tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11469140185198468172024-03-05T00:58:20.917-05:00Our Serving Of InsanityA Full Serving of Our Lifecarlasue476http://www.blogger.com/profile/06854528065420886542noreply@blogger.comBlogger363125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1146914018519846817.post-14545482429424108832014-09-19T10:22:00.000-04:002014-09-19T10:22:00.028-04:00Movie Review (Plus My Own Musings) - Big As Life: Obesity in AmericaI will preface by saying that I am a "fat" individual. I have mixed emotions about weight and beauty, as society examines them, and that can all be saved for another conversation on a different day. To be honest, I was sitting on the couch, drinking a soda when I began type this, so I am aware of the fact that I should change some of my behaviors. I think that my own battle with my body is why I was drawn to watch this, to be honest.<br />
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[Note: I began to write this a few months ago. Shortly thereafter, I decided that I was ready for change. My journey towards health began on June 25th and I have stopped drinking soda, cut out a lot of processed foods, and overall pay attention to diet. I try to eat mostly fruits, vegetables and proteins and drink 1/2 my body weight in water. I have also begun to workout nearly daily, sometimes twice per day. As of Sept 1, I have lost 20 lbs and feel more energy and confidence in life.]<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This photo was obtained from Google.</td></tr>
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This documentary, which I watched on Netflix, was an overall interesting and eye-opening film. I found myself growing more and more concerned as I watched, but not for the reasons that I assumed I would be. I know that, personally, I have an unhealthy relationship with food and that I am less active than I should be. The evidence is that I have probably doubled my weight since I was in high school.</div>
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However, I also struggle with the concept that I need to love myself, inside and out. That I should seek happiness and joy that comes from God, not from a source such as my appearance. However, self-acceptance is similar, yet distinct from giving up on taking care of my body. </div>
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There were components of this documentary that agreed with this, sharing some medical and psychological research, exploring the health risks of being obese, the changes in eating and physical activity habits from our ancestors, brain chemistry and genetics, the need for behavioral changes, and addiction to food. I found so much of this fascinating. Some of it was common knowledge, for me. However, other components were new and profound. </div>
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But, there were some viewpoints expressed which I felt were merely justifications by obese people. One such interview was of a women stating that when she lost weight, she had cheekbones and didn't recognize herself. Paraphrasing, she said that she then regained the weight and that she is happier being fat. She talked about how she still got sexual attention from men and that she loved herself and her personality. At first, I was sitting here, cheering her on: "Way to go! Love yourself! You're beautiful!" But then, the more I listened, I found myself getting frustrated because I felt as if she knew the health risks and the impact that her weight has on her life, but she essentially said that she didn't care. </div>
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Another woman interviewed was equally frustrating as she sat and stated that she disagreed with medical research and professionals, and that being fat was no less healthy than being thin. She said that overweight need to stand up and argue, advocating for being fat, because it was a myth that it was a health risk. </div>
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I did like how the video promoted programs, starting with young people, that teaches long-term lifestyle changes instead of dieting. I felt as if the show spoke about obesity and weight in a respectful and concerned manner, rather than a judgemental way that is pushing an agenda for thinness.<br />
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However, I do not feel comfortable with the idea that fat is acceptable or justifiable. I believe that people who are overweight should not be discriminated against or though of as less-than-equal due to their weight, but I do believe that it is an epidemic and while, for some, it is genuinely a genetic and biological problem (such as specific thyroid disorders), many more of us that are overweight are in this position because we made poor choices and need to be responsible for our actions. I firmly believe that I did this to myself (although I tend to blame my husband, jokingly, because he cooks so well).<br />
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People should care about their weight. Not in an unhealthy, body dysmorphic way...but in a desire to live way. When I was a teen, I was a cutter. After I stopped that, but began to smoke regularly, my mom called me on it and asked, "Is that just a different way to commit suicide? You're slowly killing yourself." I think with weight, its similar. I know, for me it is. When I eat McDonalds daily or when I drink soda after soda, I know it's slowly killing me. Is it wrong to occasionally eat something fried or sugary? I don't think so. However, many people that struggle with weight do not moderate foods well (me included). Once, I ate an entire bag of Funyuns during a movie. Often, I will consume a half package of Oreos or Chips Ahoy or Teddy Grahams. Sadly, with the Teddy Grahams, I would justify it to myself saying that they were whole wheat, so it wasn't as bad.<br />
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So, this brings me full circle to this idea of loving yourself. I never felt like I deserved to be healthy. I have never felt as if I loved myself enough to undertake the chore of changing my lifestyle. Sometimes, I still don't love myself as much as I should. And on those days, I seek love from God. I need His love to fill me and make me realize that I am worth the change. I continue to tell myself that He wants me to live healthy, so that I can glorify Him with my days (however numbered they may be). And, slowly, I begin to see myself differently, possibly through His eyes, and that is how I am learning to love me.<br />
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In conclusion, I enjoyed the documentary and think it is definitely worth the watch. It inspired me to do a lot of thinking and soul-searching about my own problem of obesity.</div>
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carlasue476http://www.blogger.com/profile/06854528065420886542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1146914018519846817.post-81574337795319895512014-09-16T10:04:00.002-04:002014-09-16T10:04:50.089-04:00A Back-To-School UpdateSo, it's been awhile since I blogged. The summer was crazy in a good way, and we are now adjusting to our back-to-school lives. I wanted to remember all the changes that have happened recently, so here we go.<br />
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Teo and Isa both found out a few weeks before school started that they have less than perfect vision, so glasses were added to their daily life. Isa, in typical girl fashion, had a million frames she wanted and struggled to narrow the options down to one.<br />
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Teo, on the other hand, did not have many choices (as his head is still smaller than most glasses frames fit) and he picked a horribly ugly pair with huge round plastic frames. I then made him choose between black or gray wire framed ones.<br />
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In the end, they both ended up looking amazing. Just in time to start school and be able to see what the teacher was doing on the whiteboard. <br />
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The first day of school was exciting, as always. Isa is now in 4th grade and Teo is in Kindergarten.</div>
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Isa was excited to return and see all of her friends from last year. Plus, they are learning to play the recorder in music class this year. We found out a couple of weeks ago that she scored well on her advance placement testing, and her language arts score was especially high compared to average, so the teacher will be challenging her more this year with reading and writing assignments. She loves reading and has a lexile level in the 800s, which she is very proud of. She loves learning new things, and comes home telling me about history, science, and so much more. The first few weeks, she had problems with another student who was picking on her, but we are so proud of her response and she just persevered, trying to be kind and talk to him and now, she reports, they are friends. </div>
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Teo was a little unsure about kindergarten, but quickly adjusted. His teacher has told us that he is quite a leader in class. The teacher uses a color ladder to track behavior. All kids start on green and either move down to yellow, blue, orange, or red if they misbehave or move up to lime green, pink, and purple (and the teacher added that she will only give purple once or twice a year) if they behave above expectations. The first week, we saw a couple of yellows as he learned procedures and rules of the classroom, but then we began seeing lime greens, then a couple pinks, and last week, he received the highest - purple! He is also performing above grade level for language arts and math, but last week, was given an IEP for speech therapy. He has struggled with making the correct sounds, specifically with certain letters (such as T, S, and K), so he will work with a specialist once a week to try to correct that. </div>
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So, that's our update! How's back-to-school going for you? :)</div>
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<br />carlasue476http://www.blogger.com/profile/06854528065420886542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1146914018519846817.post-29117798156695463192014-05-21T10:39:00.005-04:002014-05-21T10:39:52.092-04:00Baby FeverThere are days when I think, oh, maybe we should have a baby. A cute, snuggly, adorable, sweet newborn would "complete" our family.<br />
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Then, I see a frazzled mom at a store or hear an infant screaming and crying at a restaurant. I watch my friends with their babies or watch friends' babies. I think about the cost of formula and diapers. I walk through a house strewn with toys and clothes or clean up after my furry child. I sit down and have five minutes of calm while Isa and Teo are miraculously getting along or are entertained, then I spend the next hour refereeing fights and being asked ten thousand nonsensical questions. It's like God saying, "Wait a minute..."<br />
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That's when I realize that our life is perfect just the way it is right now for us at this moment. <br />
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My kids have finally learned to let me pee alone. They have mastered the art of brushing teeth, tying shoes, and showering alone. They sleep through the night and feed themselves (relatively) mess-free. They can buckle themselves into the car. They make some of their own meals (mostly PBJs, spaghetti-o's, pop tarts, and cereal). They can pour their own drinks and use a normal cup. They dress themselves and pick out their own clothes (although sometimes, their taste causes concern about whether they are blind or not). They can communicate when they are sick or tired or grumpy.<br />
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And, I know that I don't need anything else.<br />
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However, with all that being said, I think babies are amazing. I loved having both of ours. I cherish the moments I spent, holding them, feeding them, changing nasty diapers. I value the memories of waking up at 2 AM to lift a hysterical infant from the crib or rubbing the back of a sick toddler. I loved caring for them and those were special moments. However, for this part of our journey, I am content with where we are.<br />
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Contentment is not the same as settling or accepting anything less than what we want. It is an understanding that the grass isn't always greener on the other side. That I don't need what other people have. That my life is valuable without feeling as if it needs to be compared to someone elses. It means that I know God and trust Him with my life and that I am not going to waste my time or energy seeking something that is not in His plan.carlasue476http://www.blogger.com/profile/06854528065420886542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1146914018519846817.post-38728857197319041822014-05-05T08:05:00.000-04:002014-05-05T08:05:00.053-04:005 Years Ago on May 5thMay fifth. Cinco de Mayo. A day of celebration throughout many Mexican homes. But, not in our home.<br />
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Five years ago. May 5, 2009. I hadn't slept well and when I woke up, had gotten a toddler and a newborn to the car, and was ready to leave, I was greeted with a unpleasant surprise. A large chunk of wood was protruding from the sidewall of my rear passenger side tire. Realizing that I was going to be late to work, I panicked, running across the street and asking my neighbor to help me get the spare tire onto my car.<br />
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As he was working, I texted my husband, Jose, asking if he knew what happened to my tire. "Was probably just some punk kids" was his response.<br />
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The neighbor saved me and quickly, I was on my way. I delivered the kids at daycare and got to work. I continued texting Jose, stating that the flat tire made no sense. Around approximately 9:45 AM, life as I knew it ended.<br />
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Hold on, now let me back up. Life hadn't been amazing. And for a few months, things were not adding up or making sense. Jose would come home the wrong direction from the store or would "get lost" on the way back from a friends' house. His text conversations were missing chunks of messages and his demeanor was different.<br />
