkX7qE6uU9g/s320/mom+and+daddy.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1990</td></tr>
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Today is January 31, the day Ken proposed! A few years ago I posted <a href="http://northerncffamily.blogspot.com/2014/02/traveling-with-ken.html">our proposal story.</a> It's our own holiday, better than Valentine's Day. But just a little better, since now we <a href="http://northerncffamily.blogspot.com/2012/02/pretty-funny-happy-real-valentines-baby.html">had our Adah Marie on Valentine's Day!</a> <br />
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I'd like to take a minute to yack about the four stages of marriage. I've recently been informed by Experts that all marriages, <em>all of them without exception</em>, go through four stages: romance, disillusionment, misery, and reawakening. I read <a href="http://www.retrouvaille.org/pages.php?page=7">from here</a> to Ken and after he clapped his jaw shut from the dropping shock, we were sad and angry. <br />
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These sorts of articles should read "many" marriages. Or even "most" if it makes them feel better, but certainly not "all." I propose a different set of four stages, a set without disillusionment and misery as official stages lasting years and years (of course there may be short times of <em>feeling</em> this way). I am not going to preach about why I think ours has gone better because it will engender some problems: one, there will be some who did what we did and didn't do what we didn't do who had a different outcome; and two, there will be some who have not done things our way and also find that these stages are foreign to their own experience. For the record, we are in our 26th year of marriage.<br />
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<strong>Honeymoon stage</strong>. This should not be called "romance" as if you only get romance in the first few years. Here is the beginning of intimacy and life together when all is fresh and wonderful and new. When being near each other still makes the heart pound and you're sure that everyone is jealous of you.<br />
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<strong>Settled stage</strong>. Yup, there are weird things going on. There are socks here and there, annoying habits, and sleepless nights with babies and toddlers. So what? Why be disillusioned? People are people and we all have talents and troubles. We all have moments when we shine and moments when we're dull. We know this. Time to settle in, make love through it all, and continue to do what you like together (hiking, skating, movies, coffees, whatever). There's so much to talk about and learn, especially if there are children doing weird things, too.<br />
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<strong>Comfort stage. </strong>Satisfied, secure, and still sexy. Middle age is here and it's good. Ditto the settled stage for making love and doing things together.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwMMCMqm4JviZkiV_yco2efEoIfvpJAa6ekWY-XwuKyCUQcSb9QHZqGAypA9vB0kbtDH_7JD1kcUc0pZhDLoKcT_YBBEVl_Mwp0hnzxxq6FnCYRbqYkIm_V2DDJZ3SOU7zsojiltedTXI/s1600/WP_20160118_13_51_01_Pro.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwMMCMqm4JviZkiV_yco2efEoIfvpJAa6ekWY-XwuKyCUQcSb9QHZqGAypA9vB0kbtDH_7JD1kcUc0pZhDLoKcT_YBBEVl_Mwp0hnzxxq6FnCYRbqYkIm_V2DDJZ3SOU7zsojiltedTXI/s320/WP_20160118_13_51_01_Pro.jpg" width="179" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Still hiking. He talked me into liking dogs.</td></tr>
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<strong>Deep stage</strong>. Twenty-five years and beyond. Deep, settled, comfortable romance full of joy. Together dealing with whatever our 50's, 60's, and beyond bring. All the years give rise to this place.<br />
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At each stage we should be intimate and talking and doing things together ~ interests we share and things we've introduced to each other and are learning. There will be sadness and shock, heartbreak and horror. These are times to cling to each other; after all, we made solemn vows. <br />
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I am glad to know that there are therapists and organizations helping marriages come through terrible times. I know couples whose weld is better than if it had not broken.<br />
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And yes, there are marriages that go on through the years getting deeper, stronger, and better without teetering on the brink. If you read articles and wonder when the years of disillusionment and misery will descend, be assured that they may not. You are not shallow juveniles stuck in the honeymoon stage (as was suggested to me when I balked at the other stages). <br />
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Happy Proposal to us!<br />
Happy marriages to my friends!<br />
And please, Experts, change your opening paragraphs to read "most."<br />
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Love, Allison<br />
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<br />Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15243600795107249756noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1032695113424314456.post-42499313140470339902016-01-17T13:34:00.000-08:002016-01-20T22:42:47.380-08:00What Kind of ChristianOur Archbishop Emeritus Francis Hurley passed away this week. The diocesan newspaper ran <a href="http://www.catholicanchor.org/alaska-news/archbishop-hurley-of-alaska-dies-at-88/">this piece</a> telling his amazing story and these are the first few comments from a local news station's web page:<br />
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<em>* I am not even Catholic, but respected this guy!</em><br />
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<em>* He was a good man -- he reached out to the Muslim community here in Anchorage, and we considered him a dear friend. Rest in peace, Archbishop Hurley.</em><br />
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<em>* Godspeed to a good man. Prayers for the Church.</em><br />
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<em>* Rest in your Lord's arms, Father.</em><br />
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<em>* My husband and son are named after him. He will be missed.</em><br />
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My heart swelled to read such sentiments. How much he was loved and respected, even by non-Catholics and Muslims. You see, I know Christians, Catholic and otherwise, who are always angry. Angry about music; angry about sermons; angry about culture; angry about personalities; angry about politics; angry, angry, angry. Their "suffering" at church is all they can talk about. Loudly. Often rudely. But Pope Francis has called us to a culture of encounter, of reaching out in dialogue and friendship outside our usual circles. If we live actively attempting to encounter people, we might not be as angry. We might be nice. We certainly will not insult and mock others, even others with whom we disagree. <br />
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I have been the recipient of such an angry attack. An attack in front of others, never apologized for, and spun into alteration. It changed my life. And not over something crucial like doctrine or morals. I dared express an opposing opinion than that of the loud Angry One. Now that I know what that kind of treatment feels like, I resolve not to mock or insult another human, even those on "the other side" of the doctrine and morals I hold dear. Nope. If I cannot reach out in dialogue and friendship then I will pray for their souls. If I have to stay away from those that insult and mock, then I will. I can still pray.<br />
