tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52705797371224018212024-02-07T11:14:24.401-08:00Bereaved Christian MomsA place of HOPE...where we can share our Christian beliefs freely... and encourage one another...as we await REUNION with our beloved children.DONNA--(Admin)http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615435504270283978noreply@blogger.comBlogger128125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5270579737122401821.post-68395544056162039242020-04-26T12:53:00.000-07:002020-04-26T12:53:16.487-07:00PHOTOS OF MY FAMILY and MORE<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjluliRLtapAzFycVa64SAD1P5XqNr0WQJjpuPnSObsB4dDLPR9QEJyrQo4rfVV_ZHAobY-R-Ax_JG9AKIeZ84OzHD0JRLAc2eOsaiUm7xCdYAsqJ9yLaQf4TVijLB-X_ToA_H4-kCoaG8/s1600/fullsizeoutput_59.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1331" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjluliRLtapAzFycVa64SAD1P5XqNr0WQJjpuPnSObsB4dDLPR9QEJyrQo4rfVV_ZHAobY-R-Ax_JG9AKIeZ84OzHD0JRLAc2eOsaiUm7xCdYAsqJ9yLaQf4TVijLB-X_ToA_H4-kCoaG8/s320/fullsizeoutput_59.jpeg" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tim college-age</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirCrp8ldbyhhroT5hWj9-d3AFIOCQqoGdwcTG02YVXrCp0LlzJvsQjIVSWMN7ZC5Y3j6-gZO0YugmbemxWgyiNnBM_fOKi5LIg6Aa3HMUr2opegP_ycksUnXhywvvksO_xnyTB8iv4jhs/s1600/fullsizeoutput_871.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1498" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirCrp8ldbyhhroT5hWj9-d3AFIOCQqoGdwcTG02YVXrCp0LlzJvsQjIVSWMN7ZC5Y3j6-gZO0YugmbemxWgyiNnBM_fOKi5LIg6Aa3HMUr2opegP_ycksUnXhywvvksO_xnyTB8iv4jhs/s320/fullsizeoutput_871.jpeg" width="297" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Favorite wedding photo of Tim and me</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsfySsttBjqrqsYRFnvOcc5TxQ29X8jzUWGNtVsgidJAoAbIXLRQW25Njamqz7AFHd3hNY44hJuFT9Urha31n9xZomd5MZ7tQIQkbVA-iK_CbJRmqsF_c6pc-fHEdcNFvNU7TX4JWkfb0/s1600/tim+wedding+single.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1072" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsfySsttBjqrqsYRFnvOcc5TxQ29X8jzUWGNtVsgidJAoAbIXLRQW25Njamqz7AFHd3hNY44hJuFT9Urha31n9xZomd5MZ7tQIQkbVA-iK_CbJRmqsF_c6pc-fHEdcNFvNU7TX4JWkfb0/s320/tim+wedding+single.png" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tim</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQHpXKtmLj7d_B_QNsAmpA4BABOpqKDIZFcmNiEayRibzKsiTrLx47SQivJuEzIHXPObqLBNwZUX-Ib-CucUf8hCKQzWkbnbmX-GsCrmOpHbD97X_vjZZYxMirZMso7FT40iKyqwCfhLo/s1600/IMG_1386.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="240" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQHpXKtmLj7d_B_QNsAmpA4BABOpqKDIZFcmNiEayRibzKsiTrLx47SQivJuEzIHXPObqLBNwZUX-Ib-CucUf8hCKQzWkbnbmX-GsCrmOpHbD97X_vjZZYxMirZMso7FT40iKyqwCfhLo/s320/IMG_1386.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Donna and newborn Michael</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsM4TV7MnY7eQjVu9RCQ2SnS3TFxc4zq0SM-ljv69UgP-0Ax5BmYeaHnDcozRcT6vRcXUgu2Bl-yUH8TimPIFH1eBJDyMME1SC7dbYP3eonokbcOYkrRiO6WAcSi6cY4zLGidgrmi9Osg/s1600/+michael+lisa+stroller.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1081" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsM4TV7MnY7eQjVu9RCQ2SnS3TFxc4zq0SM-ljv69UgP-0Ax5BmYeaHnDcozRcT6vRcXUgu2Bl-yUH8TimPIFH1eBJDyMME1SC7dbYP3eonokbcOYkrRiO6WAcSi6cY4zLGidgrmi9Osg/s320/+michael+lisa+stroller.png" width="216" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Michael and Lisa stroller-time</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmGRGtixJK-aiNV16OTahpM958tB3lWQlV1xo9DTOdxKJfendr84-nB5jRZPW14kFMlMvHCr-ezIMuecSshQzA64zq2YHhRRV9dLR-MmvVuQQhX5RuGyDTUhv4ZXJ6Br55idvQNBQ2i8w/s1600/IMG_0563.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmGRGtixJK-aiNV16OTahpM958tB3lWQlV1xo9DTOdxKJfendr84-nB5jRZPW14kFMlMvHCr-ezIMuecSshQzA64zq2YHhRRV9dLR-MmvVuQQhX5RuGyDTUhv4ZXJ6Br55idvQNBQ2i8w/s320/IMG_0563.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Michael and Lisa in swing</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtNsOPv9oRy6lhHHTMxA4I-r0U_TsWTGgAt8p8iqYaUW6EGXvmlEFr1FK0EjzPRrbofTm0-aU32A31y78nL4fhyphenhyphenmi_WK_u4xtfy5atDwD_gaWYwedPK6BGcvUaBh95MXobAnhSIVKRrkk/s1600/FullSizeRender-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="300" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtNsOPv9oRy6lhHHTMxA4I-r0U_TsWTGgAt8p8iqYaUW6EGXvmlEFr1FK0EjzPRrbofTm0-aU32A31y78nL4fhyphenhyphenmi_WK_u4xtfy5atDwD_gaWYwedPK6BGcvUaBh95MXobAnhSIVKRrkk/s320/FullSizeRender-6.