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Two days before, on May 3rd, Jose had announced that it simply wasn't working out. He made the choice to leave and told me that he was done. He packed a bag and drove off. The next day, after work, he came back to apologize and said that he had made a huge mistake. He said that he had slept in the car, in Walmart's parking lot. My heart broke for him and I told him that I wanted to try to work it out. However, he still didn't seem like the man I married. That night, while he slept next to me in bed, I texted his friend, asking if she knew what was going on with him. She just told me to get him to tell me.<br />
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So, back to May 5th. I was at work and my phone went off. I remember looking at it, reading it and not understanding. When I began to make sense of it, I walked out of my office and it was like everything was in slow motion. The world around me was blurry and I could only hear my own heartbeat echoing through my ears. I took three steps past my office door, made eye contact with my boss, then realized that I could go no farther. I retreated, closed my door, and crumbled upon the floor. My body began to tremble with life-shattering sobs and my boss, the woman that I thought I despised the most in the whole world, entered my office and held me in her arms. She rocked me as I tried to explain, but I am not sure that the words ever quite made it out of my mouth.<br />
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Jose cheated. She was pregnant.<br />
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At some point, I drove myself home. I don't remember much of the day, to be quite honest. I know that my mom came and cleaned up the dining room floor where shattered photo frames littered the floor. She scolded me gently about the broken glass with the concern for bare baby feet. My mom picked up my kids from the sitter and kept them for the night. When Jose got home from work, every single possession that he owned was packed in garbage bags and stacked on the couch. He tried to talk to me, but all I remember is literally seeing the entire world through a red screen. I threw a glass at him at some point. I slapped him.<br />
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Then, I made him call her, his "friend", and tell her to come to our house to talk. She agreed so long as I promised to not punch her in the stomach, but truthfully, I didn't want to fight. I demanded that he, for the first time, be a "fuckin' man" and stand in front of both of us and explain himself. I told him to be honest, for once. And he did. I sat in one chair, facing his pregnant girlfriend, as he stood next to the garbage bag filled couch and spoke. I asked about the "getting lost" and wrong directions. I asked about the late nights with friends and the times in which he wasn't answering his phone. He admitted that he went to her house instead of sleeping in the parking lot. Then, when it was all said and done, she and I spoke on the front sidewalk leaving him inside, alone.<br />
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I don't remember how the rest of the night went. I don't remember much of the weeks that followed. But I will forever remember May 5, 2009. Cinco de Mayo. The fifth of May.<br />
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<br />carlasue476http://www.blogger.com/profile/06854528065420886542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1146914018519846817.post-44878386727143320352014-04-25T11:07:00.000-04:002014-04-25T11:07:43.933-04:00Stink Bugs<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSGj0QQCJJiUS3TWoFKWvDdnoNpX3WO4hLWAVDtIWrAQ91NElqG5AvOo2IJHB4GZm3f2MtFAn3UMfbbEU3SUJsibkaA8n7wfzOp0FKIq_N3J5W7FdH11ikL35pXPiLRpbqJPte3YJB6rXq/s1600/article-1371748-0B694B9900000578-909_468x378.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSGj0QQCJJiUS3TWoFKWvDdnoNpX3WO4hLWAVDtIWrAQ91NElqG5AvOo2IJHB4GZm3f2MtFAn3UMfbbEU3SUJsibkaA8n7wfzOp0FKIq_N3J5W7FdH11ikL35pXPiLRpbqJPte3YJB6rXq/s1600/article-1371748-0B694B9900000578-909_468x378.jpg" height="258" width="320" /></a></div>
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These things are EVIL. Seriously and utterly evil. If you look closely enough, you may just be able to see the demon's face lurking in the pattern of its shell.<br />
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We have had these bugs in our home for over a year now. One will appear every couple of days and we follow a system to rid of them that involves wrapping them into a toilet paper casket and flushing them down the porcelain throne before they release the toxic gas that gives them their name.<br />
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However, I think they are evolving in their evilness.<br />
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A month or so ago, I woke up in the middle of the night. I felt a hair or something on my face, so I went to brush it back, only to feel a hard shell and tiny legs. I screamed and threw it across the room, but not before it dropped a stink bug bomb, leaving me gagging and struggling to breathe for the rest of the night, preferring to suffocate myself in the pillow or my husband's armpit than to breathe the air in the room.<br />
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Last week, as I was trying to get the gagging dog off my carpet and into the great backyard with my sprained foot, she threw up on the floor. The stench was much worse than the normal smell of dog vomit and there, in the middle of the food and grass lie a stink bug.<br />
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Then, this morning, Teo wakes up and comes downstairs, snuggling with me on the couch. Within seconds, I smell stink bug. Then, I realize that it is Teo. His entire head of hair is reeking of stink bug, as if he took the insect's guts and used them as hair gel. I force him to go take a shower immediately, and while he's upstairs, I continue to smell it, realizing the stench has transferred from his hair to my sweater.<br />
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So, are we the only people to have these demon-bugs infesting our home? Does anyone else have crazy stink bug stories, or better yet, does anyone know how to get rid of them?<br />
<br />carlasue476http://www.blogger.com/profile/06854528065420886542noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1146914018519846817.post-62551042129371126212014-04-21T18:36:00.000-04:002014-04-21T18:36:00.206-04:00My Current Life Countdown<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/AVvXsEh2G5sfrDNoICwqxuUNaMrERz530ntZVqIq4NZ7UGttacHh8l5ZbapHgeUCbCwrjWK8PZctcRu_m66iOT-noFy7OkW6JULbW-Jo30FrBaTQXOICHaSmkuFrMPd5w676pVv_sJHKx_9rfY4X/s1600/film_countdown.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2G5sfrDNoICwqxuUNaMrERz530ntZVqIq4NZ7UGttacHh8l5ZbapHgeUCbCwrjWK8PZctcRu_m66iOT-noFy7OkW6JULbW-Jo30FrBaTQXOICHaSmkuFrMPd5w676pVv_sJHKx_9rfY4X/s1600/film_countdown.jpg" height="279" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image from bespokecollection.com</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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I feel as if life is always a countdown of sorts. It is about counting down to the moment where something is happening or when something is ending. Here's my personal countdown currently:<br />
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<li>My Techniques paper is due in ONE day.</li>
<li>I have TWO more assignments to turn in for Research class.</li>
<li>I am only seeing clients for THREE more weeks.</li>
<li>I get a day off in FOUR days.</li>
<li>We have a weekend with no official plans in FIVE days.</li>
<li>I begin my part-time job at a summer day camp, working with teens, in SIX weeks.</li>
<li>My last Research class is in SEVEN days.</li>
<li>I have EIGHT more indirect client hours to complete for internship.</li>
<li>In NINE days, I will be done with spring semester classes.</li>
<li>In TEN months, I will have a Master's degree (and hopefully a job to go with it!).</li>
<li>In approximately FIFTEEN weeks, I will begin fall semester, my last semester of my Master's program.</li>
<li>I turn thirty in about TWENTY weeks.</li>
<li>I have TWENTY-FIVE more direct client hours to complete until I am done with internship.</li>
carlasue476http://www.blogger.com/profile/06854528065420886542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1146914018519846817.post-9724321585741426562014-04-18T17:22:00.000-04:002014-04-18T17:22:33.861-04:00Yesterday: The Good, The Bad, and The SprainedYesterday was not a normal day from the moment we woke up; however, it began as planned. Jose scheduled a day off because Teo had a field trip. Since he is in the afternoon Pre-K and field trips are in the morning, it conflicted with my schedule with clients and Jose had a personal day. So, we woke up a little later than normal and took the kids to school and had the morning together. <div>
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Jose and I went to breakfast, then spent the morning thrifting. I was super excited because I got a bunch of new-to-me books that will be useful personally and for counseling. Then, we picked up Teo and went to get a cheap and quick lunch. After lunch, we stopped at home. Jose and Teo had a "man date" to go see Captain America and I had a client. I was going down the stairs to change out of jeans and into professional attire, when I slipped on the second stair from the top. I righted myself and then started spouting off to myself. "Didja see that? I almost busted my face and fell down the stairs. Good thing I didn't." </div>
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Then, I hit the landing and something happened. I am not sure if I slipped, if I tripped over something, or if my ankle rolled, but I found myself with my butt on the bottom step and my legs awkwardly underneath of me, with part of the Shop-Vac painfully under my thigh. As I fell, some yelling and bad words came out of my mouth and quickly, Jose and Teo were on the stairs behind me as I took a moment to regain my breath, stop the burst of tears that automatically came out, and focus on the fact that I was on the ground. </div>
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Jose asked if I was okay, and I said I was fine. I remembered that I was about to be late for session, and stated that I needed to change. He helped me to my feet and stayed nearby as I dressed, making sure I was truly okay. I was surprised that my ankle didn't hurt (as spraining my ankle is an unwelcome hobby of mine) and that there was a pain in my foot, but it was tolerable, so I continued to get ready, climbing the stairs and driving to the church where I intern. </div>
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When I went to get out of the car, my foot was more painful, but I was able to manage and hobbled into see my client at a slow but steady pace. I sat through session with her, keeping my foot propped up on the table in front of me, watching as a lump grew larger and larger. After session, I was able to walk to make copies before the next session, but the pain was intense. The next two clients were asked to let themselves in and out of the room as the burning sensation in my foot grew more severe. When I had a break, I assessed the damage, quickly noticing that the side of my foot was swollen and awkward. </div>
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I cancelled the rest of my appointments for the evening and mentally prepared myself for the pain that was going to happen as I walked to my car and drove home. When I made it to my house, I sat in the car for awhile, then forced myself to go inside (my full bladder offered its own version of encouragement as well). The neighbor girl came over to chat and I asked her if she wanted to babysit, which she agreed to. A few moments later, Jose arrived home from picking Isa up at school and I asked to go to the ER. </div>
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It took a lot longer than I hoped, as Jose fiddle farted and I wanted to change into something more comfortable. I also had a moment of tear-filled overwhelming pain, but we went to the hospital. Got there around 5:45 PM. It wasn't long before they called us back to do intake and take us to a room. </div>
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They offered me a wheelchair, which I gladly accepted, then took us to a room. However, upon entering the room, I was slightly frustrated. It was a small, closet-like room full of cabinets and storage containers, with a eye exam machine-thing and a upright chair, like the eye doctor has. That was where I was directed to sit, then Jose had a plastic chair facing me. No further information was given, except to wait for the doctor. So, we waited.</div>
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After about 45 minutes of mind-numbing boredom as there was no television or magazines in the room and my phone was dying, the doctor came in. She introduced herself, asked what I was in for, touched my foot with one finger for a second, then said, "I'll order an x-ray." Then, she left. There was no asking of symptoms, as I would have explained that I was in so much pain that I felt sick to my stomach and light-headed. I would have also mentioned that my foot was numb and that I couldn't feel my toes, as well as that there was an ache that was moving up my leg towards my knee. The doctor was in the room for 2 minutes, maximum. </div>
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So, we waited. After about 15 minutes, a nurse came in to get supplies out of the cabinets next to me, then another nurse came in. She asked if I had gotten x-rays yet. I said "no" and she left, saying she was going to call radiology and tell them to get me in. Again, less than two minutes in the room. By this point, Jose was dozing off and I was struggling to stay awake because of the pain. </div>
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Then, about 15 minutes later, a man walked in, but only wanted to take on of the machines to another room. Only then did I notice that there was a call-button in the room as it was hanging on the machine. </div>