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What kind of Christian do I want to be? Yes, I despise how our culture celebrates sin. Yes, I'd like to see some things done differently at church. Yes, I keep myself and my children away from certain people, movies, music, and books. But I do not need to hurt and humiliate. The contrast between the archbishop and the Angry Ones is striking.<br />
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I think Archbishop Hurley encountered people. From these comments above, he seemed to have had decent contact with all sorts of folks, both in and out of the Church. I daresay that some of those Catholics embraced different music or practices or politics than he. That's how I want to be remembered ~ as an example of a Catholic who was decent to people without compromising my own Holy Faith. Being nice does not mean I think that everyone is right and sin doesn't matter. It's not either/or. I can attend Mass and receive my precious sacraments. I can vote and dress and sing and read how I like. I can raise my children how I see fit. I can run my household and strengthen my inner life my way. And, I can try to truly encounter people, whether on Facebook or in real life.<br />
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As a Catholic, I encounter Christ in His Church first. Then others. "Love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your mind, all your soul. This is the first and greatest commandment. And love your neighbor as yourself. Upon these two rest all the law and prophets (Matthew 22:36-40)."<br />
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Archbishop Hurley, rest in peace. We love you and will miss your stories.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipYcyKQ2Z26mOmEbjnpqbWN9vhDBTLA-7CGeA2lnc_5aBD0JrJet8aVutpTBPvT40zjHIRl9AUqGaZ3bF55Zt13oa6dUjAfOmRrOJilqg9UDMMJi5AHHKMg_iPBfgts2e0ndd0lAFTMbA/s1600/hurley.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipYcyKQ2Z26mOmEbjnpqbWN9vhDBTLA-7CGeA2lnc_5aBD0JrJet8aVutpTBPvT40zjHIRl9AUqGaZ3bF55Zt13oa6dUjAfOmRrOJilqg9UDMMJi5AHHKMg_iPBfgts2e0ndd0lAFTMbA/s1600/hurley.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is how I remember him, smiling at the pulpit.</td></tr>
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<br />Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15243600795107249756noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1032695113424314456.post-53598784154431300192015-11-24T09:37:00.003-08:002015-11-24T09:44:34.488-08:00Howell Round Up ~ My Tattoo, CF Meds, and Goats<br />
CF has been pretty quiet lately.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRRAMvMNTQA_D9katIEjvK_czNnrAVNQIKFB6GelmaXFhYpr9FIlN3ZTpyNO74sncLY52GdUUd1-2M-2L0M2MPcLKsWeBt5EKGwYLJ5Y3TWz5MMHC1qZuHANOUD06RU_yhzxW6zo0l_Vw/s1600/12132541_10206851341474936_2124536134409668068_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRRAMvMNTQA_D9katIEjvK_czNnrAVNQIKFB6GelmaXFhYpr9FIlN3ZTpyNO74sncLY52GdUUd1-2M-2L0M2MPcLKsWeBt5EKGwYLJ5Y3TWz5MMHC1qZuHANOUD06RU_yhzxW6zo0l_Vw/s200/12132541_10206851341474936_2124536134409668068_o.jpg" width="112" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fairy hair</td></tr>
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We have a good groove going with Addie's care. She doesn't mind breathing in her nebulized <a href="https://www.cff.org/Living-with-CF/Treatments-and-Therapies/Inhaled-Medications/Mucolytics/">pulmozyme</a>, probably because we put in DVDs (Her current favorite is the new live-action Cinderella and I already ordered her that dreamy blue ball gown for Christmas) and I often paint her nails. I clap her directly afterwards and she is then ready to eat, which she now does pretty well. Evening clapping usually puts her to sleep up on my big bed.<br />
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Now that the drug study is completed, Rees has commercial <a href="http://cysticfibrosisnewstoday.com/orkambi-lumacaftor-ivacaftor-vertex/">Orkambi</a> covered for a few more months. We'll see how badly the state balks come January when they have to pay, as the Marketplace spit him out of the system due to his change from full time work to part time. He finally loves his college program and takes a mix of on-campus and online classes.<br />
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Did I put "tattoo" in the title? Oh, I did. This June was our 25th anniversary and we had an Anchorage getaway ~ four whole days in the city. We stayed at the handsome <a href="http://www.captaincook.com/">Hotel Captain Cook.</a> We strolled the <a href="http://anchoragecoastaltrail.com/">coastal trail</a> each morning, window shopped, walked to fine restaurants, went swimming . . . and got inked. I cried. Not because it hurt (It didn't) but because Ken got one for me. Four years in the Navy; no tattoo. Four years in the Marine Corps; no tattoo. Two black belts; no tattoo. His wife begs <em>Pleaseplease can we get our names on each other for this fantastic anniversary???</em> and he does it. I am so spoiled. Twenty-five more!<br />
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And our hobby farm is fine. Clare has named it Lucky Duck Farm, as a nod to a phrase I remember exclaiming in childhood and to the single duck lucky enough to escape a marauding owl that took his four siblings last year. She has also decided that only Nigerian Dwarf goats will do for us. They are more docile than Nubians and short enough not to be able to jump our fencing. The cute couple is a lady named Happy and a gentleman named Thor. We are expecting babies in February.<br />
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I remember having pen pals as a kid and writing to Ken when he was deployed (Two different time frames of course.), keeping a letter going for days, scribbling "OK, now it's after work..." or "Back from the store..." Well, I'm going to hit <em>publish</em> or I'll never get this up. <br />
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Happy Thanksgiving friends!<br />
Love, Allison<br />
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<br />Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15243600795107249756noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1032695113424314456.post-13992215781937002582015-10-10T16:57:00.001-07:002017-02-15T08:28:29.182-08:00Jane Eyre and Real Virtue<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ7DvILgew1pyc6R4XuuydgjFcB_t4qJE14aiDxHgZBWqXi8qBJLbhViV7TDFParH8L823g1j2xJU_6mEXLJtpczeSMP-LUuaPQSZwt-4Qv7PYUVh-myAyXM3JZ28Q_3xZDzq1jHsws_Y/s1600/Jane+Eyre1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ7DvILgew1pyc6R4XuuydgjFcB_t4qJE14aiDxHgZBWqXi8qBJLbhViV7TDFParH8L823g1j2xJU_6mEXLJtpczeSMP-LUuaPQSZwt-4Qv7PYUVh-myAyXM3JZ28Q_3xZDzq1jHsws_Y/s320/Jane+Eyre1.jpg" width="179" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ian looks like a mayor.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPseGa4oizlTPDpA46NiqN1Et3MHTKJzzg-I85eBeuKO_vhw1l95D426BQSdjpO79OaJ3k9ZbJu_QbCDxNHdMLPlw41x7KiV6STPxxr4BJ6H9-ygHAjCOIndOE0a-SiC_B46UpprJ4Rvk/s1600/Jane+Eyre2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPseGa4oizlTPDpA46NiqN1Et3MHTKJzzg-I85eBeuKO_vhw1l95D426BQSdjpO79OaJ3k9ZbJu_QbCDxNHdMLPlw41x7KiV6STPxxr4BJ6H9-ygHAjCOIndOE0a-SiC_B46UpprJ4Rvk/s320/Jane+Eyre2.jpg" width="179" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Addie wanted everything.</td></tr>