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tim and Michael at the Fair</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc6x40SSwADvuF96RCJ1LpaZezwthuOc239rZFrh4BiAZgt24opnYnHGycsabjVxfNfq2jr2Vv7w6vxAdeuRpC-GVSusrq_FyeRM4hJ0rQMopQAlzKR0sLJo9velAMjT5O3kmlFyucVxk/s1600/photo-14.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="195" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc6x40SSwADvuF96RCJ1LpaZezwthuOc239rZFrh4BiAZgt24opnYnHGycsabjVxfNfq2jr2Vv7w6vxAdeuRpC-GVSusrq_FyeRM4hJ0rQMopQAlzKR0sLJo9velAMjT5O3kmlFyucVxk/s320/photo-14.JPG" width="259" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Michael loved ribbons</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGwtNh1KQfdVC-sUSt7J8KSxGoMV7pfAkISijCmybk2sLJ3EO8ojefsrewk0WKoFhuRXB_DaxvwyV4vb_oy4WOCi5YlVQae3l3OG_V4WpQziWMzAurwUJY233YkqTcP40DO_f9VEw0Rwg/s1600/Michael2-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="223" data-original-width="320" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGwtNh1KQfdVC-sUSt7J8KSxGoMV7pfAkISijCmybk2sLJ3EO8ojefsrewk0WKoFhuRXB_DaxvwyV4vb_oy4WOCi5YlVQae3l3OG_V4WpQziWMzAurwUJY233YkqTcP40DO_f9VEw0Rwg/s320/Michael2-3.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of my favorite photos of Michael</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ0obcDVXWy4HdsnYJ7DZDn0w7BlvXGFTs8PJnSSIo5QSflauONspGMDMyb7t37qL-WBmq99mWGFeQf4-EeEkrsTnMbgTLEFtSd99ZtFmSv1mJJOBRgytvDJRoWF6pB5gRkqA8M1wfydg/s1600/IMG_0183.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ0obcDVXWy4HdsnYJ7DZDn0w7BlvXGFTs8PJnSSIo5QSflauONspGMDMyb7t37qL-WBmq99mWGFeQf4-EeEkrsTnMbgTLEFtSd99ZtFmSv1mJJOBRgytvDJRoWF6pB5gRkqA8M1wfydg/s320/IMG_0183.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the carpet</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8oQ4tss5mVK9tHHjwCINrs_Yn84Smohs7Co4u_7wEppd00JDw1bAgE4aUQnPT5i5Okt81MxRz_Vf6t-2Bnrs-7gfgYtVyDqcjcwCiKZSRTQ_YxFTEflQMc-VDaGugneLAJuSB5hv-F7k/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="320" data-original-width="308" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8oQ4tss5mVK9tHHjwCINrs_Yn84Smohs7Co4u_7wEppd00JDw1bAgE4aUQnPT5i5Okt81MxRz_Vf6t-2Bnrs-7gfgYtVyDqcjcwCiKZSRTQ_YxFTEflQMc-VDaGugneLAJuSB5hv-F7k/s320/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="307" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Michael found out he could repeatedly say, "No!"</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMyxLoSAE5uCIT7ktOE1IPhcOOYDQ5othHuBaJ6GSUsNJOpc36GHJVZq8pSlfE24A0kUEaCf1iFgDtoQG1MeCJp61Lht4fVYr0uXR7j462adhc5aLyiFTUk9bj8EGhabJ5bY3SJJ-oH-c/s1600/IMG_2513.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMyxLoSAE5uCIT7ktOE1IPhcOOYDQ5othHuBaJ6GSUsNJOpc36GHJVZq8pSlfE24A0kUEaCf1iFgDtoQG1MeCJp61Lht4fVYr0uXR7j462adhc5aLyiFTUk9bj8EGhabJ5bY3SJJ-oH-c/s320/IMG_2513.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Outdoor summer fun</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN1CSrhUTR_sY9ElO4CmQ-h5gg-AEXg2auyxHiS1vUoaGgtUBPEnD5QCN2bKNpyZPQhpoNsbNQ5njeox0V2JKNYeZF0HObzyTDvWMCSN7dJM3IIo6FaCKfs0jVAwdNoz1YhwCUGQM-80I/s1600/IMG_0079.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN1CSrhUTR_sY9ElO4CmQ-h5gg-AEXg2auyxHiS1vUoaGgtUBPEnD5QCN2bKNpyZPQhpoNsbNQ5njeox0V2JKNYeZF0HObzyTDvWMCSN7dJM3IIo6FaCKfs0jVAwdNoz1YhwCUGQM-80I/s320/IMG_0079.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Smiling at Dad</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpG3KgeRmstxJMNyd5QO5oz_0gx-GX5xuoFrk4vCn0tSSAI57e6ONjEQ5PwnpFEQ4NNL4I-c1gohwEWJikke7IVG52zpyEJsx0kK-K1hV0EAyCyMWjWl10Fl2Ho03hBLZgLwpWoTtSoJM/s1600/lisa+crawling+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="224" data-original-width="320" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpG3KgeRmstxJMNyd5QO5oz_0gx-GX5xuoFrk4vCn0tSSAI57e6ONjEQ5PwnpFEQ4NNL4I-c1gohwEWJikke7IVG52zpyEJsx0kK-K1hV0EAyCyMWjWl10Fl2Ho03hBLZgLwpWoTtSoJM/s320/lisa+crawling+copy.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My favorite top for Lisa</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPhEemj5LOmbh6O9667rJ99_97GNnIKHHIJxt_3TT8ktqCAXjKkM0F-zb48PURYIYb0dcx_XpLUS_IkyCOMgTgtoWunnTgIeOirKfBaKRbLOIOpUE8aOmo7N9_jaFf6ws4zQfdDDketAk/s1600/michael+last+one.