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About a half hour later, a nurse came to take me to x-ray. She wheeled me down a couple halls, then left me in the middle of the walkway to wait for a tech. When he came, he took me to a room, did a few x-rays, then took me back to the closet where Jose was waiting. After getting back into the chair, I began to cry because I hurt so bad. Jose moved his chair close to me so that I could use his lap as a foot stool. </div>
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We did not see another person for 45 minutes, which was when the doctor burst into the room, said, "Good news, no broken bones. It's just a sprain. You can go home" and walked out. A nurse gave us papers and crutches and that was all. I felt defeated and exhausted and hungry and I was overwhelmed by pain, so I just wanted to get home. Jose drove me to drop of my prescription, then we got some food while we waited, picked up the pain meds and returned home.</div>
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In total, we were at the hospital for three hours to have maybe 15 minutes of attention given to my foot, most of which was the actual x-ray. I am disappointed by the service and the care given and I was willing to volunteer my thoughts when the hospital called today to ask how my visit went. I am not entirely sure that it is "just a sprain" as no one actually asked me what I was feeling or examined my foot. </div>
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Nevertheless, I am home now. Thankfully, today was a day of laziness and I didn't need to go anywhere that required me to drive. I am adjusting to crutches, although I'm finding that many parts of my body are not happy with the change. My pain medication is not helping much, but at least it takes the edge off. For now, I'm okay. I don't know what next week will be like though, when I need to see clients and drive to classes and whatnot. I guess we will just figure it out then. </div>
carlasue476http://www.blogger.com/profile/06854528065420886542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1146914018519846817.post-75520837710230248282014-04-16T10:23:00.000-04:002014-04-16T10:23:53.468-04:00Let's Talk About Sex<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Isa is eight years old, going on eighteen it seems. She's a ray of sunshine, but too smart for her own good. She has yet to learn that drama is a bad thing and struggles with being nosy and gossiping in the grade-school kind of way. She is brilliant when it comes to understanding the world around her and has enough curiosity to kill ten cats.<br />
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The one thing that I am dreading is "The Talk" with her. In conversation yesterday with my husband, I brought up the nagging idea that I need to have a date night with her to begin the discussion about sexuality.<br />
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Granted, we have had some minor conversations that most parents have with young children. Chats about private parts and what to do if someone tries to violate that privacy. Chats about modesty and not running around naked. Chats about hygiene and care for our bodies. But, I am dreading the next level of conversations.<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/AVvXsEghpkNzeyon9bUDIRWLVcL3_u-sAsZvogZFiHG8lAj839PIHf35BP6yet4ya2hFs-_BNJvv_5cgpjdmXrXrasLD1IuzYwdfNNR7bsq4kPP5N505Bj4Z64ToS8fsbeMbcJB5uo2C9UFZS8u8/s1600/associated_press_sex_ed_pic1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghpkNzeyon9bUDIRWLVcL3_u-sAsZvogZFiHG8lAj839PIHf35BP6yet4ya2hFs-_BNJvv_5cgpjdmXrXrasLD1IuzYwdfNNR7bsq4kPP5N505Bj4Z64ToS8fsbeMbcJB5uo2C9UFZS8u8/s1600/associated_press_sex_ed_pic1.jpg" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo from Associated Press</td></tr>
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Jose told me that I am "the counselor" so I should know how to speak to her about these things, but I am unsure of how to have those discussions with her. More than anything, I do not want to, because some part of me fears that I will ruin her innocence and childlike beauty.<br />
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Furthermore, I am uncertain of how to approach conversations yet keep a Christian perspective, allowing her to learn about sexuality as God created it to be. I want her to understand the beauty in sexuality and our physical bodies, without instilling shame. I want to allow her to see the amazing gift of sex from God, but without pursuit in curiosity. I want her to love people, despite their choices regarding who they have sex with or when they have sex, but want her to know that sin in sexuality exists. I want her to be comfortable with asking us questions, but I am unsure that I have the answers.<br />
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Most of all, I do not want to make "The Talk" into "the talk." I want it to be an ongoing and continuous conversation that progresses as it needs to according to her learning curve. I don't want her to struggle with sexuality in the way that so many people, myself included, do. I want to raise a healthy daughter - physically, emotionally, sexually, spiritually, cognitively. And that, is hard.<br />
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So, for those people who have older children...how did you do it? Tips of things that were super helpful or warnings of what-not-to-do's?carlasue476http://www.blogger.com/profile/06854528065420886542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1146914018519846817.post-15476003659275760832014-04-14T20:35:00.000-04:002014-04-14T20:35:00.314-04:00Wrestling with GodI should be doing something productive. But I can't.<br />
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Too many thoughts and emotions are threatening to sweep me away in their riptide. I fear drowning in the deep waters of humanity and sin. The tension in my abdomen is signaling anxiety and the ache in my chest is warning of deep sadness. I don't want to ignore them, but I don't know what to do about them either.<br />
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Life sucks. And it's okay to say it.<br />
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I can't do it. I really can't. There are so many elements that are beyond my control and the standard response is, "I'll just pray about it." But, truthfully, I don't even know how to pray anymore.<br />
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When someone is old and fragile and in pain, how do you pray?<br />
When someone is missing and the plausible scenarios include death or torture, how do you pray?<br />
When your child is sick and it's uncertain of what or why, how do you pray?<br />
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It isn't a question of how to pray, but what to pray for? There is a battle between what I want and what God's will may be, and it is hard to pray for His will when the answer may be something painful and difficult to endure. It is excruciating to pray for God to do what is necessary for His purpose when it's uncertain what that may bring.<br />
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I am terrified to give my life to Him fully.<br />
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Everyone in my life has failed my expectations and I know that I am human, so I have flawed expectations, but I am so scared to give God control and then to feel let down and betrayed.<br />
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I wish I had a positive way to end this post, but I am afraid that at this moment, I can't.<br />
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Life sucks. It sucks because it's not what it is meant to be.carlasue476http://www.blogger.com/profile/06854528065420886542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1146914018519846817.post-39307834920431922372014-04-11T10:19:00.001-04:002014-04-11T10:19:49.710-04:00The Real ChallengeAs I sit here, struggling and battling with God, my iPod plays tracks on random rotation and this motivational thing catches my attention. It's the mp3 of this YouTube video called <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FhzNSPiqO0M">Lost but Won</a>. And I hear this (around the 2:15 mark):<br />
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"Now that's that thing called life. Is that it is always changing. Sometimes you're up. Sometimes you're down. I can tell you that now. Be aware of that. Things are not going to work out exactly right. For a time they will...sometimes. And that's when life is just playing a game with you. I don't wanna play anymore. I don't care how good you are, I don't care how talented you are, I don't care how much you work on yourself. There are some times when things aren't gonna go right. They just are not going to go right. There are times when anything that can happen, will happen. But during those down moments, that's where the growth takes place. That's where the work is. See anybody can feel good when they have their health, their bills are paid, they have happy relationships. Anybody can be positive then. Anybody could have a larger vision then. Anybody can have faith under those kinds of circumstances. But the real challenge, the real challenge of growth - mentally, emotionally, and spiritually - comes when you get knocked down."<br />
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Thanks, God. I needed that. <3 p=""><br />
Overall the entire mp3 is a great message to hear. It's intended to be motivational in a setting such as athletics, and the video is not impactful (in my opinion), but to listen, I have found myself feeling challenged with some of my common thought patterns. A majority of the mp3 can apply to any area of life, and there are some things that I feel as if I truly needed to hear, as if God was prompting me to re-evaluate some of my struggles. </3>carlasue476http://www.blogger.com/profile/06854528065420886542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1146914018519846817.post-42676578507510322012014-04-07T06:38:00.000-04:002014-04-07T06:38:00.089-04:00SorrowJose and I had a conversation the other day about life.<br />
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Our life is kicking our ass. I don't know a graceful way to say it. We have been hit, right and left, with things that threaten to overcome us.<br />
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I told him that I feel this feeling. A deep and longing ache within my chest that I cannot fill. It often threatens to overtake me. It causes my heart to hurt and tears well up in my eyes. And I do not know how to make it go away or how to make it stop.<br />
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As I explained it, I said it was like missing someone. It's like I shared this impactful and intensely personal relationship with someone and now, they are gone. It's my God-shaped hole and I know that it will never be satisfied while I am here on earth. It's a sorrow that leaves me yearning to be reunited with my Creator in heaven, yet I know that I must wait upon the Lord and do my best to survive life without being swallowed by the junk that the world throws at me.<br />
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Yet, as much as I long for God, there is a part of me that hesitates. I don't connect with Him in the ways that I can because I am afraid. It is the illogical reason that long-distance relationships fail. People don't reach out for connection because the risks are too great and there is a level of reality that prohibits you from being able to touch one another. I cannot feel God and He will not physically embrace me in the ways that I want, so a part of me resists pursuing Him. The fleshly part of me so badly wants to be held tight and comforted as I cry, and since that won't happen, I prefer to keep Him at a safe distance.<br />
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So, I am filled with sorrow. And I can only blame myself.carlasue476http://www.blogger.com/profile/06854528065420886542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1146914018519846817.post-84583007786596241292014-03-22T06:15:00.000-04:002014-03-22T06:15:00.269-04:00Blogging<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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There are some people that professionally blog. I am not one of them. People use blogs to promote their businesses or to make money with ads.<br />
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I have read some of the articles giving tips to be a successful blogger. I don't care if I'm every labeled as a "successful blogger."<br />
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Bloggers are told to pick one topic or category and focus on it. I don't want to. My life is not simplified into categories. I multi-task out of necessity for survival, and my blog shall reflect that. I am a Christian, mother, artist, wife, pet owner, poet, student, counselor, daughter, painter, sister, homeowner, crafter, friend, writer, woman, thinker, and extrovert. Therefore, I will post about things that pertain to my life. In doing so, I hope that some of what I write, what I think and process and type out, will also pertain to your life when you read it.<br />
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There will be posts about social matters, current events, God and faith, my children, projects that I am doing, pain and my past, healing and growth, and everything in between. The views here are mine, formulated through my personal experiences and my opinions. I am not perfect, nor will my blog be perfect either.<br />
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I don't market my blog. The only place that it is shared is on my personal facebook page. If you read something and think of someone, feel free to share it. If you think that something I say agrees with your views, share it. If you want to respond or have something to say, please feel free to comment. If you disagree with me, feel free to comment. I welcome a good discussion, so long as it's done respectfully.<br />