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Clare and I just finished up another <a href="http://www.valleyperformingarts.org/">Valley Performing Arts</a> play ~ Jane Eyre. We already miss the shows and the cast and crew. It truly is a community affair. One of the sweet parts of each VPA show is the themed, interactive lobby exhibit. Last year's Velveteen Rabbit had a Christmas tree with Santa giving away candy canes and posing for pictures. Jane Eyre's crew came up with a people-sized picture frame and black velvet background with a rack full of vintage clothing for patrons to don and snap photos in. <br />
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It was wonderful to read the book again after many years and I am so proud to contribute to putting the story on stage. <a href="http://www.catholicsistas.com/2015/06/11/chaste-womans-hero-jane-eyre/">My friend</a> wrote a piece on Jane Eyre over the summer and I wrote for our Frontiersman last month. I've copied mine here in full, as clicking on the newspaper link results in annoying, required survey questions.<br />
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<strong><em>Jane Eyre and Real Virtue</em></strong><br />
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"Reader, I married him."<br />
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One of the most famous lines in literature, this sentence begins the final chapter of Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre. It is a story of a girl turned lady, a girl who learned through sadness and loss to better herself and to become a lady who held tightly to God's laws of charity and chastity, a girl whose life began unwanted and unloved and ended with knowing "what it is to live entirely for and with what I love best on earth...supremely blest beyond what language can express because I am my husband's life as fully as he is mine."<br />
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What is it about Jane? Why are we drawn to her story? Why are readers, so pleasantly addressed as such by Miss Bronte, gladdened to see her move from unforgiveness to forgiveness of her Aunt Reed; to see her stand up for Christian morality with her master; to see her call upon Providence in her deepest sorrow, to see happiness and contentment finally visit her, all the while retaining her vibrant personality and quick wit? Why does relationship with Jane change and soften Mr. Rochester until he did "begin to experience remorse, repentance; the wish for reconcilement to my Maker...to pray."?<br />
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<strong>Virtue.</strong><br />
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It's not a word you hear much anymore. From the Latin word<em> virtus</em>, it means, "Habit superadded to a faculty of the soul, disposing it to elicit with readiness, acts conformable to our rational nature." Or, as Saint Augustine thankfully explained more succinctly, "Virtue is a good habit consonant with our nature."<br />
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The Church charts virtue into two groups: moral and theological. The moral virtues are prudence (reasoning to discern the good), justice (man regulating himself in relation to others), temperance (restraining concupiscence), and fortitude (moral strength to do what right reason requires). The Catechism of the Catholic Church says about these, "The moral virtues are acquired by human effort. They are the fruit and seed of morally good acts; they dispose all the powers of the human being for communion with divine love (#1804).<br />
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The theological virtues are infused; that is, gifts from God. They are faith (intellect perfected by Divine light), hope (confidence in Divine assistance to life everlasting), and charity (love of God and neighbor). According to our catechism, "The theological virtues are the foundation of Christian moral activity; they animate it and give it its special character. They have the one and triune God for their origin, motive, and object (#1813).<br />
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Jane saw virtue in her Lowood School friend Helen Burns who, when questioned by Jane about vengeance, answered with, "I so sincerely forgive the first [criminal] while I abhor the last [crime]: with this creed [from the Creator] revenge never worries my heart, degradation never too deeply disgusts me, injustice never crushes me too low; I live in calm, looking to the end. Why should we ever sink overwhelmed with distress when life is so soon over and death is so certain an entrance to happiness -- to glory? God is my father; God is my friend; I love him; I believe he loves me." Indeed, Helen's life was over too soon. Her gravestone was marked with her precious name and the word, <em>Resurgam</em> -- I shall rise again. Her influence lived on in Jane, though, and made the world a little better.<br />
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She also saw virtue in her teacher and friend Miss Temple, who, as well as teaching Jane the liberal <br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNA_lm0Ya5fSJlXRD-dvaSWkvAsxaZ8UEmm3G6IzNsB1p-BwvEktWlBtsJdqDRMiLR2CD_QZv3ENivltMTEw8Ct43fjJrLaPctmNUGtg_uscR0NkPTFA8mVuxjOLdJWWZFFDPwhPv6WSQ/s1600/jane+eyre5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNA_lm0Ya5fSJlXRD-dvaSWkvAsxaZ8UEmm3G6IzNsB1p-BwvEktWlBtsJdqDRMiLR2CD_QZv3ENivltMTEw8Ct43fjJrLaPctmNUGtg_uscR0NkPTFA8mVuxjOLdJWWZFFDPwhPv6WSQ/s200/jane+eyre5.jpg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As Miss Temple and Diana Rivers.</td></tr>
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arts of language, literature, French, drawing, and mathematics, took every opportunity to smile, to give, to embrace, to listen, and to show a tear. Jane said, "I had imbibed from her something of her nature and much of her habits: more harmonious thoughts. What seemed better regulated feelings had become the inmates of my mind." Jane carried this virtue, both from God and practiced in life, with her to Thornfield Hall and Mr. Rochester.<br />
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Her virtue attracted Mr. Rochester: "The more you and I converse, the better; for while I cannot blight you, you may refresh me." He delighted in Jane's true, easy, and excellent conversation free of coquetry and shallowness. Their interactions leading to true love are delightful to read. And often funny.<br />
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"Tell me now, fairy as you are, can't you give me a charm or a philter or something of that sort to make me a handsome man?"<br />
" 'It would be past the power of magic, Sir'; and in thought I added, 'a loving eye is all the charm needed; to such you are handsome enough; or rather, your sternness has a power beyond beauty'."<br />
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When the existence of a secret, lunatic wife was exposed and their wedding called off, a desperate Mr. Rochester begs Jane to move with him to France and live together, for no one would know or care. To which Jane replied, "I care! I will keep the laws given by God; sanctioned by man. Laws and principles are not for the times when there is no temptation; they are for such moments as this, when body and soul rise in mutiny against their rigour, stringent are they, inviolate they shall be. They have a worth; there I plant my foot. I will not be yours." Her answer to her love's anguish was to "Do as I do; trust in God and yourself. Believe in heave. Hope to meet again there. I advise you to live sinless and to die tranquil."<br />