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="972" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPhEemj5LOmbh6O9667rJ99_97GNnIKHHIJxt_3TT8ktqCAXjKkM0F-zb48PURYIYb0dcx_XpLUS_IkyCOMgTgtoWunnTgIeOirKfBaKRbLOIOpUE8aOmo7N9_jaFf6ws4zQfdDDketAk/s320/michael+last+one.png" width="193" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Angel-like pose</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4DL01w4bwCo0qlwDeI0lyDcqzfo-3hWA97plupSHaqnVv9YzNrOr_TnvUNk4jq1JVMhjLDiF-TMQY7FkyG0Lf4yaluH9WeDKjkHoP-hj6UFMOk2q65RaSCTbrhzRFEONqHLG8YDK9O4A/s1600/FullSizeRender-12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="770" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4DL01w4bwCo0qlwDeI0lyDcqzfo-3hWA97plupSHaqnVv9YzNrOr_TnvUNk4jq1JVMhjLDiF-TMQY7FkyG0Lf4yaluH9WeDKjkHoP-hj6UFMOk2q65RaSCTbrhzRFEONqHLG8YDK9O4A/s320/FullSizeRender-12.jpg" width="192" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Two weeks before Lisa was buried in her favorite dress</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjCXJ1HwGAeeqWqg2Qwb2ws8c-TlPqwI18sBA9Fy9dSfn9w-g_NBl0Gs2f4Oj37NCmHMfri_BSTifGUMBN0HXCKXKsPfU147a0sSvK8bwWNiYyZVMYnXGGTrXRrHuyjDl-MFhGZD_xsyI/s1600/lisa+portrait.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjCXJ1HwGAeeqWqg2Qwb2ws8c-TlPqwI18sBA9Fy9dSfn9w-g_NBl0Gs2f4Oj37NCmHMfri_BSTifGUMBN0HXCKXKsPfU147a0sSvK8bwWNiYyZVMYnXGGTrXRrHuyjDl-MFhGZD_xsyI/s320/lisa+portrait.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Closeup of long-haired Lisa</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGZZGQM3yZ1-oqeZnj4vPg6yLpxHid8ZjQS4E-KJW7ZkkICP3QpZoLeSriRRd0m_kfLsOVwVUWnzv967vw-BtNm6UMJ8fTQZn2BP4w5N-KeHLyS64aD1BrpPZpQsvOreRa8yhMgzBI7Sw/s1600/fullsizeoutput_84c.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGZZGQM3yZ1-oqeZnj4vPg6yLpxHid8ZjQS4E-KJW7ZkkICP3QpZoLeSriRRd0m_kfLsOVwVUWnzv967vw-BtNm6UMJ8fTQZn2BP4w5N-KeHLyS64aD1BrpPZpQsvOreRa8yhMgzBI7Sw/s320/fullsizeoutput_84c.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Their last photo together</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSBpRFb6AemGqoks6ODkybH2yBehaNqqt1fxmA6wz1fSxW6bCmkqLDb8jfreEyKLaAmAQp7fb4xVsN1jz9sZRGUbLvTbIMx5k8muMiv16Hh1KSzRGpRsGPPLVZEpPKTZcmXZtbGUkvvVg/s1600/fullsizeoutput_5a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1515" data-original-width="1301" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSBpRFb6AemGqoks6ODkybH2yBehaNqqt1fxmA6wz1fSxW6bCmkqLDb8jfreEyKLaAmAQp7fb4xVsN1jz9sZRGUbLvTbIMx5k8muMiv16Hh1KSzRGpRsGPPLVZEpPKTZcmXZtbGUkvvVg/s320/fullsizeoutput_5a.jpeg" width="273" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My mother is beautiful</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEg5VuhqY1NBucKOc-I-L7LjZgPUPGkdUYw5BHJeq-7ow642wkVXVaHP6cgZZKafYT2IrEIgLAC53WCXOTdTqLZ-atIXab2fb0RStBOLE4QwWhCFrD-ziMU6tm5dejR87i5F-g0vC1_9lQs/s1600/fullsizeoutput_68.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1347" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5VuhqY1NBucKOc-I-L7LjZgPUPGkdUYw5BHJeq-7ow642wkVXVaHP6cgZZKafYT2IrEIgLAC53WCXOTdTqLZ-atIXab2fb0RStBOLE4QwWhCFrD-ziMU6tm5dejR87i5F-g0vC1_9lQs/s320/fullsizeoutput_68.jpeg" width="268" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My dad resembled Clark Gable, people told him</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQdhTAB1_7xWgNviGw66A-eYP2FId31r5IQEcqHaGBXR2mxS-eSQTsG7162rz0NTF3fXgt6qOJsKSbdRapG4nXUvw5kQrGf62FWf8euBiTrHdRrR8PsaaSGMf9GqMKByGhWjuZXUkEXn4/s1600/IMG_3674.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQdhTAB1_7xWgNviGw66A-eYP2FId31r5IQEcqHaGBXR2mxS-eSQTsG7162rz0NTF3fXgt6qOJsKSbdRapG4nXUvw5kQrGf62FWf8euBiTrHdRrR8PsaaSGMf9GqMKByGhWjuZXUkEXn4/s320/IMG_3674.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mom and Dad during blizzard aftermath</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ1tJMV1e8wu7adfdpeHul5Pe6LrIaxSy2bWHmk-s6V4KrcGXYCCLvTXU-hMl7ualodfSt6XsUXwFkJXM1MEtEJAoNJaz7yvFpCdnO7_VGhg6BxCBflM6t52xDAZqIVNjmRzIG8Lwdwaw/s1600/IMG_2563.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ1tJMV1e8wu7adfdpeHul5Pe6LrIaxSy2bWHmk-s6V4KrcGXYCCLvTXU-hMl7ualodfSt6XsUXwFkJXM1MEtEJAoNJaz7yvFpCdnO7_VGhg6BxCBflM6t52xDAZqIVNjmRzIG8Lwdwaw/s320/IMG_2563.