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I blog because I want to and because it's therapeutic for me. There is no other reason. So, as long as I have thoughts in my head and can put them into words by hitting keys on a keyboard, I hope to write.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNWbd-Ye6KNM27ol08fRRDYxH997JEeOX_a1vsXIC2Z3a21jei1CF3CvNQ36ywbbjD0SkMkjTgjbZPc44ydqO8jIOCBgGEmP07grpMxbIznARuH7Kaa27l3SyDiJVPJniWG4U7Fw4-rifD/s1600/blogging.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNWbd-Ye6KNM27ol08fRRDYxH997JEeOX_a1vsXIC2Z3a21jei1CF3CvNQ36ywbbjD0SkMkjTgjbZPc44ydqO8jIOCBgGEmP07grpMxbIznARuH7Kaa27l3SyDiJVPJniWG4U7Fw4-rifD/s1600/blogging.jpg" height="224" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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<br />carlasue476http://www.blogger.com/profile/06854528065420886542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1146914018519846817.post-6591038570196896272014-03-18T11:01:00.001-04:002014-03-19T08:29:22.509-04:00Selfies. With society.There's this song that plays on the radio. Catchy, yet annoying. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kdemFfbS5H0">#Selfie by The Chainsmokers</a> (excuse some vulgarity in the video). Essentially, if you haven't heard it, it's a techno beat consisting of a female speaking to another female, making random statements.<br />
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"I don't know if it's a booty call or not"</div>
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"So, what do you think...do you think that girl was pretty?"</div>
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"How did that girl even get in here? Did you see her? She's so short and that dress is so tacky."</div>
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"Lemme take a selfie."</div>
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"I wanna be tan."</div>
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"What should my caption be? I want it to be clever."</div>
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"Lemme take another selfie."</div>
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"The girl with no shoes on...That's so rachet."</div>
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"That girl is such a fake model. She definitely bought all her instagram followers."</div>
"Jason just texted me; should I go home with him? Guess I took a good selfie."<br />
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The first time I heard the song, I was like, "Man, this is catchy. Let me Shazam it so I can get it onto my ipod."<br />
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By the third time, I thought, "Wow, this is pathetic."<br />
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To be quite honest, there is so much that I want to say about it that I cannot even properly collect my thoughts. This video has single-handedly opened up most of the wounds that I work to help heal daily with teenage clients. It creates this imaginary conversation between two young women at a club or a bar that follows generalizations and stereotypes, yet also encompasses most perfectly the technological society that is created within realms of social media such as Facebook and Instagram.<br />
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#Selfie by The Chainsmokers takes less than four minutes to depict some rampant but unhealthy norms that are experienced by normal people, people like you or me: Sex. Drinking. Trash talk. Bullying. Immorality. Promiscuity. Objectification.<br />
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But the part that bothers me the most is that the song intensifies, in a nearly silly and joking way, one of the major components of what social media entails: self-centeredness.<br />
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When you exist in a website that is continuously asking you what you're doing, what you "like", and to create posts about yourself, social networking may be the primary goal, but an unintentional outcome is egocentric thinking and behavior. You begin to process differently. Taking photos of yourself to post. Having status updates formulate in your mind as you are engaging in normal daily tasks. Taking time out of your day to snap photos of what you're eating or drinking or doing. Sharing about your newest possession or achievement. Tagging friends to show the world who you associate with. Secretly hoping to evoke jealousy in someone else. Desiring acceptance and relationship, but never allowing vulnerability or depth to show.<br />
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#Selfie and the actual act of taking selfies can signal a change in cognitions. We begin to think that we are significant. Entitled. That people care about what we are feeling and doing and thinking. That we are important because we have followers or "friends." So, we post more status updates. We take more selfies. We grow our ego, but shallow ourselves in the process.<br />
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We become focused on what we have and how we look, spending time primping like the women in the music video. We work hard to hide our imperfections, using filters and camera angles to show the world who we are, although that image is often fake. We somehow create these identities, unknowingly, that we share online.<br />
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Then, we count our likes and the responses we get, and subconsciously, equate the number with our value. We grow our ego with each "like" and to have someone repost that which is ours is the upmost sign of success. Our self-worth becomes contingent upon a click of someone else's keyboard, and hateful words from an IP address can become our detriment. Sometimes, we even become the hateful attacker, saying unkind things or using the screen of a computer as a curtain to hide behind as we tear someone down to make ourselves feel better.<br />
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The selfie mentality is bred from insecurity. I say that because I have, at times, fallen into the above patterns, and it began with the place inside of me that is not confident or sure of myself, the part that longs for approval and wants to be seen as successful. When I feel strong or sure of myself, when I have had a great conversation with a friend or family member, when I am connected and engulfed by my faith...I don't feel drawn to social media in the same way as when I feel small, uncertain, alone, disconnected, and insignificant.<br />
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But, inside, we shrivel up and die, because our soul does not pertain to the things of this world. We are not created to be selfish beings, but are made to be in relationship with others. Real relationship, not social media friendships. Vulnerable, raw, honest, and authentic relationships. The kind that cannot be ended with the click of a mouse upon a delete button. The kind that never can really be over, because we have given the other person a piece of our heart. We are created to grow and be other-centered, not narcissistic. Our value does not come from acceptance or possessions or even from other people, but from God.<br />
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The irony is that it snowballs. The more we engage in the practices that fuel selfie mentality, the more insecure we are, so we engage more trying to feel better, causing us to feel worse. I don't have all the answers about how to escape this cycle. Truthfully, I don't know where to even begin. Personally, I have found that I have to unplug and reboot. I have to take time to invest in my relationships, my hobbies, and my faith. So, if you're feeling like you've become trapped in the selfie mentality or feel as if you need social media, I challenge you to log off. Go off the grid for awhile. Unplug. And then, when you return, work to be authentic, genuine, and intentional. Know that you are more than a Twitter account, a Facebook profile, or an Instagram page. You don't need to take another selfie.<br />
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(Blogger Note: Two previous posts about selfies can be found <a href="http://servingofinsanity.blogspot.com/2014/03/selfies-with-five-year-old.html">here</a> and <a href="http://servingofinsanity.blogspot.com/2014/03/selfies-with-myself.html">here</a>.)<br />
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<br />carlasue476http://www.blogger.com/profile/06854528065420886542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1146914018519846817.post-55269090533929307392014-03-16T20:00:00.002-04:002014-03-19T08:25:31.849-04:00Selfies. With myself.<div>
(My last post titled <a href="http://servingofinsanity.blogspot.com/2014/03/selfies-with-five-year-old.html">Selfies. With a Five-Year-Old</a>. inspired me to examine the evolution of selfies in my personal life and here are the results.)<br />
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I don't remember taking a selfie until late high school or early college. By then, camera's had gotten a little better in quality and I loved carrying mine around, to capture brief moments with friends and family members. Here are two selfies from my freshman year of college, one with my best friend and one with my aunt. Please note the condition of the photos (that were not the intentional result of a filter). </div>
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Even then, I do not recall taking a selfie alone. It was simply a means to obtain a photo when a third person was not around to take the picture for us. However, MySpace and Facebook were also not common. Social networking was not in my vocabulary. We were still frequenting chat rooms and using AIM to talk to our friends, often with dial-up internet. Truth be told, we usually chose to make a phone call or socialize face-to-face. Things were different back then (and "back then" honestly was not that long ago).<br />
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However, I remember when I joined MySpace, and then transitioned to Facebook, making strides in social media, adding friends and learning to "like" posts. And, without even realizing it, I joined the masses in beginning to take selfies to show the world my face.<br />
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I found myself uploading selfies of my hubby and I on a date. Selfies of me with my kiddos. Selfies with a friend or our fur baby.<br />
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And more selfish selfies. Selfies that were actually of me and only me. Selfies showing my face to the world. Selfies when I had a good makeup day. Selfies when I dyed my hair a new color. Selfies when I felt like being silly, making faces. Selfies when I made a delish smoothie.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0Ss2STEqgKzfa7e-WCtKfYSuYrWCwXTgpKyPDkW5jQNzgIPanXo3u_33Pb4miidRGK9z0zdTh9dxr95naPIPTvkdGuygVaHTdPoi0OkS7scT8SOoefBHM-hG20blU0m8LEqFCBUMHBbaM/s1600/20130622_200203.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0Ss2STEqgKzfa7e-WCtKfYSuYrWCwXTgpKyPDkW5jQNzgIPanXo3u_33Pb4miidRGK9z0zdTh9dxr95naPIPTvkdGuygVaHTdPoi0OkS7scT8SOoefBHM-hG20blU0m8LEqFCBUMHBbaM/s1600/20130622_200203.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf2OIby7cJZJweI3xsqYQ2a42S-VCsenJhq35tQbX0sIvb7Fp3n-JO2gF6wnTwy9YEWXDh7tr6n8OZi7wcc3PyQe-NxsBD2DYSbGuvRE_bmMPFGuHBIf7k3aYboctFZkrXW0EA5OA9azTK/s1600/20140203_085710.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf2OIby7cJZJweI3xsqYQ2a42S-VCsenJhq35tQbX0sIvb7Fp3n-JO2gF6wnTwy9YEWXDh7tr6n8OZi7wcc3PyQe-NxsBD2DYSbGuvRE_bmMPFGuHBIf7k3aYboctFZkrXW0EA5OA9azTK/s1600/20140203_085710.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a></div>
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And over time, I learned how to hold the camera (and then my cell phone) to take a photo that was less of my arm and more of the intended picture. I have even been known to take the infamous mirror pic (which works best if you clean all the toothpaste splatter off the mirror first).<br />
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Overall, I don't think that having photos of yourself is evil. I understand how, with technology and social media, having a photo as a profile picture that is actually a pic of you can be beneficial. However, I think there is a dangerous line that can be crossed that is easily demonstrated by the selfie movement, but which really encompasses social media as a whole. I explore that a bit more in my next blog post titled <a href="http://servingofinsanity.blogspot.com/2014/03/selfies-with-society.html">Selfies. With Society.</a><br />
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carlasue476http://www.blogger.com/profile/06854528065420886542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1146914018519846817.post-43504149304637066042014-03-14T11:10:00.000-04:002014-03-19T08:28:23.324-04:00Selfies. With a Five-Year-Old.<div>
My five-year-old son was playing Play-Doh when he turned around and said, "Mom, do you know what a selfie is?"</div>
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I replied, "Yea. Do you?"</div>
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He proceeded to tell me that his pre-K teacher asked the class who knew what a selfie was, to which my son raised his hand and informed her that it was a picture. For some project, they were taking selfies.</div>
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My son is a professional selfie taker, which can be evidenced whenever you look through my phone photo gallery. Honestly, he has my phone<i> right now</i>, which will surely lead to a new development of photos.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqVjkZ8otYpEuW68O_alVuwgWOjqfcA7U5s868oB6kLzoqlm0ex1_2X0UfQnxsqr4IM1bAkfJOK06rkN2yw2UHIGgJgx1NNFoH3sLBo8nf1QKQBaOVXcNPzViO1xAMw5QXuZvzKBaQLpoY/s1600/20140131_204602.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqVjkZ8otYpEuW68O_alVuwgWOjqfcA7U5s868oB6kLzoqlm0ex1_2X0UfQnxsqr4IM1bAkfJOK06rkN2yw2UHIGgJgx1NNFoH3sLBo8nf1QKQBaOVXcNPzViO1xAMw5QXuZvzKBaQLpoY/s1600/20140131_204602.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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For five year olds, taking selfies is cute. It isn't unlike the many hours I spent making faces in the mirror to see how I could contort my face or learning that I could wink or raise my eyebrow, or even learning how to make a four-leaf clover with my tongue.</div>
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However, technology was different when I was a kid. We didn't have cell phones (gasp!) and camera's came in two categories: </div>
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(1) The expensive 35mm camera's that had costly lenses and a detachable flash, also known as "Mom's Camera" that I dare not touch and break. My mom had a Nikon and I remember it being a treasure, used to capture the beautiful images of special occassions. I also remember taking trips with her to the repair shop when the flash stopped working or when the shutter would not open properly, and she paid to get the camera fixed because it was worth it.</div>