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<strong>Resurgam. </strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong>Virtue.</strong><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8ZcYW1O26qq2p2_qthlkLyUTqwqS1bCMczdvFIWwSH7hZHlS8pZViIl5VEJblhjHFP7RrIhk1Yd3FmutvYS3oePjeJ9NGAIKni8AYskhCvfH_ub-6K9rf63Hy_L-v8d7qIwZGdagRxGI/s1600/jane+eyre4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8ZcYW1O26qq2p2_qthlkLyUTqwqS1bCMczdvFIWwSH7hZHlS8pZViIl5VEJblhjHFP7RrIhk1Yd3FmutvYS3oePjeJ9NGAIKni8AYskhCvfH_ub-6K9rf63Hy_L-v8d7qIwZGdagRxGI/s400/jane+eyre4.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our cast. Our friends.<br />
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Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15243600795107249756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1032695113424314456.post-41435231758358889852015-10-03T13:37:00.000-07:002015-10-03T20:05:41.630-07:00I Lived<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/z0rxydSolwU/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/z0rxydSolwU?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<br />
Several people have forwarded this video to me over the past few months but I never watched it, afraid of sadness or sappiness. But I'm working on an article for the Frontiersman about <a href="http://www.usccb.org/about/pro-life-activities/respect-life-program/2015/2015-respect-life-month-statement.cfm">Respecting Life</a> and thought there might be something I could use so I watched it. <br />
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It's perfect.<br />
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And it's true for everybody ~ "When the sun goes down through the joy and pain, until my moment comes I'll say, I lived."<br />
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Yes we will. Life is still good.<br />
Love, Allison<br />
<br />Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15243600795107249756noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1032695113424314456.post-37704888053092022262015-09-18T12:27:00.002-07:002015-09-18T12:31:32.608-07:00Bears, Boys, and Fathers<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsnYHQILvbh-Xt28SgoWqXemLvaKEmiltua1SR80lxI1Ym42gaIL86H9trTDNzNx9iCl9JOc_dwUnAKNx489vnVcnb4_rzvUYtzN6po_jnUtqBFZ0T19MDELoGo_KV369sp_FYSEFJKd4/s1600/IMG_0533.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsnYHQILvbh-Xt28SgoWqXemLvaKEmiltua1SR80lxI1Ym42gaIL86H9trTDNzNx9iCl9JOc_dwUnAKNx489vnVcnb4_rzvUYtzN6po_jnUtqBFZ0T19MDELoGo_KV369sp_FYSEFJKd4/s320/IMG_0533.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
Yesterday Ken shot a bear alongside our 8 year old son. Luke helped to field dress the thing; without, he reported gravely, throwing up or even feeling weird in his stomach. I did not think he was strong enough to partake in this formidable day, climbing up a mountain, trudging through tundra, scrambling over shale fields, and hiding from bears and wolves, only to turn around and return along the same path. But Ken thought he could do it, having just taken the boy on a three-day backcountry hike deep in Denali National Park. He does this every year around Labor Day, taking a different child each year. The kid is usually nine years old, but Luke won't be nine until November. To top off that error in judgment (according to the other children), he is very thin and doesn't like to eat much more than packaged breakfast food like pop tarts or frozen waffles. Almost every night, he opts to make his own PB&J rather than eat the real meal. But off they went. And home they came. With a butchered bear in the trunk. Ken was right.<br />
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Comfortably cuddled on the couch with me in the late afternoon, mug of hot chocolate in hand, he relayed all the day's adventures and I realized once again that this boy-child of mine is growing into a man. Aside from the obvious lessons on survival hiking, reading nature, animal tracking, bear behavior, and field dressing that Alaska is so generous to share, he learned deep in his <i>knower </i>that although it was very hard, <b>he lived. </b>He will stand a little taller, just like his brothers before him and within him is forged a stronger hinge between body and mind, welded by arduous, thrilling experiences and a strong, loving father who both prods and walks with his children. Luke will be fine.<br />
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<i>The following pictures are from the Denali trip 2 weeks ago:</i></div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3FRVFXuJPrdMxvSY7YmRNmGuyYICKK9XBdK2Wn_aLzJyg9jLU7M3wvj2GBlhH0dkt3za5ec3mF5__35x6T9LPy6vGYwEGF2HTLRuqu_XBnb8_q1dfD9KNLjfJFrSeVncqijuXQQSKnz4/s1600/IMG_0493.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3FRVFXuJPrdMxvSY7YmRNmGuyYICKK9XBdK2Wn_aLzJyg9jLU7M3wvj2GBlhH0dkt3za5ec3mF5__35x6T9LPy6vGYwEGF2HTLRuqu_XBnb8_q1dfD9KNLjfJFrSeVncqijuXQQSKnz4/s320/IMG_0493.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Checking in at the ranger station before heading out.</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg191xM5NA8QoRF3BkzDiHBwDc0LGHVJco8oNuJdfsfdfJKHVU_-0-lUhZ_AMqodxhEueyv1y5d7SL-V8dj41QSAY8dvE0_3TuztwDsMB6jxul4XRpCojop5mpiNak3COV2OlhfNacwhqE/s1600/IMG_0494.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg191xM5NA8QoRF3BkzDiHBwDc0LGHVJco8oNuJdfsfdfJKHVU_-0-lUhZ_AMqodxhEueyv1y5d7SL-V8dj41QSAY8dvE0_3TuztwDsMB6jxul4XRpCojop5mpiNak3COV2OlhfNacwhqE/s320/IMG_0494.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Somewhere in the tundra heading toward Cathedral Mountain.</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvy0hHQuZo2QBIqEPqLr3YXG5Oi_u1aoxscH94bdJaL_3io1awBC8lY8qVjKZozccdILkSQpDmVurbtvJCGOKriDZdEfYUSpj__wqTdS64E27GZBI7mMZ-1K4yI_5Pm8KCLBxEtVUtFSs/s1600/IMG_0517.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvy0hHQuZo2QBIqEPqLr3YXG5Oi_u1aoxscH94bdJaL_3io1awBC8lY8qVjKZozccdILkSQpDmVurbtvJCGOKriDZdEfYUSpj__wqTdS64E27GZBI7mMZ-1K4yI_5Pm8KCLBxEtVUtFSs/s320/IMG_0517.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">Cool fossil by the Teklanika River.</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc2E5JRO2885IFNjinK6JMCfiWjDmzw0vSz1ykWwU3aMl9YJ0VtmPUszx9NnGnJT-pnJoZ5RYVybA6x2D00Py4E3BGFSBd9f_MC7OhGlL0K5JlehERFcQTDViUgkWQXNGs7S-nT7x20kQ/s1600/IMG_0525.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc2E5JRO2885IFNjinK6JMCfiWjDmzw0vSz1ykWwU3aMl9YJ0VtmPUszx9NnGnJT-pnJoZ5RYVybA6x2D00Py4E3BGFSBd9f_MC7OhGlL0K5JlehERFcQTDViUgkWQXNGs7S-nT7x20kQ/s320/IMG_0525.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">After 3 days, he completed an activity book and received a Junior Ranger pin.<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Here's to more adventures and meat. And more years of kids hunting so that I won't have to field dress anything for a long, long time!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Love, Allison</span></div>
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Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15243600795107249756noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1032695113424314456.post-80882913995066459462015-08-26T12:02:00.003-07:002015-08-26T12:08:27.103-07:00Good Shelter Work <br />
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<i>(This was printed by our Frontiersman yesterday. I'm particularly fond of this one.)</i></div>
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I acted the devil’s advocate. “So here we are, driving to
the animal shelter to volunteer when people are hungry. Shouldn’t we be helping
at the Food Bank?” I grinned so she knew I was playing a bit. She pursed her
sassy, thirteen-year-old lips and dodged. “Well, you can go there with one of
the boys (She has five brothers.); I want to walk the dogs and help people find
their perfect pets.” Fair enough. We marched in and donned our aprons and name