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pat, Pete and me </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSQC3RxW8tfjIW6yEy1jogB4cLIIG96VqWpWIdWm2Hcflf7I1Cke9duGnTwmMD28KZYk_ppNotSG1MiU0oQTtPMC4tL5_aL0M9Wt3XOhxxh1xWu9vLRuujEBN34Iw_-K27Rx1w_Ih-6J8/s1600/IMG_2750.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSQC3RxW8tfjIW6yEy1jogB4cLIIG96VqWpWIdWm2Hcflf7I1Cke9duGnTwmMD28KZYk_ppNotSG1MiU0oQTtPMC4tL5_aL0M9Wt3XOhxxh1xWu9vLRuujEBN34Iw_-K27Rx1w_Ih-6J8/s320/IMG_2750.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pete and me</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEjJ7Vkg84aYmazLT9MOZyCsXm-CRZjfosXLgyEP8RpAUHqHIr6LuMPfMQerE3GFlHZ3VaT7SImqSmsmXoT2E4HNSPRmmz1dIFqntFB-yepUoBIC_is6oriSsD3YsyNffbiCaeLBZgy-dus/s1600/IMG_2745.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ7Vkg84aYmazLT9MOZyCsXm-CRZjfosXLgyEP8RpAUHqHIr6LuMPfMQerE3GFlHZ3VaT7SImqSmsmXoT2E4HNSPRmmz1dIFqntFB-yepUoBIC_is6oriSsD3YsyNffbiCaeLBZgy-dus/s320/IMG_2745.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pat at 16 and me at 14</td></tr>
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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/AVvXsEgpwKqgTgHw1QgkdMiNEwcbLr9kB4FfNoAC1prnrOy9rjk66ZnRD2CCUlBumvfXWjWsLHzFGHfL6vhfr1gx_cQoJQGb8pTjP2jkV5ubO6lxT3bVpeC6VsqmsrL3Er2llYWKgh2cey0py6o/s1600/IMG_2741.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpwKqgTgHw1QgkdMiNEwcbLr9kB4FfNoAC1prnrOy9rjk66ZnRD2CCUlBumvfXWjWsLHzFGHfL6vhfr1gx_cQoJQGb8pTjP2jkV5ubO6lxT3bVpeC6VsqmsrL3Er2llYWKgh2cey0py6o/s320/IMG_2741.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beatrice</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEh5v1luLdvAYgmqgRuTD58Ue68jI5fjybxO-xHQwoDDfs_WhOlWvuZKfV3XhWXAHeWwProoXhDPEybm5iE0NpOh1Z4kEnnA_E7x_tPbjE58sQq1HihqEKQ3AilR7Zbzny9j9dgOY4McOTg/s1600/IMG_3728.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5v1luLdvAYgmqgRuTD58Ue68jI5fjybxO-xHQwoDDfs_WhOlWvuZKfV3XhWXAHeWwProoXhDPEybm5iE0NpOh1Z4kEnnA_E7x_tPbjE58sQq1HihqEKQ3AilR7Zbzny9j9dgOY4McOTg/s320/IMG_3728.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The crocheted frames my mother made </td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-S5x8992wNqigQx9b2mEzjfx0ZV3wEMvBaY7fqAigiYb18CZ07ACuE0xFI8WVY2wvn-7khy2p7-W28HaXgc0xW_YWs3GSWHz53dGgiCN82xgTmMoJgNacUxRzWi7XcAfXShO5oWWkrMk/s1600/IMG_2756.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-S5x8992wNqigQx9b2mEzjfx0ZV3wEMvBaY7fqAigiYb18CZ07ACuE0xFI8WVY2wvn-7khy2p7-W28HaXgc0xW_YWs3GSWHz53dGgiCN82xgTmMoJgNacUxRzWi7XcAfXShO5oWWkrMk/s320/IMG_2756.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mom and Louie/Louise</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFEFAtgJ6nWf7dNdzTmKljnNJxe-_PeOHsywUYSsmz-qXLVW75XBWCVN8ADDIfHlRi3oklLj491Bk2THPXB7hLyEiCUFSJp4jOteQJr4nhcT1wybUyHKakccwlIyjV84y60BfgPX50cEY/s1600/IMG_3601.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFEFAtgJ6nWf7dNdzTmKljnNJxe-_PeOHsywUYSsmz-qXLVW75XBWCVN8ADDIfHlRi3oklLj491Bk2THPXB7hLyEiCUFSJp4jOteQJr4nhcT1wybUyHKakccwlIyjV84y60BfgPX50cEY/s320/IMG_3601.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Michael drew this image of Jesus not long before the wreck</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<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/AVvXsEi3_s8leqFX4GoJNwhAuwILKoAirr0_RwiI9zMkXQA6-eJbwgJGbtl_h9SJqHw1UXSwUt-fVRitq-e5EqYsfg3mYxXX_Bxdk6YksEjqIQeOSqrfjy7N8oLLAZojLf2z39uE4VRrrPTf7k0/s1600/IMG_3591.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3_s8leqFX4GoJNwhAuwILKoAirr0_RwiI9zMkXQA6-eJbwgJGbtl_h9SJqHw1UXSwUt-fVRitq-e5EqYsfg3mYxXX_Bxdk6YksEjqIQeOSqrfjy7N8oLLAZojLf2z39uE4VRrrPTf7k0/s320/IMG_3591.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Resembles angels (drawn by Michael before the wreck)</td></tr>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx0mihVvge3dWvOtyxxUikVjrs3-k5r1CTwA9UzbsOo0a0qv7TjqSuXE5Jics5xFX5-6T8zAfg-h0CLjgWoMLZDbtib8YmlNz5K3ZQ8DCyrdg5z2t77FlRoNzZkWYzxi07f8yX4jkpv0Q/s1600/fullsizeoutput_86.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1438" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx0mihVvge3dWvOtyxxUikVjrs3-k5r1CTwA9UzbsOo0a0qv7TjqSuXE5Jics5xFX5-6T8zAfg-h0CLjgWoMLZDbtib8YmlNz5K3ZQ8DCyrdg5z2t77FlRoNzZkWYzxi07f8yX4jkpv0Q/s320/fullsizeoutput_86.jpeg" width="286" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I designed their headstone</td></tr>