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(2) The cheap and crappy camera made out of plastic. It took 110 film that always reminded me of a pair of sunglasses. There was little skill needed to point and click, taking a photo that was often blurry, unfocused, overexposed (or underexposed), and rarely containing what you actually wanted a photo of. I had boxes of those photos: a foot, a blur of someone doing a cartwheel, a nearly invisible cameo of a friend, a headless family member, and so forth.</div>
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Furthermore, we couldn't take a photo and immediately see the result. We had to finish the roll of film (usually consisting of 30-some photos), then would take it to the store or photo processing shop, drop it off, wait a couple of days, then pick up the printed photos. And hopefully, you got a couple of great pictures in the set. </div>
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My son and daughter will never understand the era of non-digitalized photography, when "selfie" was not a word in anyone's vocabulary, when camera's were not common place, and when every photo you took cost money. They will not comprehend the level of patience required to go through the process from taking photos to having them to see. They will not experience the pain that comes from accidentally exposing film and ruining a roll of pictures. Actually, they will possibly never know what a roll of film is.<br />
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(Blogger Note: Two additional posts about selfies can be found <a href="http://servingofinsanity.blogspot.com/2014/03/selfies-with-myself.html">here</a> and <a href="http://servingofinsanity.blogspot.com/2014/03/selfies-with-society.html">here</a>.)</div>
carlasue476http://www.blogger.com/profile/06854528065420886542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1146914018519846817.post-6780719400645874662014-03-10T13:58:00.000-04:002014-03-10T13:58:00.277-04:007 Things to Know About Cutting (And the People that Engage in it!)Part of the challenge that is ongoing as a counselor (or counseling student) is that continuous need to address one's own past and demons. Recently, that has taken me back to a time in my life that was dark and filled with inner turmoil and I hated it, but it has formed me and shaped me, so I must not hide from it.<br />
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I used to engage in "cutting.". As a teen, life is so confusing to begin with, but to have this internal war within you at all times is exhausting. Many people that haven't experienced it, often come up with assumptions about cutting that is untrue, so I have compiled a list of 7 Things to Know About Cutting<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg283QAGxnCp_9BYZHFSEgmT3ASbgOwaeW_Mvq4-qf3B2EHy2bHF6OTwgLBL24GGtYIwPvUpvrcZokX2ukvZ2LMoBBIS4pO6ojpAoqFwubuctHPSx9CODFRNzo_lJD4evJixmJQpwtP3tyi/s1600/fc,550x550,black.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg283QAGxnCp_9BYZHFSEgmT3ASbgOwaeW_Mvq4-qf3B2EHy2bHF6OTwgLBL24GGtYIwPvUpvrcZokX2ukvZ2LMoBBIS4pO6ojpAoqFwubuctHPSx9CODFRNzo_lJD4evJixmJQpwtP3tyi/s1600/fc,550x550,black.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image from Ava Tate</td></tr>
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(1) It isn't just cutting. It's a lot of other forms too. The clinical term is "self-harm" or "NSSI" (nonsuicidal self injury). Basically, it is any form of self-inflicted injurious behavior. I didn't just cut. Once, I took a baseball and slammed it into my leg, over and over and over. I had punched myself, creating bruises on my arms and face. I carved a heart into my ankle (and later, cut a "x" over the heart). And when I did "cut", I used knives, safety pins, my finger nails, sewing needles, and anything else that was available when I became overwhelmed. Some people burn their skin. Some bite. There are a lot of ways to self-harm and the forms are endless.<br />
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(2) When I cut, I did not want to die. I was in no way attempting suicide. People that cut (or engage in other forms of self-harm) are not pursuing death. Often, there is a dark emotional state that co-exists with self-harm, a depression of sorts, but the darkness did not leave me with a sense that there was no hope or that I just wanted life to be over. (However, cutting and suicidal ideation can co-exist and it is dangerous to evaluate someone's mental health based on one behavior. If you or someone you know is engaging in self-harm, call a professional to evaluate the situation. Everyone is different and is valuable enough to get help.)<br />
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(3) In fact, cutting and self-harm is an attempt to pursue life. It sounds oxymoronic, but I cut because I had a desire to live. Often, in those dark moments, I shut down and "flatlined." I felt no emotion and I cut because I wanted to feel: to either release the inner pain in an outer way or to have a painful experience the jump-started my emotions again, freeing me from my numbness. This is the hardest part to explain to people that have never experienced NSSI, but there is a release of adrenaline and dopamines, as well as a sense of recognition that I was still a human being with real blood pumping through my veins, leading people to feel better immediately after cutting.<br />
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(4) Cutting and self-harm is not always a sign of serious mental illness, although it can be. For me, self-injury was more like a coping mechanism. It was something that I did because there's this conflict, this war, inside of you. And it's a war between emotions, often pain and numbness. As they fight, the feelings just grow stronger and stronger. It seems impossible to have to such powerful conflicting feelings at the same time, but you do, and then you reach a point where it's just unbearable, so you cut and it's like slashing a tire, suddenly all that pressure is released. But, self-injury may co-exist or be a symptom of a mental disorder, which should only be diagnosed by a professional.<br />
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(5) Cutters don't fit into a stereotypical box. When I was a teen, our cliques consisted of the popular kids, nerds, goths, druggies, etc. The goths were the ones assumed to cut and engage in self-harm. The cliques have evolved, but the idea is the same. I don't care what you label a kid as: emo, hipster, loser. A category or social group does not correspond with whether someone participates in self injury. There are kids that cut, scratch, and brand from all walks of life: all races, all social classes, all income levels, all family backgrounds. Do not assume that someone cuts or not based on how they appear.<br />
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(6) Self-harm is an expression of pain. There are a lot of things said about people that cut: "It's attention-seeking," "She's just drama," "There's no reason for her to be doing such stupid things to her body," "He must be into drugs," "Cutting is because of childhood abuse," etc. While the statements may be true, they are not helpful. People that injure themselves may be seeking attention, be dramatic, be using drugs, or may have been abused. But, more than anything, they are people and they are hurting. Ignoring them or ignoring their behaviors is not an answer.<br />
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(7) All I wanted, all I really wanted, was help. I would have loved to be forced to go to therapy because I just...ached...inside and I didn't know why. I was supposed to be a normal and happy kid, but inside, I was just hollow, hurt, dark, and scared. I wanted nothing else but to be found on the floor, sobbing and bloody, resulting in someone forcing me to seek treatment. I wanted someone to validate how scary life was and how hard it can be sometimes to deal with everything. I desperately needed someone to take my side and say that I wasn't simply crazy. But, I didn't know how to ask for that. Many kids, teens, and even adults today that deal with self injury need someone to be there for them, to be a nonjudgmental and empathetic partner in their journey to discover why they do what they do and to learn how to cope in healthy ways.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgysvxkp-FWj3vl1RD-UtclGdWi8v741JlURWtYFpWf2FhXWk4bGC9E_Mqdh33G8zW24VwPFATmSqIYxmb8BR2g-zzAA0s9zHn_WwvnnS-5cTzg3pJ30C3yBV7jtb1fB3vrCEq67tuSpsWF/s1600/Self_Harm_by_GerardsHouseOfWolves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgysvxkp-FWj3vl1RD-UtclGdWi8v741JlURWtYFpWf2FhXWk4bGC9E_Mqdh33G8zW24VwPFATmSqIYxmb8BR2g-zzAA0s9zHn_WwvnnS-5cTzg3pJ30C3yBV7jtb1fB3vrCEq67tuSpsWF/s1600/Self_Harm_by_GerardsHouseOfWolves.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo taken from DeviantArt: Self Harm by GeraldsHouseofWolves</td></tr>
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While there is so much more that can be said and explored, these seven points are the ones that I find to be the most beneficial in educating people about cutting and self injury. In the years since I was a teen, some excellent research has been done and some great books have been written. If you want more information about self-harm, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Bright-Red-Scream-Self-Mutilation-Language-ebook/dp/B00AFW9Z04/ref=sr_1_8?ie=UTF8&qid=1394217583&sr=8-8&keywords=self+harm">A Bright Red Scream by Marilee Strong</a> and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Cutting-Understanding-Self-Mutilation-Steven-Levenkron-ebook/dp/B00GTGID3A/ref=la_B000AP5KIC_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1394217806&sr=1-1">Cutting: Understanding and Overcoming Self-Mutilation by Steven Levenkron</a> are some great resources to begin with. Or, you can always contact me with questions or comments. I can only pray that this post helps one parent gain insight into the actions or their child or helps one teen reach out to someone and share their dark and bloody secret. carlasue476http://www.blogger.com/profile/06854528065420886542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1146914018519846817.post-27543173689127403612014-03-08T08:50:00.000-05:002014-03-08T08:50:00.632-05:00Gratias. Gracias. Thanks. - Part IIOur pastor gave a sermon once and he asked us to think of the absolute worst experience we have ever had. I immediately thought about the affair. Then, he challenged us to thank God for it. I couldn't do it. I cried during sermon and cried a lot more in the week that followed, but I made it a goal to become thankful for the fact that my husband cheated on me.<br />
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Last week, I was in a training on sexual abuse. The speaker said that one of the steps for victims was to reach a point of thanksgiving for their abuse. It seems so wrong, in a humanistic approach, but to me, it made sense, because it's about God, not humans. So, I'm creating my own list of things that I'm thankful for. If you feel that I'm being untruthful, please, feel free to confront me about it.<br />
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(Disclaimer: This list does not mean that I am perfect or that these things do not hurt me or affect me. This list contains things that I often need to prompt myself to be grateful for, often multiple times per day. There are times when my thankfulness is empty and legalistic, stating that I am giving God thanks for these things, even when I don't mean it. However, this list of things has brought me to be the person I am today...and for that, if nothing else, I am thankful.)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSdwPqhELhWxaWbzbFqoIKgbLhqioMqq8uE2enrzVvLskXLQDiCffs7ZKxehbOdRA99aw3wUFtNTOsPmSNOCIV7zbfuJrYUJXKBXJetwq_ISffPosIMqeih_WOpnwUa02hT4pE9JDU6iOJ/s1600/Photo-courtesy-of-Cindi-AlbrightFlickr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSdwPqhELhWxaWbzbFqoIKgbLhqioMqq8uE2enrzVvLskXLQDiCffs7ZKxehbOdRA99aw3wUFtNTOsPmSNOCIV7zbfuJrYUJXKBXJetwq_ISffPosIMqeih_WOpnwUa02hT4pE9JDU6iOJ/s1600/Photo-courtesy-of-Cindi-AlbrightFlickr.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-small;">Photo from<span style="line-height: 16px; text-align: left;"> Cindi Albright/Flickr</span></span></td></tr>
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* I am thankful that my husband had an affair. If he hadn't we would not be married today, I'm sure of it. We would also not be a part of our church and our children would not have such a great love for Christ. I am not sure how much of my life would actually be intact if he hadn't cheated, as so much of where I am now has been a chain reaction from his bad decision. In the past five years since the affair, our marriage has grown exponentially more than it did the four years that we dated and the four years that we were newlyweds. The love I have for him is deeper than I ever imagined to be possible. </div>
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* I am thankful that my husband's mistress was pregnant. It created a 8 month long waiting period that taught us patience and grew us closer to God in prayer. Although it did not end how I wanted it to, I am thankful that the "other chick" made decisions that were in the best interest for her daughter. I am grateful that it has been an eye-opener to my hubby, causing him to value and cherish our children and become a better father to them.</div>
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*I am thankful that my sister-in-law has disowned us. We had to make hard choices and in the end, stood up for what was true and morally right. Although we miss them terribly, it has been an opportunity to remain strong in our values and teach our kids that sometimes, doing the right thing is not easy and it hurts a lot. I'm also thankful that we can show others that forgiveness does not mean allowing wrongs or mistreatment, but that you can love someone, even when they hurt you. We have learned that loving someone can be done from afar. I only pray that one day in the future, it can also teach a valuable lesson in reunification.<br />
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* I am thankful that I grew up with divorced parents, having two homes and two families. I grew up with twice as much love and twice as many people to love. Growing up, I learned many lessons about God's love and loving our enemies, including what that should (and should not) look like. I have faith that if my parent's had not divorced, I would be a much different person that I am today (and not in a good way). I have also seen growth in my dad in the past few years and heard him state in church recently that he sees how his choices and selfishness in his first two marriages likely led to their demise.<br />