tags.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMjCbYNXPvjKxI7Z53_rvoZmKEzlPzpygSlA9z2YTwBpreywR74sTiL-tkZT_CdBv6piCYBq7vSdK8ZqWrc-NnrEpGH-Q7o2XERGiQif16rHaetSbIi_m5CT-C88ZQZJm_qi-sWM3q6V8/s1600/sh.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMjCbYNXPvjKxI7Z53_rvoZmKEzlPzpygSlA9z2YTwBpreywR74sTiL-tkZT_CdBv6piCYBq7vSdK8ZqWrc-NnrEpGH-Q7o2XERGiQif16rHaetSbIi_m5CT-C88ZQZJm_qi-sWM3q6V8/s1600/sh.jpg" /></a>My daughter and I volunteered for the first time a few weeks
ago at the Mat Su Animal Shelter. I am not allowed to call it the pound. We exercised and goofed off with three dogs, tested
to see if they knew any commands, cleaned up after them, wrote down our
observations in the special notebook, and stacked some dishes. Then, joy of
joys, we assisted a couple with the adoption of one of the dogs we’d taken out
that very morning. My girl was able to explain just what she’d done, how the
dog responded, and because she reads so much about dogs, to describe what she
knew of the breeds that made up the adorable mutt. The world seemed a little
sweeter on the drive home and our conversation was as cheerful as any I have ever
known. I was sorry I had dragged my feet in scheduling time there. It was a
good day.</div>
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And I am not a dog person. I deal with the three dogs we
have at home because my husband and this daughter of ours love them. But I have
learned to see the goodness that pets bring to lives; both in terms of
practical responsibilities that parents relish in child raising, and in terms
of existential connections that humans cherish in creation. I cannot yell at our dogs because one of them
gets nervous and tinkles on the floor. See? Good for home life, too. I was
surprised at the peaceful delight in my soul after our hours there. I felt
close to my daughter, my community, and my Lord. Of course, it helped that the
the staff (and dogs!) were friendly and appreciative and that we were able to
actually aid an adoption our first day. It affected me deeply.<br />
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Stimulated by our excellent conversation and experience at
the shelter, I pored through our catechism for support and theology. The
Catechism of the Catholic Church is “offered to every individual who asks us to
give an account of the hope that is in us and ... to know what the Catholic
Church believes” (from the introduction). I found several paragraphs to share
with my daughter.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK7w0s6Ua4X2g1PSM0yjfGlM-F0k5JUI1yMqbyB6qo1dZ3y0g4IMSwglCPZ8qYCQoAkkUfsabgEnXyOrIt04uuX447y6WhenrJcSNovxiapWyUrf9qywbwdu_yEdy07SZ8T4YdBC2kBQc/s1600/she.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK7w0s6Ua4X2g1PSM0yjfGlM-F0k5JUI1yMqbyB6qo1dZ3y0g4IMSwglCPZ8qYCQoAkkUfsabgEnXyOrIt04uuX447y6WhenrJcSNovxiapWyUrf9qywbwdu_yEdy07SZ8T4YdBC2kBQc/s200/she.jpg" width="159" /></a>“Animals, like plants and inanimate beings, are by nature
destined for the common good of past, present, and future humanity. Man’s dominion
over living beings granted by the Creator is not absolute; it is limited by
concern for the quality of life of his neighbor, including generations to come;
it requires a religious respect for the integrity of creation.</div>
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Animals are God’s creatures. He surrounds them with his
providential care. By their mere existence they bless him and give him glory.
Thus men owe them kindness. We should recall the gentleness with which saints
like Saint Francis of Assissi or Saint Philip Neri treated animals (# 2415-16).”</div>
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(My daughter hustled off to look up Philip Neri, whom she
had never heard of.)<br />
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“Human work proceeds directly from persons created in the
image of God and called to prolong the work of creation by subduing the earth,
both with and for one another... Work honors the Creator’s gifts and the
talents received from him... (#2427).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrGqzZpKMTKFZTtONp7-jjL0iPd2SOa48tCovUOYkol9LVN-o_TrH9p0ibt_NcFvrBd_vyS7i8tgu2J4mhzgLO-CTJcgYhBlSGjmno8DUizKpkHyOeU_bvdio0fR2-yosttXEeCHQNYkk/s1600/IMG_0323.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrGqzZpKMTKFZTtONp7-jjL0iPd2SOa48tCovUOYkol9LVN-o_TrH9p0ibt_NcFvrBd_vyS7i8tgu2J4mhzgLO-CTJcgYhBlSGjmno8DUizKpkHyOeU_bvdio0fR2-yosttXEeCHQNYkk/s200/IMG_0323.JPG" width="150" /></a></div>
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My daughter’s work with these animals and the people who
happily bring them home is good. She is
helping to raise the quality of life for her neighbors and respecting the
integrity of creation by actively aiding these dogs kindly and gently and
connecting people with prospective pets. She is using her gifts and talents in
all her human dignity. God is pleased
with her work and I am honored to toil beside her in our town. It doesn’t have
to be either/or; it can be both/and. We volunteer away some of our food and we
volunteer away some of our time at the shelter. People are blessed. The world
is a little better. God is glorified and creation is respected.</div>
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When Jesus was asked what the greatest commandment was in
Matthew 22:36-40, He answered, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart,
with all your soul, and with all your mind.” And then, “Love your neighbor as
yourself.” We do love God and His love moves us to action. By volunteering at
the animal shelter, we are putting love of neighbor back into our community. I
am actually looking forward to our next morning there.</div>
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Love, Allison</div>
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Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15243600795107249756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1032695113424314456.post-9608249574231148502015-08-18T15:43:00.001-07:002015-08-18T15:47:47.412-07:00 Lessons from the Mud RunWe did the <a href="http://www.acmhs.com/support-us/2015-race-for-recovery">ACMHS Mud Run</a> a few weeks ago according to our new family status ~ without Rees and John (Still having a hard time with that.). Ken ran the kids' 2K with Ian, Luke, and Joseph, then the adult 5K with Clare.<br />
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I just walked around with Addie and plied her with hot dogs and water cups, which were probably for the runners but she's cute so the grilling guys gave her whatever she asked for.<br />
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I witnessed an incident that had a profound effect on me. I've written before that homeless people scare me: I'm wary of their looks, their smell, their stories, their choices, their mental health. I'm certain one will grab me or ask me for something or breathe on me. I avert my eyes and hope they will just get a job, take a shower, or buy an apple for goodness' sake. Well, I got Addie a drink, popped her up on some sort of cement table, and noticed two homeless men lounging at the other end with hot dogs. Indignation welled up. <i>They are not part of this</i>; <i>they just drifted over because they smelled the grill</i>. I busied myself getting out her enzymes when one of them spoke to me (<i>Oh no</i>). "Pretty soon, you won't be able to lift her so easily," he grinned, proudly exposing his blackened teeth. I tried very hard to focus on his eyes through the grime and didn't notice any leering creepiness, so I took a breath and answered, "Yeah, I hate to think of that." He bobbed his head and poked his friend in the arm while the two of them cackled cheerfully. I moved the two of us away, pretending that I wanted my own cup of water.<br />