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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/AVvXsEipcbVgvKFYo1NOXQ5Hy3MaccF3I2QWrDqdwEejQ1Djcvygbbfcjm6lw6APuVfGWJcU-RpYc3Z6FWd_ylfO23vcTjRGsjNTQ1cTBIx_XgobrnxrDZcwAhBBWbCIEs65syoMtdFujK1Bx2k/s1600/IMG_0120.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipcbVgvKFYo1NOXQ5Hy3MaccF3I2QWrDqdwEejQ1Djcvygbbfcjm6lw6APuVfGWJcU-RpYc3Z6FWd_ylfO23vcTjRGsjNTQ1cTBIx_XgobrnxrDZcwAhBBWbCIEs65syoMtdFujK1Bx2k/s320/IMG_0120.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Daisy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA0FuQxfwfIJ6X4VQ1RYsmsoSRSz-yn0TLum1RMKx2oBCGAQZnMTJ5z2rOaFgsS86xqHjmg7Ovmk4v9LXsc98tK3Zfw_KEB-YLijwyoh_hkOemeBu92lE-RL8uItLUlYHUjNL9Dfjbq2c/s320/IMG_1546.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Abby</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivDqy-FEvdwxf7fz2acNARyZWklZchqcvWHE_9RJfowYZazfDlMf8q6KMumG97dj_iXTGXSXgzeDZm3-zPQ0EJy5k2CHD_CNcKtgpWqlapz4W715g224Qg_yOmyjvXWOPbujlUic-9QXw/s1600/IMG_3314.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivDqy-FEvdwxf7fz2acNARyZWklZchqcvWHE_9RJfowYZazfDlMf8q6KMumG97dj_iXTGXSXgzeDZm3-zPQ0EJy5k2CHD_CNcKtgpWqlapz4W715g224Qg_yOmyjvXWOPbujlUic-9QXw/s320/IMG_3314.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Toby</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA0FuQxfwfIJ6X4VQ1RYsmsoSRSz-yn0TLum1RMKx2oBCGAQZnMTJ5z2rOaFgsS86xqHjmg7Ovmk4v9LXsc98tK3Zfw_KEB-YLijwyoh_hkOemeBu92lE-RL8uItLUlYHUjNL9Dfjbq2c/s1600/IMG_1546.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtu6EAudn-WiU8RglJOmBCRF2QLCRi5BVFsRNGykyghElOBEO-0EwLmVcXev2cxpbfpGIIzbnIAWNgf3gYbhyLcohMKWMZVVEPeqE3JskyDRU5mALEUQHDcN98DfXd7FSO9Ic4IEr19s8/s1600/IMG_3314.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA0FuQxfwfIJ6X4VQ1RYsmsoSRSz-yn0TLum1RMKx2oBCGAQZnMTJ5z2rOaFgsS86xqHjmg7Ovmk4v9LXsc98tK3Zfw_KEB-YLijwyoh_hkOemeBu92lE-RL8uItLUlYHUjNL9Dfjbq2c/s1600/IMG_1546.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtu6EAudn-WiU8RglJOmBCRF2QLCRi5BVFsRNGykyghElOBEO-0EwLmVcXev2cxpbfpGIIzbnIAWNgf3gYbhyLcohMKWMZVVEPeqE3JskyDRU5mALEUQHDcN98DfXd7FSO9Ic4IEr19s8/s1600/IMG_3314.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdJuyfFNEAq8eXAGlI67v0cXBHW2FXf42FSg_JbmsswFgvZFHYMg0_TdzPcJs0ygHEUoSZbkywDWDPFx65gBK_V_XkqBWehuzH4XEo5pLCgoLq4s_XP89Lf1Xwis2CfoND9Er4hOGfgLY/s1600/IMG_0568.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdJuyfFNEAq8eXAGlI67v0cXBHW2FXf42FSg_JbmsswFgvZFHYMg0_TdzPcJs0ygHEUoSZbkywDWDPFx65gBK_V_XkqBWehuzH4XEo5pLCgoLq4s_XP89Lf1Xwis2CfoND9Er4hOGfgLY/s320/IMG_0568.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I made lots of "Hug-Me" pups for hospice</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1qNgXOXwcEn49Jb2SKk4X-5g-naCZonCQcBB0rxRQp7OvkcRsIbc6IhYUYSl6_ECRoxlp5XOS8EPO_YQFB5c3d2ZtH0OsrXlEM086T5klPXMWQcERT8OrSye8uarKc2cO5724b2EdOQI/s1600/IMG_0127.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1qNgXOXwcEn49Jb2SKk4X-5g-naCZonCQcBB0rxRQp7OvkcRsIbc6IhYUYSl6_ECRoxlp5XOS8EPO_YQFB5c3d2ZtH0OsrXlEM086T5klPXMWQcERT8OrSye8uarKc2cO5724b2EdOQI/s320/IMG_0127.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I enjoy making baby quilts</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw1s1rmWpPdlBj7qWygu3qyGRxKJ_gjZ0o4TXnDplTuKhBfDaTmWuaMWnYXabIk2TixhWVacsM-a7V6PTjP1Le9qA0bO-Iqot6SHSCS6rVRzEJXrf4N9EhfO2hytAVauJUWLqhIKYuS7U/s1600/IMG_0093.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw1s1rmWpPdlBj7qWygu3qyGRxKJ_gjZ0o4TXnDplTuKhBfDaTmWuaMWnYXabIk2TixhWVacsM-a7V6PTjP1Le9qA0bO-Iqot6SHSCS6rVRzEJXrf4N9EhfO2hytAVauJUWLqhIKYuS7U/s320/IMG_0093.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A quilt I made</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8QEwVYWD9orLfL6uWWbd80RtAVfKAPlK0GtwbmIi9eAYSbhORdfNu5pwkG9OrPgHAo5UApZrZMjAUX9MiO7DF7S59RXi2o1Ia3S1Q46t9WdSFqhzQMXE7ZeNiYazRCqbZeYSqgPWtFew/s1600/fullsizeoutput_103.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="222" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8QEwVYWD9orLfL6uWWbd80RtAVfKAPlK0GtwbmIi9eAYSbhORdfNu5pwkG9OrPgHAo5UApZrZMjAUX9MiO7DF7S59RXi2o1Ia3S1Q46t9WdSFqhzQMXE7ZeNiYazRCqbZeYSqgPWtFew/s400/fullsizeoutput_103.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Kevin" as a newborn (and me)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF_YRyaLWSfTxz5CqeYScOwKHbS-wsGb_YJv66hHeQ5sE1C0PcuBGaCUa397MsZKcvU3aQoZll2L7S0Ukqv9Zus-MJPHFZZtZx0oHjtpgVLt15cCXScyzDhJ37YQCiwbu2D89mbP0TLVE/s1600/DSC03480.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF_YRyaLWSfTxz5CqeYScOwKHbS-wsGb_YJv66hHeQ5sE1C0PcuBGaCUa397MsZKcvU3aQoZll2L7S0Ukqv9Zus-MJPHFZZtZx0oHjtpgVLt15cCXScyzDhJ37YQCiwbu2D89mbP0TLVE/s320/DSC03480.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm in the black coat in foreground, visiting St. Basel's in Moscow</td></tr>