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* I am thankful that my husband and his family grew up in poverty. Because of his challenges, he is a strong man, able to carry the weight of my burdens when they become to heavy. He is my rock. Additionally, his childhood has impacted his drives and have made him a hard worker, full of service and willingness to provide for myself and our children. He may be lazy at home sometimes, but he does so much to make sure we have a home, vehicles, food, heat, electricity, and clothing. Best of all, he loves thrift shopping and finding bargains.<br />
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* I am thankful that my dad was a selfish alcoholic for most of my life. I was bitter and angry for a long time, often pushing him away because of the hurts that I held onto. However, his testimony is beautiful. He has been given grace through Christ, and has found strength to overcome some of his biggest demons. The man that I once refused to allow babysit my children and that I spent some time creating a strong protective barrier against is now a wonderful grandfather. He has achieved his goals of living in the countryside and is making his current marriage work, although I'm sure it's hard at times. His wife has received more dedication and relationship-work than I have ever seen him give. Additionally, growing up with him taught me many things, including independence, how to work hard to get what you want, willingness to confront people, and how to survive in chaos.<br />
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* I am thankful for the people that use us and hurt us and cause us emotional pain. They have allowed us the opportunity to explore our relationship needs and desires, and have shown us the people that are truly supportive of us. This gratefulness includes the people who say they love us but act in non-loving ways, who are there for us only when it is convenient to them, and those who say they care for us yet encourage and support poor decisions and sin. These people have helped us define who our true family and friends are, giving us a realistic expectation of love and care. These people have shaped us, giving us the support system that we genuinely need by showing us that they are not really there for us, but have also taught us to love in situations and circumstances that are less than ideal. We have learned how to balance love and concern with healthy boundaries, allowing us to keep them in our lives without giving them the freedom to use us as doormats.<br />
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* I am thankful for my son to develop a rare kidney disorder. Nephrotic syndrome and minimal change disease has taught us to cherish each moment, even if it means missing deadlines, having a messy home, or reaching less than perfection. I have chosen to snuggle instead of maintain an A-average, to read storybooks instead of journal articles, and to watch silly cartoons rather than type a paper. I have cancelled important meetings to go to doctor's visits. Furthermore, I have learned to live one day at a time without fear or worry about tomorrow. In one of our very first doctor visits, when I asked how to handle the disease in my small boy, the pediatric nephrologist said to just take it day by day. He said that there was no other way. Additionally, his disease has shown us that battles can be invisible and has taught us to be more compassionate about the people we meet, to know that we have no way of knowing what their struggle is, but to know that everyone carries some form of brokenness inside of them, whether physically or emotionally.<br />
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This list is not exhaustive; however, it is an expression of some of my biggest challenges that I (and my husband) face in overcoming. In perspective, we have been blessed that these things have not been larger or more painful. God has blessed us with these worst experiences; furthermore, He has provided us with grace and strength to be able to grow from these experiences. And for that, we give Him thanks.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQgW1ZoRIIEeEmTDUCwi2Rbk_hWoGxivQM8loeyjzASE_Or4INGE-VfN1njdUmpRk9K4VPY6oxELYc2hjz1S5d4y6r55gubRRNVXAgumrlBh31GL68rUtVjrw4HnlkvQdiK7f-_2X5kuXz/s1600/Thankful.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQgW1ZoRIIEeEmTDUCwi2Rbk_hWoGxivQM8loeyjzASE_Or4INGE-VfN1njdUmpRk9K4VPY6oxELYc2hjz1S5d4y6r55gubRRNVXAgumrlBh31GL68rUtVjrw4HnlkvQdiK7f-_2X5kuXz/s1600/Thankful.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo from http://www.sukhrajbeasla.com/</td></tr>
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<br />carlasue476http://www.blogger.com/profile/06854528065420886542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1146914018519846817.post-16911049501839861302014-03-06T09:18:00.001-05:002014-03-06T09:18:18.574-05:00An Open Letter to My 31-Year-Old Husband<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/AVvXsEhs0ZWdcASYvSe5SACCqbnaMcCqUdHGvJuYTYDkNZE7OKaAhHy9HdZ2rojZ5PPQBYFRLrzYglq5XQjvSJu1Bo06-K7F7sIecXyb9IZmVMvjaoOBu_to4w0HxaGKv7x3m1C440FD34hAlDAw/s1600/20140107_135739.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs0ZWdcASYvSe5SACCqbnaMcCqUdHGvJuYTYDkNZE7OKaAhHy9HdZ2rojZ5PPQBYFRLrzYglq5XQjvSJu1Bo06-K7F7sIecXyb9IZmVMvjaoOBu_to4w0HxaGKv7x3m1C440FD34hAlDAw/s1600/20140107_135739.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Being silly, as usual.</td></tr>
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Dear Jose,<br />
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This morning, you woke up like any other, quietly getting out of bed and preparing for work without waking up me or our kids. You probably went to the kitchen and gathered your food for lunch, eating a quick breakfast, nothing distinguishing today from any other.<br />
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You went to work, taking care to make it on time, sitting in your car as you arrived earlier than needed. You probably played a game on your phone or listened to the banter of the dj's on the radio station that was playing. You waited until you couldn't wait any longer, then got out of the car, briskly walking into the warehouse with your co-workers. A few of them may have known that today was different and said something, but more likely than not, it was just like any other day.<br />
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However, to me, today isn't like any other day. Today is the day that I celebrate you. It was the day that God allowed you to enter the world, healthy and crying, like any other baby. Thirty-one years ago, your mother was in the hospital and she birthed you. And in those moments, your fate was already known and your life was already set forth by God. Although I was not even conceived yet, God knew that one day, this would be our life.<br />
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You were born to live the life you lived. And you were born to meet me at the park and one day marry me. And you were born to be a father. And you were born to love your Maker. YOU WERE BORN FOR THIS LIFE.<br />
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Growing up, you've shared stories about how birthdays were not a day celebrated or a day that meant anything other than adding a year when people asked you your age. Birthdays are not about cake or ice cream or presents. They are a way of taking time each year to say, "I am so happy that you were born," "I celebrate your life," and "You mean something to me." It is a way of giving praise to God for the work that he has done in your life. I am so grateful for the work that He has done in your life.<br />
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When I think back to the kid I met, 13 years ago, and then look at you know, I am proud of you and of all the hard work you have done to grow up. To become a man: a husband, father, friend, son, and a believer. I am blessed to have been able to witness a beautiful transformation: A life full of ungodliness, lies, and anger converted to faithfulness, honesty, and love. God has touched your heart, showing you forgiveness and mercy. And last year, you chose to be spiritually reborn.<br />
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To say that I enjoyed the transformation would be dishonest. I was right there, kicking and screaming, writhing in pain, numbing the hurt in unhealthy ways. And, because I am human, I will probably continue to kick and scream at times, but I am here, next to you, ready to watch you grow for the next 13 years.<br />
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So, today, here's to you, Jose. It is your special day and there are many reasons to celebrate the life that you were given. Today is the day to celebrate God's provision and grace and love. Today is the day when I honor you, for all that you've done for our family, the sacrifices you've made, the provisions you give. Today, I am thankful for your life.<br />
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P.S.Tomorrow, I'll return to nagging and pointing out your flaws.<br />
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I love you.<br />
xoxoxo,<br />
<span style="text-align: center;">Carla </span>Sue<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTtvmct6tqoh1WFfK0CuGenwrlN8fyVWlfapQzr0-FKgDSLWoIMyXtcZRx_wDqiCostUMhIYK7zcncK6xRilXhR3Ns7YaMwmmaEoAQ4n6Sp5JgKNhiKSN8GY9-whHPRaQvddyGxWtDS4-H/s1600/20130827_091609.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTtvmct6tqoh1WFfK0CuGenwrlN8fyVWlfapQzr0-FKgDSLWoIMyXtcZRx_wDqiCostUMhIYK7zcncK6xRilXhR3Ns7YaMwmmaEoAQ4n6Sp5JgKNhiKSN8GY9-whHPRaQvddyGxWtDS4-H/s1600/20130827_091609.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This image fills me the joy: Jose reading his Bible <br />and planning a lesson for youth group</td></tr>
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carlasue476http://www.blogger.com/profile/06854528065420886542noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1146914018519846817.post-23375981252055869392013-11-25T09:41:00.003-05:002013-11-25T09:41:56.984-05:00Gratias. Gracias. Thanks. - Part INovember is typically a month about being grateful. Giving thanks for the many blessings that you have. Social media is filled with the posts:<br />
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Day 3 - I am thankful to my family who always encouraged me.<br />
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Day 12 - I am thankful for my cat.<br />
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Day 20 - Oops....I forgot to post after day 17.<br />
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Now, don't get me wrong. Saying thank you to God is a huge thing and should be a part of our everyday lives (although I will be the first to admit that I am horrible at it). There's an entire spiritual discipline or two about gratitude.<br />
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However, it's so easy to say thanks for the stuff that is comfortable and beneficial to us. Of course, I am thankful for my home, heat, electricity, my husband's job, my liberties, my beautiful and healthy children, a dishwasher, free speech, and my snuggly puppy. Those are blessings. Everyone tends to be thankful for blessings.<br />
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Now, what about your struggles, difficulties, and the load of crap that you feel weighted down by daily. How can we be thankful for that?<br />
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What would it be like to see posts stating gratefulness for our unfortunate circumstances?<br />
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Day 1 - I am thankful for the $0.13 cents in my bank account that will remain until payday and am grateful that it's not in the red.<br />
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Day 9 - I am thankful for the hole in my sneakers because every time I walk outside, I feel the snow and cold on my feet and am reminded that my nervous system works.<br />
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Day 15 - Thankful for the horrible day I am having. I stubbed my toe, broke my coffee pot, the washer broke and my shower is leaking. However, I am alive.<br />
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Day 22 - Thank you God for the foreclosure on my home because I know you will use this to make me stronger.<br />
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Day 29 - I am thankful for everyone in the hospital, facing terminally illness. They are blessed through their struggles and are stronger than many other people who have never faced death. May we all learn from them and their trials.<br />
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Why is it so hard for us to say thank you for those things?<br />
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<br />carlasue476http://www.blogger.com/profile/06854528065420886542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1146914018519846817.post-70344089799892521192013-11-01T09:16:00.000-04:002013-11-01T09:16:00.109-04:00Reflections Upon A MarriageNovember 1st is not a significant date in our marriage. There are no birthdays or celebrations that fall upon today's date. Even the fact that Halloween was yesterday has little impact. However, the last few days have left me in a lot of reflection about my husband, our marriage, and our relationship.<br />
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On November 1, 2000 - I was a normal kid. 16 years old. Excited about the major life milestone of becoming a licensed driver. Going to school, spending time with friends, crushing on boys. I struggled with many emotions, often tough ones, uncertain of who I was and what my life would be. (I cannot exactly speak for my husband, but will hypothesize...) He was a high school dropout, living at home, trying to find purpose. Struggled to find a job and spent a lot of time hanging out, doing things that I would punish our children for. He was unaware of the impact that the next year would have on him, as he would make a stupid decision with a friend and end up spending a lot of time in a juvenile detention facility.<br />