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Then, one of ACMHS staff, a lady I recognized from the company picnic but couldn't remember her name, approached the men and I heard her say, "You guys enjoying the day? How're you doing? We're raising money for supplies for our community mental health." They chatted some more (which I couldn't completely hear because remember, I'd moved away) and she meandered off to mingle with others. She did not shoo the men away or confiscate their hot dogs. The exchange was pleasant. I sniffed.<br />
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Then of course it hit me that I was being a jerk. Again. There was no need for rudeness. Look what I have. Mercy. Kindness. Food. Drink. Family. Love. Humanity. They deserve it, too.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-nkEPEhqQHenfZz5-SfVu-DVtc5EilGACPr_uTN8efsKXo926rBeqyJmSY6bnJgQcWpGUeAw-u7M5Kf-f-GrGhGkDA9U0Qt8qoHVbhbVvkMZZz8y2aIa4PQWAITX1YZ9K2TxdqAqUl4w/s1600/IMG_0403.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-nkEPEhqQHenfZz5-SfVu-DVtc5EilGACPr_uTN8efsKXo926rBeqyJmSY6bnJgQcWpGUeAw-u7M5Kf-f-GrGhGkDA9U0Qt8qoHVbhbVvkMZZz8y2aIa4PQWAITX1YZ9K2TxdqAqUl4w/s200/IMG_0403.JPG" width="200" /></span></a>I wish I could have gone back and asked that man if he had children, if he was enjoying the nice weather and tasty lunch. I wish I was as cool and friendly as Ken's coworker. Next time.<br />
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Love, AllisonAllisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15243600795107249756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1032695113424314456.post-90486593163963488832015-07-23T11:18:00.001-07:002015-08-01T11:50:02.002-07:00Another Death SentenceAlong with<b> I don't care if it's a boy or girl as long as it's healthy</b>, I've come across another sentence that raises my eyebrows and deflates my heart. Here's how I discovered it.<br />
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There's a writer that I like. I mean, like so much that I look for her articles and gobbled up her memoir in a single weekend. I was stuck in a medical clinic waiting room a few weeks ago with a son who had a spider bite gone very wrong (He's fine now, after antibiotics, anti-inflammatories, and anti-something I can't remember now.) and flipping through a ladies' magazine. My writer's name caught my eye and I was pleased to settle in with her article about the international adoption of one of her daughters.<br />
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About how she and her husband fell in love with the toddler's video: her sweet face, shy smile, little twirls, and halting English, "Will you be my parents?" About how the paperwork process moved quickly. About how her husband got Serious and said: <b>She can't have any health problems</b>. About how my writer scurried to the computer to fire off a breathless question to the orphanage. About how the answer of perfection brought on a sigh of happiness. They would rescue this darling because she had no health problems.<br />
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My heart started to pound and I felt dizzy and clenched my teeth but I completed the article. What if the orphanage director had told them this beautiful child that they "loved" had cystic fibrosis? She'd still be there, of course. They wouldn't bring her home and give her enzymes or hook up her nebulizer with a Little Bear DVD. They wouldn't buy her potato chips and peanut butter cups to help her gain weight and laugh about how great it was to have such a good excuse for keeping chips and candy in the house. They wouldn't hang out with her in the hospital for IV times, doing puzzles, watching movies, or good-naturedly harrassing nurses. Do orphaned kids with CF in former Eastern Bloc nations even have pulmonary care?<br />
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I know, I know, if we could order a child up like a burger on a menu (or pick through embryos like picking through trail mix for the candy), we would choose perfection (Which is a joke; we are all perfect in some things and flawed somewhere else). But she actually wrote it down and had it printed with her own name: <i>She can't</i> <i>have any health problems</i>, and the unwritten but necessary conclusion:<i> Or we'll leave her there and pick someone else even though we said we loved her</i>.<br />
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I've been fussed at over the internet for being too cheerful about cystic fibrosis. And it's true. I want to combat this culture of<i> perfect humanity or nothing at all.</i> But yes of course it's hard. Yes of course I cry. Yes of course I don't want to consider the death of my children. But neither did my friend who lost her healthy son at 17 from a car accident. Neither did the mother of a healthy toddler who drowned down the road from me. Neither does any mother. It's not just CF, it's life, even when you adopt a healthy orphan. I hate to think of children with CF languishing in orphanages. I'm sick to think of babies killed in utero over those genes. It's like saying my kids aren't worth life and loving. I wish my writer had brought home whatever child reached out to them when they decided to adopt. <br />
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I want to fire off a letter to "instruct the ignorant" writer but it won't do any good at this point; after all, the child is now a mother herself. I will teach my own children, though, and try my hardest to live at peace with all (Romans 12:18).<br />
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Clearly, I haven't yet formulated an excellent answer. I haven't yet made peace with my messy feelings. There is still an air of melancholy hanging over my head.<br />
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<br />
But (!), now I am heading outside to set up the sprinkler and a picnic in the sun to play with my kids (with and without CF). My adult son (who happens to have CF) will probably bring me my favorite Kickstart drink when he gets home from work because he's nice. They were not left in an orphanage. And the world is a better place.<br />
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I hope my writer can learn this someday.<br />
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<br />Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15243600795107249756noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1032695113424314456.post-74399229816545377292015-07-06T05:59:00.000-07:002015-08-16T07:09:49.489-07:00Forty-sixKen took Thursday, July 2nd off from work and we packed up the truck to head out to a favorite, secret place over Hatcher Pass to camp. It was my 46th birthday.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv9UCHof3pP4mseD87h-nrCTQzAb8Ni3-ng1FYFwT55JWfZYLiIlXLtOKeL2MHw6p89oaft8OM2ywTjsrXjL79sb37AbNi3h1_DpzSisfy2NlKUR3eOx8arymkHRSbMMkApDAZrkUW5vo/s1600/IMG_0339.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv9UCHof3pP4mseD87h-nrCTQzAb8Ni3-ng1FYFwT55JWfZYLiIlXLtOKeL2MHw6p89oaft8OM2ywTjsrXjL79sb37AbNi3h1_DpzSisfy2NlKUR3eOx8arymkHRSbMMkApDAZrkUW5vo/s400/IMG_0339.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He made the tents from Tyvek, with hiking poles as the center. Great for backpacking. No floor makes it easier with dirty boots. And yes, the first day, the mist was that low. We basically camped in the clouds. But Friday morning dawned bright.