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<br />DONNA--(Admin)http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615435504270283978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5270579737122401821.post-76535749268469848282020-04-21T17:25:00.001-07:002020-07-01T13:27:27.514-07:00LISA WAS HERE<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAlHITBZVvyKbAeRfHmtW8FZ-p0jT0ViM_rZeue1IXc8dHuqtMIjGqck_AZkFEn86Jal8QhFAmw_WNJtYeAMdRBBvi2hNUKK_KflzXLJmVwJB6kcJJjhVGBACuyIUq4NZZeb6qCcptxHQ/s5824/1735D41A-6E31-4659-9B01-B8C0A90A8465_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4072" data-original-width="5824" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAlHITBZVvyKbAeRfHmtW8FZ-p0jT0ViM_rZeue1IXc8dHuqtMIjGqck_AZkFEn86Jal8QhFAmw_WNJtYeAMdRBBvi2hNUKK_KflzXLJmVwJB6kcJJjhVGBACuyIUq4NZZeb6qCcptxHQ/s320/1735D41A-6E31-4659-9B01-B8C0A90A8465_1_201_a.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><b><br /></b></div><b><div><b><br /></b></div>Today while walking to Target, a bright pink, sidewalk chalk message caught my eye. The words, "Alexandra was here," reminded me of something I'd struggled with during early bereavement: the worth and value to society of someone that hadn't lived long at all on this planet. Lisa lived only nine and a half months on Earth. Michael only twenty-seven months. I had no relatives nearby nor many friends, being newly relocated to a very small, near-rural city.</b><br />
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<b>Lisa was the harder struggle on this issue for me. Not many people even knew that Lisa existed in the world. Michael at least had made a friend and had interacted verbally with others. Lisa seemed more of an immediate extension of myself, not fully separated from me yet, still getting nutrition from me. My husband having also died in the auto accident, who but me and our parents thought Lisa added any value to society? Who except us really even cared that she was "gone?" A decision was made for Michael and Lisa not to even have their own casket; Lisa totally hidden from view due to her injuries. </b><br />
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<b>So the chalk message really resonated with me. Back then I'd wanted to shout to the world, <i>"Hey! Lisa was here!"</i> Her utter absence was exacerbated by the fact I'd been unable to attend my family's funeral, still recuperating in the hospital. </b><br />
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<b>How I struggled when other people's children died and so much wonderful fanfare attended them afterward. I was glad for those involved, yet it still seemed a double-whammy loss for my children. So few remembering them during life . . . or likely afterward. Not one mention of how they'd impacted another's life for the better. No public recognition and reminder that their death mattered to those outside the immediate family. Even today, I'm sorry to say that I still fight a twinge of envy when hearing about the wonderful fuss made over someone newly deceased. (Btw, I hate the word "dead" because it implies complete cessation of <i>all </i>life. And that's not what I believe as a Christian. "Physically dead" is much more accurate a description. Because they're still spiritually alive--that is much more alive than is possible while still shackled to mortality.)</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>After much struggle, I finally concluded that Lisa and Michael's worth and value were immense in God's eyes. There was scriptural evidence to back that up. Jesus valued children, embracing them and telling his disciples: </b><br />