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On November 1, 2001 - We had been boyfriend and girlfriend for just over two months. It was that cute, uncertain, happy stage of dating. As we approached the third month of our relationship, I continued to joke that no boyfriend had ever made it past three months, so if we didn't break up, we were destined to be. My mom didn't really like him and his mom didn't like me either. We were really honest with one another. He told me his past with drugs, girls, drinking, and legal trouble. I showed him the cuts and scars that I used as my personal therapy. We lived two different lives, but yet, we just "got" each other.<br />
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On November 1, 2002 - My life was in transition. Dorm life at a small Christian college left me feeling shameful for my relationship with him, yet I struggled to connect to the "perfect lives" that were all around me. I did not fit neatly into the norm and I found myself split between two worlds. He was working a full-time job, getting established as an adult, growing up. His choices weren't as detrimental. However, our relationship was explosive. Sometimes, it was amazing and beautiful. Sometimes, it was full of searing pain and hot lava.<br />
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On November 1, 2003 - I was adjusted okay at school, starting my second year. I had spent the summer working at a camp. He was working on moving out of his mom's house and working in a long-term job. We fought...a lot. I don't remember much of this year, except that it continued to be a roller coaster of love and hate. I felt torn between wanting an education and spending time with him. I had high standards and expectations, often stuffing him into an unrealistic mold, and then getting angry when he did not fit. He was uncomfortable with the level of commitment that came with two years of dating and often did what he wanted whenever he wanted to do it. It was uncertain what was going to happen.<br />
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On November 1, 2004 - I was dealing with the loss of my grandpa alone. We had broken up shortly before my grandpa died, because I felt like we weren't working and I wanted to date other people, meaning that I had my eye on someone that I wanted. We talked, sometimes, as friends, but it was weird and awkward. He wanted to be together and I wanted space to figure out who I really was. It was confusing and hard. He had moved from a couple different apartments and was now living with a female friend. It was a party place and I was sure that he was partying too, but he swore that he just needed a cheap place to stay and that he just stayed in his room. He continued to tell me that I was the only thing he wanted, but I wasn't so sure about our future.<br />
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On November 1, 2005 - We were adults living an adult life. I had graduated. I had a job. He had a job. We had gotten married and were madly in love with our newborn daughter. She made everything else make sense, event though we were not planning on everything happening so fast, it felt perfect. We felt perfect. We were living in a small one-bedroom apartment, living paycheck to paycheck, but we were really good at pretending that life was amazing. Except the nights when our baby would refuse to sleep. Or the times when we screamed at each other, slamming doors, screaming vulgarities. He was working third shift. I worked first. We were exhausted, stressed, and trying to figure out how to be adults.<br />
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On November 1, 2006 - Our little girl was growing up. We had moved to a townhouse, which was more spacious and suited our little family better. We had decided to ask my cousin to live with us, so we were also parenting a teenager. My husband had become a stay-at-home daddy after being fired from a job, but we were doing okay financially, as I had continued to succeed at my job. Our relationship had become less hostile and we both were content to just live and hang out most of the time.<br />
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On November 1, 2007 - We were setting into our new home. Things were unpacked and a sort of normal was emerging. He was working at a nationally recognized company and had just received a permanent full-time job. I was at the same organization, but continued to accomplish more and more. Opportunities were arising and we were doing well by society's definition. Our little girl was happy and healthy, enjoying her freedom to roam around a large home with a big backyard in the suburb of our medium-sized city. We were happy, or so it seemed.<br />
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On November 1, 2008 - Our family was growing. We were pregnant with our second child, a boy, who seemed to be what we needed to be complete. We both were continuing to work and I had received a promotion. Our home had been updated and decorated, including a fence around the yard. Overall, we were healthy and everything appeared to be well. But there wasn't any passion for life. We were just going through the motions, day in and day out, not living more than a shell of existence, modeling the "perfect" life.<br />
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On November 1, 2009 - A baby boy and a little girl were our motivators. Our marriage had fallen apart, and we were trying to savage whatever pieces we could. An affair and a pregnant mistress left us clinging to our shipwrecked pieces for fear of drowning. We struggled through painful conversations, broken trust, counseling sessions, tears, screaming, fights, betrayal, and in all of the mess, found faith. We found a faith in God and a faith in one another. We were still uncertain of what was going to happen, as the birth of another baby loomed like a dark shadow overhead and our floor could collapse at any moment depending on what the mother chose to do.<br />
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On November 1, 2010 - We were breathing. We were loving. We were okay. And truthfully, we were stronger than we ever expected we would be - as individuals and as a couple. Our little girl began kindergarten after we requested early admission. We were involved at our church, so much so that I had quit my job and had begun working for our church with not much more than faith to know that I would be okay. We were able to rest without the affair being a daily topic of discussion or thought and we were able to see the value in forgiveness. We were able to feel everything deeper and clearer than we could ever recall.<br />
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On November 1, 2011 - More change. I continued to work at the church, but my hours were significantly cut. Our son was in daycare a couple of days a week and our daughter was in first grade. On a whim and at the prodding of God, I decided to apply to grad school to get a Master's of Counseling degree. I got accepted and began school. He was still working at the same job, which would be his longest lasting job in his life. When he wasn't working, he took pride in working on our house, making many changes that made it into a home.<br />
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On November 1, 2012 - I was still in graduate school and still working at our church. We decided to homeschool our daughter after two difficult years at a local elementary school. By default, I was teaching my son also. He had undergone recent surgery for a double hernia, causing our financial accounts to become even more thin. Our marriage was strong, but stress was high, so we had to continually give our concerns to God to take care of. Additionally, after the death of "my" dog at my mom's house, we decided that it was time to find a pet (other than the fish that we killed). Bella, a beautiful and sweet Boxer mix, fell into our lives at 8 months old.<br />
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On November 1, 2013 - Today. Our daughter is in third grade at a different local elementary and enjoys it much better. She is beautiful and social and has such a kind heart. Our son is in Pre-K and loves it. We experienced a long year of health concerns after our baby boy was diagnosed with Nephrotic Syndrome and Minimal Change Disease (but has been in remission since July). He has a heart for God and an ornery streak that can only come from his daddy. Bella is now spoiled and a permanent fixture in our home. I lost my job at the church, but began an internship at another church. I continue to be in school and feel so blessed in life. My husband provides for us and never complains. He is involved with youth group and has become such a strong Christian man, despite everything. We have seen how God can redeem brokenness, in many ways. Despite everything, I love him and I am happily married, even though I wondered if it would ever be possible. We have the best relationship that we have ever had and continue to grow as a couple, as believers, as parents, as a family. God isn't finished with us yet, but we are here, ready to tackle whatever is next.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><i>Romans 8: 37-39: <span class="text Rom-8-37" id="en-NIV-28154" style="background-color: white;">No, in all these things we are more than conquerors<span class="crossreference" style="font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-28154CB" title="See cross-reference CB">CB</a>)"></span> through him who loved us.<span class="crossreference" style="font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-28154CC" title="See cross-reference CC">CC</a>)"></span></span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span class="text Rom-8-38" id="en-NIV-28155" style="background-color: white;">For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons,<b> </b>neither the present nor the future, <span class="crossreference" style="font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-28155CD" title="See cross-reference CD">CD</a>)"></span>nor any powers,<span class="crossreference" style="font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-28155CE" title="See cross-reference CE">CE</a>)"></span></span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span><span class="text Rom-8-39" id="en-NIV-28156" style="background-color: white;">neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God<span class="crossreference" style="font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-28156CF" title="See cross-reference CF">CF</a>)"></span> that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.</span></i></span></div>
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<br />carlasue476http://www.blogger.com/profile/06854528065420886542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1146914018519846817.post-77702065958429163332013-10-07T09:13:00.001-04:002013-10-07T09:13:48.023-04:00"Imma Break My Face"Thursday, I'm with clients. In between sessions, I see a text from my hubby saying that my daughter, Isa, "fell on her face when she got off the bus" and that her "nose is all bloody and head banged up." He also said that he wasn't sure if he should take her to the hospital or not. This photo was attached:<br />
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I'm not generally one of "those" parents that freakout and go to the doctor with every sneeze or drop of blood, but considering that my daughter's normal appearance (and nose), I was concerned. I cancelled my last two appointments and met my family at the ER (since it was after office hours for the doctor's office), just to get her checked out.</div>
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While waiting, I finally got the full story, collaboratively from my husband, daughter, and son. The summary is that Isa was crossing the street after getting off the bus and Jose was in the house. Isa tripped on her untied shoe lace and it's hypothesized that she was holding onto her backpack so her hands didn't reflexively catch her. She fell face-first into the pavement. "I caught myself with my nose," Isa states with a painful grin. My son, Teo, saw her and ran to the house, banging on the door for Daddy to come help. My husband rushed outside where the bus driver was next to Isa, who was still on the ground. "She looked like a zombie," Jose describes, meaning that her face was covered with blood, pouring out her nose and mouth. Once inside, they cleaned her face and got her an ice pack and that's when he texted me.</div>
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In the waiting room, I snapped this photo:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIiW-IRbitwS86ctzNm93eaodAEelOq5uqAzY1KYZ0a2U564sdhRnyMCii2V3-N42QauM2Z7qFiTzA4RHjIIFgxVEOsnQPQcFp4WV1YHab-5pbs6lIYTuppSvs9psdS1lsZOIsmHxrWV2U/s1600/20131003_183744.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIiW-IRbitwS86ctzNm93eaodAEelOq5uqAzY1KYZ0a2U564sdhRnyMCii2V3-N42QauM2Z7qFiTzA4RHjIIFgxVEOsnQPQcFp4WV1YHab-5pbs6lIYTuppSvs9psdS1lsZOIsmHxrWV2U/s320/20131003_183744.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Isa looked at it and exclaimed, "It looks like a jellyfish stung my nose!" She continued to insist that it didn't hurt, but it pained me to look at her. We were then called into the exam room, where we met two nurses (it was shift change) and a physician's assistant.<br />
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The verdict was in. The knot on her head seemed to be surface, despite how large it was, but we were told to wake her up periodically throughout the night, just in case. Additionally, her nose may be broken, but the doctor's won't do anything or even x-ray or scan it until about a week after the injury. They wait for swelling to go down. We were directed to wait and if it was still crooked or if we had concerns later on, to call an ENT specialist.<br />
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After about an hour at the ER, we were discharged and went home. We spent the night waking her every two to three hours and asking questions to make sure she wasn't disoriented. We expected a lot of bruising the next day, probably even a black eye or two, and decided to allow her to stay home from school.<br />
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Friday, her bruising is minimal and she still insists that it does not hurt. At this point, she has not taken so much as a Tylenol or Motrin. So, I spent my day with this beautiful face on Friday:<br />
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And this face on Saturday:<br />