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihxNO8_Ao5xG6HPpiqo1cchwM_6Y74-R5aWzE4rV6WGpLL2t73w6tkp1Vs1XuqH2-iXyOuvZyYXbzNnqvkr_qAE5uHFhmjnGhI57LjLBI0mA0RDQ0qE9vDVaLyBZ6yaljCtSZlP6qXZWE/s1600/IMG_0341.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihxNO8_Ao5xG6HPpiqo1cchwM_6Y74-R5aWzE4rV6WGpLL2t73w6tkp1Vs1XuqH2-iXyOuvZyYXbzNnqvkr_qAE5uHFhmjnGhI57LjLBI0mA0RDQ0qE9vDVaLyBZ6yaljCtSZlP6qXZWE/s400/IMG_0341.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ian and Luke, looking out over the trail.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcsflU0hM-wjD8qFS-AOvyv3umlJrQ_6CcF28HltGGV41gXqe2b3Sho0UJ-4m_W65wBaYemvoBANRE-fvU5UiYmFeRUYyfKalQt1DiihZhMFXliR1NLRxTHufstoYs197cdPESFfQlGKE/s1600/IMG_0342.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcsflU0hM-wjD8qFS-AOvyv3umlJrQ_6CcF28HltGGV41gXqe2b3Sho0UJ-4m_W65wBaYemvoBANRE-fvU5UiYmFeRUYyfKalQt1DiihZhMFXliR1NLRxTHufstoYs197cdPESFfQlGKE/s400/IMG_0342.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mama needed a rest.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUF5V6eBF85IJWKCa_mkMLzO3JIDO6oUEBsdLE8vRrgiRgCevTEv-rjWwiYqWI-FOWHbxUp3oa5Qzrols5o_VnU3GIv_zqKec2FGmlbqtWR0-YkLtoZZt0o3OPqGbGtDt5TsVKBs-Fa7E/s1600/IMG_0344.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUF5V6eBF85IJWKCa_mkMLzO3JIDO6oUEBsdLE8vRrgiRgCevTEv-rjWwiYqWI-FOWHbxUp3oa5Qzrols5o_VnU3GIv_zqKec2FGmlbqtWR0-YkLtoZZt0o3OPqGbGtDt5TsVKBs-Fa7E/s400/IMG_0344.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> Clare found that cobalt glass bottle at the entrance of an abandoned mine shaft and carried it all the way. It's currently soaking in bleach water.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh47y0JogZx4Ww-QMQ9hyphenhyphenNQiZ00xECCbMe17Be_HwVAxgzAkhjZL9EdOji0jDo6q-Cq_F7YgeyjT2mcA5XOnOxnaiGeA9-srqxdsF3JJ2hAXawOeLjgCwJr2QO6aLAtrwFNRO5f9b3C5s/s1600/IMG_0349.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh47y0JogZx4Ww-QMQ9hyphenhyphenNQiZ00xECCbMe17Be_HwVAxgzAkhjZL9EdOji0jDo6q-Cq_F7YgeyjT2mcA5XOnOxnaiGeA9-srqxdsF3JJ2hAXawOeLjgCwJr2QO6aLAtrwFNRO5f9b3C5s/s400/IMG_0349.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of several mine shafts. Ian was angry that we wouldn't allow him to explore inside, even though he had a flashlight, good boots, and wasn't afraid.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We have snow at least 6 months out of the year and a perfect day of July sunshine, but when we discovered a snow field, they screamed, "SNOW!" . . .</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1PpXpOmXz6WWAnTa1C0MdXMdZfP_yTj9n0Ntm0bgHMJRTeMu-zRLaT-1lB-Nj3nFNo6BgN2grPxFDIBq66zqa_crSnzfOyhkPzBScZtlWhgazrcl1mP20iYGtTkpewYUHmezK7LCkk68/s1600/IMG_0351.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1PpXpOmXz6WWAnTa1C0MdXMdZfP_yTj9n0Ntm0bgHMJRTeMu-zRLaT-1lB-Nj3nFNo6BgN2grPxFDIBq66zqa_crSnzfOyhkPzBScZtlWhgazrcl1mP20iYGtTkpewYUHmezK7LCkk68/s400/IMG_0351.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">. . . and played like penguins.</td></tr>
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It was a marvelous trip and I wished we'd brought extra food to stay another night. Next time.<br />
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Love, Allison<br />
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P.S. ~ It seems that we've entered some family Twilight Zone, wherein, "the whole family is going" now means, "the whole family is going EXCEPT REES AND JOHN." I understand they're old and have jobs and friends but I missed them very much.<br />
<br />Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15243600795107249756noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1032695113424314456.post-49992808347876306892015-06-30T08:01:00.000-07:002015-06-30T08:01:30.172-07:00Laudato Si with My Children<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNpXx5mpGnzqD76ztZbLBYpVsE9e5tfghu31Hx1zM99ynEjOV-ZhCORJlEESAM4iMgFmfh9MUCLrYaI3FbMYbFS-O1Ybds9EsaFN7FxUyHjm1ApqaT_tiBo748e1ZoN0pifj8kz8Atk4Y/s1600/papa1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNpXx5mpGnzqD76ztZbLBYpVsE9e5tfghu31Hx1zM99ynEjOV-ZhCORJlEESAM4iMgFmfh9MUCLrYaI3FbMYbFS-O1Ybds9EsaFN7FxUyHjm1ApqaT_tiBo748e1ZoN0pifj8kz8Atk4Y/s1600/papa1.jpg" /></a><span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">(<i>This was printed by our Frontiersman paper today also</i>.) </span></div>
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<span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> I have read
portions of Pope Francis’ encyclical, <i>Laudato Si, mi Signore</i> (Praise be to you,
my Lord; known simply as <i>Laudato Si)</i> to the younger children and have sent the <a href="http://w2.vatican.va/content/francesco/en/encyclicals/documents/papa-francesco_20150524_enciclica-laudato-si.html">Vatican link</a> to our older boys, telling them to read it themselves, both to
learn and to be ready to converse about its contents.<i> Encyclical</i>, from the
Greek word for circle, is a letter from the pope to be sent around to the
bishops to encourage and educate the faithful. This day, anyone is able to access
it immediately and send the links around without waiting for our bishops to
translate and teach. I love that the web address includes the words, “Papa
Francesco.” My Papa Francis.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">Currently, we
are halfway through. It begins.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">“LAUDATO SI’, mi’ Signore” –
“Praise be to you, my Lord”.</span></i><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">In the
words of this beautiful canticle, Saint Francis of Assisi reminds us that our
common home is like a sister with whom we share our life and a beautiful mother
who opens her arms to embrace us. “Praise be to you, my Lord, through our
Sister, Mother Earth, who sustains and governs us, and who produces various
fruit with coloured flowers and herbs”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">“This sister now cries out to us
because of the harm we have inflicted on her by our irresponsible use and abuse
of the goods with which God has endowed her...The violence present in our
hearts, wounded by sin, is also reflected in the symptoms of sickness evident
in the soil, in the water, in the air and in all forms of life...We have
forgotten that we ourselves are dust of the earth (cf.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Gen<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></i>2:7); our very bodies are made up
of her elements, we breathe her air and we receive life and refreshment from
her waters.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghR6k-cK_UH32UWX-dSwpycJXiy8PVGtP9-hgfXgFQJ6uHz4SC2Wnzeq7rvCRXxyzZLcUu_0x_3wgORlDlAgugmtSFkFid8Ga6nkI-zvg2m0MdhDwIFbYeiX3vehATCVG2XljGklB8Ls8/s1600/papa4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghR6k-cK_UH32UWX-dSwpycJXiy8PVGtP9-hgfXgFQJ6uHz4SC2Wnzeq7rvCRXxyzZLcUu_0x_3wgORlDlAgugmtSFkFid8Ga6nkI-zvg2m0MdhDwIFbYeiX3vehATCVG2XljGklB8Ls8/s1600/papa4.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">This reminded the kids of the
Noah story from their picture Bibles and the older Howells of the intense
visual destruction of both earth and humanity from last year’s Noah movie as
well. We wondered how the Creator could watch.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">We continued.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">“Nowadays, for
example, we are conscious of the disproportionate and unruly growth of many
cities, which have become unhealthy to live in, not only because of pollution
caused by toxic emissions but also as a result of urban chaos, poor
transportation, and visual pollution and noise... Neighbourhoods, even those
recently built, are congested, chaotic and lacking in sufficient green space.