<span style="color: red;"><b>"See that you do not despise one of these little ones. For I tell you that their angels in heaven always see the face of my Father in heaven." </b></span><br />
<b>(NIV Matthew 18:10) </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>What did it matter if nobody but my immediate family had valued Lisa and Michael? God said they mattered and that is all that is important. What if something happened to my memory of them? Would they lose their importance? Of course not. Worth and value come from God and nobody can ever take that away from God. Even a sparrow has value in God's eyes:</b><br />
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<b><span style="color: red;">"Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father's care." </span>(NIV Matthew 10:29)</b><br />
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<b>In conclusion, from the words of someone replying to my tired, direction-challenged query on my first walking trip to Target, "You're almost there! It's just straight ahead!" </b><br />
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<b>Let's keep on our hopeful walk, because we're closer to our final goal than we think!</b><br />
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<br />DONNA--(Admin)http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615435504270283978noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5270579737122401821.post-30100170433882543772019-09-16T18:27:00.000-07:002019-09-16T18:28:08.186-07:00MICHAEL TURNS 37 TODAY<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy7w7h_0qwF1wSUzB2i3rQgr509uFXdRRAJnWSt4wW_WG695jfzylPNF4zySLw81cHXkD33RSoHPKM7HDdV4Z0eFBEzalPijYVx60fRpsTow-fHxMTemrqSRge__POM7aA3AYXsfSzEMs/s1600/IMG_4797.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="608" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy7w7h_0qwF1wSUzB2i3rQgr509uFXdRRAJnWSt4wW_WG695jfzylPNF4zySLw81cHXkD33RSoHPKM7HDdV4Z0eFBEzalPijYVx60fRpsTow-fHxMTemrqSRge__POM7aA3AYXsfSzEMs/s320/IMG_4797.jpg" width="304" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">DONNA AND MICHAEL<br />
HIS BAPTISM DAY</td></tr>
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<b>Today Michael would have turned 37 had he survived the wreck. One of his last pictures is placed before a lighted candle, electric with "wavering flame." It's always mind-boggling to think about the last time I touched him, he was only 27 months young. Although I no longer can touch him, he continually touches my heart, soul and mind. In that short span of time, he taught me, at the minimum, three very important things which give me insight and effectively touch me, continuously. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>He first taught me, that a rainbow (or "Bow!") as Michael called them, was something to be awed at. Marveled at even; its magical beauty arising unexpectedly and instilling a wondrous "Wow!" moment to be savored, fostering my newfound gratitude towards God and His marvelous creative ability. Thank heavens we placed that aquarium near a sunny window.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Secondly, that when we leave Earth, we return to Jesus, where our true Home is. Michael told me, as I've often mentioned, starting around two weeks before the wreck, "Going Home (to) be with Jesus!" Incredible, coming out of a wee one's tiny mouth. I might not believe it myself, had I not heard it repeatedly with my own two ears. This was heart and soul comfort for me, after Tim, Michael and Lisa unexpectedly "left."</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>The last thing is that surviving tragic loss means clinging to the strongest, closest rock that can unquestionably and unwaveringly "support" me. That would be Jesus. The hardest thing I had to do with grief was to let my loved ones "go." This was much less difficult when holding onto Jesus' hand, knowing that <i>He</i> was holding onto <i>their </i>hand. </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>The so-called trite saying is very true, to me, and I find comfort in knowing with certainty in my heart and soul that, "They've gone to a better place." Christians are not in la-la-land but are right here in the midst of constant battle. Like everyone else. The more I've experienced pain, suffering and