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Now, on Monday morning, she still has not had much bruising. No pain. The knot on her head is gone with only a small scab to remind us of her fall. Her nose is still swollen and has a spot on the right side that concerns me, but she looks amazing. She was ready to go to school and everything was just like normal.<br />
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Every ounce of me expected her to look quite battered for awhile. I can only explain her healing as divine intervention. God is good. <3 p=""></3>carlasue476http://www.blogger.com/profile/06854528065420886542noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1146914018519846817.post-32538822809643530402013-09-18T11:32:00.000-04:002013-09-18T11:32:02.975-04:00Re-AwakeningI want to write again. My daily life is so full of moments that I want to preserve forever and my brain is so forgetful.<br />
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Tender moments. </div>
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Silly moments.</div>
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Funny moments.</div>
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Frustrating moments. </div>
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Learning moments.</div>
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Spirit-filled moments.</div>
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Ironic moments.</div>
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New-experience moments.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Loving moments.</div>
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Easily-overlooked moments.</div>
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Moments which shape my heart and mold my being. I want to save them.<br />
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In recent months, I've really battled with myself and my tendency to be future-focused. I fear what I cannot predict and am worried about that which I expect to happen. I struggle to focus on now. The present.<br />
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I know there is the cheesy cliche out there on Pinterest and Facebook.<br />
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<img 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" 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I don't tend to swoon all over these pretty images that quotes have been imprinted upon and everyone goes nuts over, but this one has stuck with me. (I know, it pains me to admit!) However, in many areas of my life, I have been convicted to live for the moment. </div>
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<img height="240" src="http://aventurasdemidulcevida.files.wordpress.com/2012/12/beautiful-live-moment-wallpaper-favim-com-520574.jpg?w=500&h=374" width="320" /></div>
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How many times have I overlooked the perfect opportunity to snuggle or have a conversation because I was regretting a mistake or fretting over an upcoming event. How many missed hugs? How many kisses? How many hours of my "today" have been spent with my mind focused on a time that is either completed or not here yet. I want to savor these moments. The ones like right now, where my half naked son is anxiously waiting for lunch. These moments fill my heart with joy, rather than anxiety.</div>
carlasue476http://www.blogger.com/profile/06854528065420886542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1146914018519846817.post-14401718563695878592013-03-17T01:53:00.000-04:002013-03-17T01:53:00.069-04:00How Quickly We ForgetI randomly began going through photos from last year. Ya know, 2012. It seems so long ago. <br />
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Christmas photos. Less than three months ago.<br />
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I began sobbing. There are photos in the files on my hard drive that I don't have the heart to post on facebook. Photos of Teo, too thin, sunken cheeks, sick and weak and trying so hard to celebrate with us although his body was revolting.<br />
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He is healthy now. But, it was scary for a while there. And, as I look back, I finally feel that fear that I didn't allow myself to experience then. I feel the heartache and pain that I rejected and pushed away. I feel it all now.<br />
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And, I am sad and hollow and scared, all over again. <br />
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Because three months ago, we were uncertain about what his body was doing. Confused about his kidneys and abnormal test results and possible biopsies. He went from being bloated to a skeleton in days, miserably sick during Christmas celebrations, and then, gained weight back from his medications. It was like a pendulem swing from 45 lbs to 37 and back up to nearly 50. Now, he has finally finished tapering off the steroids, so his weight should begin to go back down. <br />
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And yet, we are still uncertain. We still don't know what his body was doing. We still don't understand his kidneys and abnormal test results. We still face possible problems. The risk of relapse is high, the doctor said. It's unknown when or if it will happen. <br />
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We still have follow up appointments. So far, nothing but positive news, so it's quickly been forgotten how scary it was. The photos today reminded me of that. Reminded me how suddenly life can shift. Priorities can change. Our futures can be altered. <br />
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I'm going to go lay down with my baby boy who is sleeping soundly and give him a few extra kisses before I go to bed myself. carlasue476http://www.blogger.com/profile/06854528065420886542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1146914018519846817.post-11511616509680209712013-03-15T01:21:00.001-04:002013-03-15T01:21:22.140-04:00Would I have risked my life, Esther-style?Esther was a pretty radical chick-turned-queen. I would like to believe that I would risk my life for my faith and to defend God, but I am not sure that I would be so willing to put my life on the line to ask for other Christians to be saved. <br />
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Now, hear me out before you begin throwing stones...<br />
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It is much easier to look at God and know that he is perfect and worthy of my life than it is to look around me, see all the sinful and hateful people in the world, stating that they are Christians, but acting in ways that are un-Christ-like. I'm not meaning the people with genuine love and that are trying to better themselves and live their faith, but make mistakes. I'm talking about people that murder and rape and throw out hate speech, using their "faith" as a building block. The "God hates fags" people or the ones who persecute pastors and churches that reach out and serve prostitutes, post-abortion mothers, rapists, felons, drug addicts, etc. <br />
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Would I want to risk dying for them?<br />
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Because when I read Esther, I can't help but look at the fact that she did that.<br />
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Granted, she would have possibly ended up dead anyways since she was secretly Jewish, and she was trying to save the life of Mordecai (her cousin who became her like adopted father), but in doing so, she ordered for all Jews to be saved. <br />
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Maybe I'm off target, but I would assume that not all of those Jews were the good kind. They didn't all worship perfectly, or sacrifice properly, or even live according to the law. I bet many of the Jews that she stood up for were also prostitutes, rapists, murderers, or drunks. Maybe some of them were mean and vile, ugly soul-ed Jews that spewed hate all through the providence in which they lived. <br />
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And, I'm not a Bible expert or even remotely well-versed. I am uneducated about the history that surrounds the Old Testament and struggle to understand much of it, honestly. But, either way, I can't help but wonder if I would have stood up for my people. <br />
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Hmmmm....?carlasue476http://www.blogger.com/profile/06854528065420886542noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1146914018519846817.post-28212889590889780622012-08-23T01:24:00.001-04:002012-08-23T01:24:15.201-04:00Dog Gone ItSo, Saturday morning, my mom called me. Nothing out of the ordinary, or so I thought. It was around 10 AM. When I answered though, her voice caused me immediate concern. Then she told me, Lacie, my dog, was at the vet and to pray. "What happened?" I asked. They didn't know. The vet said she was in shock and said it could have been an allergic reaction to a bee sting or something.<br />
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I got Lacie when I was in college. I interned with the police department and we got a call about a puppy, tied out in a thunderstorm. We soaked ourselves to get her, and while we stopped at the police station to get keys to the animal shelter, this wet puppy stole my heart. She was at the shelter for two weeks, waiting for her owners to claim her, and when they didn't, I was there within minutes of her being up for adoption. When I went in to pay for her, they said she was no longer available, that she had just been adopted, but when I got into my car, she stood at the other side of the fence, looking at me. I went back and there had been a misunderstanding. A family had come in to get both boxer dogs available, her and a male, but only had money to afford one, so they had chosen the other one. She was mine. I paid and got her into my car. I named her Larceny and she quickly became known as Lacie. That same day, we took a trip to visit my friend, Jamie, in the next state over. While we were there, she slipped out of her collar and got loose, causing me to cry and search for hours. My trip was extended a day or two while we looked to find her, finally recieving a call from the police department there. A man had found her wandering around, and thinking she was his daughter's dog, took her into his car. When he arrived to deliver her safely home, or so he thought, he realized that he had "stolen" someone's dog and promptly took her in. We went back to our home and spent the summer, bonding. <br />
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However, school time came and I returned to campus, leaving Lacie at home with my mom and step-dad. They did not want me to get her, but they took good care of her while I was gone. When I got married and graduated, I tried to find an apartment that would allow her, but my mom convinced me to get a place in a better neighborhood that didn't allow large dogs. They continued to keep her. She became best friends with their other dog, a beagle, and she took care of him. My stepdad took her for runs with the four-wheeler and consistantly bragged about how fast she was. She became a protector of my mom. When we bought the house, we asked if they wanted us to bring her to live and they told us "no"...she was used to the farm. A small city yard would break her heart. So, she stayed there. <br />
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She was 8 1/2 years old and when my mom called me, I figured the vet would get her fixed up and send her home. However, when I had the sense that I needed to call my mom on Saturday around noon, no one answered and within moments, my phone rang and I knew when my mom spoke. Lacie had died. I cried. More than I ever expected that I would. More that I have ever cried for any pet. And then I cried more, because I knew that my pain was nothing compared to that of my mom and stepdad. <br />
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On Sunday, I decided to look online, on craigslist and shelter websites, looking for a boxer. I had an idea of what I wanted: less than a year old, housebroken, female. I also knew that we could not afford what breeders charge and I preferred to find a puppy that needed us. I did not connect with any of them and decided to not seek a dog out. Instead I prayed. "God, if you want this to happen, make it happen. If it's not now, that's fine. I trust you. I trust your will." <br />
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Today, I was on facebook. No surprise there. I'm in a virtual garage sale site and a post popped up: Does anyone want a boxer puppy? My brother has a female boxer, about six months old, that needs a good home.<br />
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I responded and began having a conversation with the girl that posted. I prayed. I told my husband to pray. We didn't tell our kids, but I set up a time this evening to meet her. And she sent me a photo. One thing that I knew was that I couldn't handle getting another puppy that looked like Lacie, with the fawn coloring. The photo was of a pup with a brindle pattern. I forwarded it to Jose who agreed that we should meet her.<br />
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As we were waiting to meet, we told the kids. They were immediately excited and wanted to take her home. When we pulled up to the drivewhere where she lived, she ran out to meet us. Lots of kisses were given and Teo began to run around the yard, with the dog right alongside him. At one point, she knocked him over with her butt and stopped, looking at him as if asking, "Are you okay? What the heck are you doing? Get up here and play with me!" and we knew.<br />
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They gave us what they had for her: a bed, cage, leash, and a rawhide. She crawled into the backseat with the kids, but ended up spending most of the ride in Jose's lap, drooling like crazy and kissing on him. She adjusted quickly to our house and the kids have done nothing but play with her. We spent some time in the yard, playing frisbee, and she met a couple of the neighbors. Earlier, she fell asleep in my arms. We have already fallen in love and know that this is the dog that we are meant to have. So, here's the newest addition to our family: Bella! <br />
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carlasue476http://www.blogger.com/profile/06854528065420886542noreply@blogger.com0