We were not meant to be inundated by cement, asphalt, glass and metal, and
deprived of physical contact with nature.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">One of the
children remarked, “Sounds just like Wall-E,” Pixar’s 2008 animated film where
humans had completely lost touch with nature -- both their own human nature and
anything green. I love that Pope Francis uses, “nature” (such an alive-sounding
word) alongside, “environment” (a necessary scientific word).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt;">And then a
wincing grimace as I scrolled along.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">“</span><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Furthermore,
when media and the digital world become omnipresent, their influence can stop
people from learning how to live wisely, to think deeply and to love
generously...True wisdom, as the fruit of self-examination, dialogue and
generous encounter between persons, is not acquired by a mere accumulation of
data which eventually leads to overload and confusion, a sort of mental
pollution. Real relationships with others, with all the challenges they entail,
now tend to be replaced by a type of internet communication which enables us to
choose or eliminate relationships at whim, thus giving rise to a new type of
contrived emotion which has more to do with devices and displays than with
other people and with nature. Today’s media do enable us to communicate and to
share our knowledge and affections. Yet at times they also shield us from
direct contact with the pain, the fears and the joys of others and the
complexity of their personal experiences.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">May I live wisely, think
deeply, and love generously. May I actively reach for real relationships and challenges. May I use today’s media to share
and communicate but never to shield myself from direct contact with others. May
I teach this well to my children.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">He sheds light on the
reason for the destruction of our souls and our planet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;"> “The external deserts in the world are
growing, because the internal deserts have become so vast.</span><span style="background: white; font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">.. It must be said that some
committed and prayerful Christians, with the excuse of realism and pragmatism,
tend to ridicule expressions of concern for the environment. Others are
passive; they choose not to change their habits and thus become inconsistent.
So what they all need is an “ecological conversion”, whereby the effects of
their encounter with Jesus Christ become evident in their relationship with the
world around them. Living our vocation to be protectors of God’s handiwork is
essential to a life of virtue; it is not an optional or a secondary aspect of
our Christian experience.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">I reminded the kids of our
final blessing after Mass, which is an encounter with Jesus. “Go in peace,
glorifying the Lord by your life.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">The Catholic faith is a
sacramental one; that is, God’s supernatural graces are given by natural
materials. Just as Jesus used the stuff of the earth (oil, water, dirt, bread,
wine) for miracles, so do our sacraments, says Papa Francis.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGQJMatdiWYRm4eH0sBCDFPsdiLEA7LM7Z7140PD5UPJkPMenJqwlS4wP4nKa2oZHEANYTLAJQuHWODNLBJCdWoiONCFxOeySyfMqYEhlakuTBZPUuyOGJexo2N63dxM_qIdEhy56NmG4/s1600/papa2.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGQJMatdiWYRm4eH0sBCDFPsdiLEA7LM7Z7140PD5UPJkPMenJqwlS4wP4nKa2oZHEANYTLAJQuHWODNLBJCdWoiONCFxOeySyfMqYEhlakuTBZPUuyOGJexo2N63dxM_qIdEhy56NmG4/s200/papa2.png" width="160" /></a><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">“The Sacraments are a
privileged way in which nature is taken up by God to become a means of
mediating supernatural life. Through our worship of God, we are invited to
embrace the world on a different plane. Water, oil, fire and colours are taken
up in all their symbolic power and incorporated in our act of praise. The hand
that blesses is an instrument of God’s love and a reflection of the closeness
of Jesus Christ, who came to accompany us on the journey of life. Water poured
over the body of a child in Baptism is a sign of new life. Encountering God
does not mean fleeing from this world or turning our back on nature.<span class="apple-converted-space">”<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">It was a good reminder for all of us, that church is not
simply where we go to sing songs and hear preaching.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">He gives easy, practical advice.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">“I ask all believers to
return to this beautiful and meaningful custom [thanking God before and after
meals]. That moment of blessing, however brief, reminds us of our dependence on
God for life; it strengthens our feeling of gratitude for the gifts of
creation; it acknowledges those who by their labours provide us with these
goods; and it reaffirms our solidarity with those in greatest need.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">“Saint Therese of Lisieux
invites us to practise the little way of love, not to miss out on a kind word,
a smile or any small gesture which sows peace and friendship. An integral
ecology is also made up of simple daily gestures which break with the logic of
violence, exploitation and selfishness. In the end, a world of exacerbated
consumption is at the same time a world which mistreats life in all its forms.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">I can start this
immediately. So can my children. So can anyone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz23AhluM9xPfU0Aq7c6Q8wOONaG7Ws8ePgkJSroP747j8IfnwNrk6kfjGKr1MxrMYgxOA8AavaJqNvldjRVPk0vt11A60fiJiGYN-JGOnLV1kPVYDX_8Sp6uFZ9jXT9c9P1o9cWezd08/s1600/papa5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz23AhluM9xPfU0Aq7c6Q8wOONaG7Ws8ePgkJSroP747j8IfnwNrk6kfjGKr1MxrMYgxOA8AavaJqNvldjRVPk0vt11A60fiJiGYN-JGOnLV1kPVYDX_8Sp6uFZ9jXT9c9P1o9cWezd08/s200/papa5.jpg" width="131" /></a><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">I’ve been in the mind of a
theologian, a scientist, a pastor, an environmentalist, and a lover of Jesus
and people. I can’t wait to learn and love more. Praise be to you, my Lord!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; font-family: Tahoma, sans-serif; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Love, Allison</span></div>
Allisonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15243600795107249756noreply@blogger.com0