other sorrows during the time after they went to Paradise, the more certain I've become that <i>they </i>have been spared (from earthly difficulties). I guess that's one reason to be thankful for even the troubles in my life . . . they make it that much easier for me to truly feel that my loved ones ARE in "a better place." </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>They're really only a heartbeat away. As I've aged substantially since 1984, this, too, is gratefully known more clearly to me. One good reason to be thankful for older age! </b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Happy Birthday my dearest little Michael. You'll always be my baby, no matter how many earth years go by. I love you forever and look so forward to reunion with you, your Dad and sister Lisa. And thank you for teaching me. See you soon. Mom</b><br />
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<br />DONNA--(Admin)http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615435504270283978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5270579737122401821.post-9997073514178438272019-08-06T17:41:00.003-07:002020-12-30T21:53:23.725-08:00NEW EYES<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">I'm really surprised at how differently I view now, the tragic death of my husband, toddler son and baby daughter. It's been over 30 years that I've dealt with the tragedy and I'm frequently surprised at how much has changed, regarding how I "see" the whole shebang of my tragic loss. Overall, the biggest change is that heartbroken loss has morphed into the realization that they're only one heartbeat away from me and quite close to me. In a way, it's like they've come back to me again, now. </span><br />
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<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">I realized that my developing way of viewing the tragedy, was akin to how newborn infants learn to see. According to online references, just like the grief-stricken, each newborn develops their sight ability uniquely to them, although there are definitely general milestones to be reached. </span><br />
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<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">At first, newborns can only see black and white and shades of gray. Sounds like me after early loss. All I knew was my family was Dead and I was Alive. Black and white. Like the news headlines about my accident. Like their death certificates. I've had a gradual evolution over the years of really knowing a<i>nd feeling</i> that my family is very much still alive, only physically dead. What's most important to stay alive . . . is still alive! The soul can never die:</span><br />
<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><b>Matthew 10:28a<span class="versenum" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 12px; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"> </span></b><span class="versenum" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 12px; font-weight: bold; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"> </span><span class="versenum" style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"><b>"Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul." (BibleGateway.com). </b></span></span><br />
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<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Newborns are very myopic; they see about 20/400 at first. Like a newborn's eyes, my vision was non-focused and all I could see was what was right in front of me. I saw my loved ones everywhere in every blond young man, little toddler boy or baby girl. In anguish, I couldn't make sense of what I saw, just like a newborn's confusion. It takes them awhile to see details. "God is in the details," is one of my favorite sayings regarding His many blessings. I was initially either blind to, or unaware of important details of grace that came my way after my loss. Only later was I able to connect the dots.</span><br />
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<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Initially, only bright colors--like red--get the newborn's attention. Later on, more gentle colors can be discerned. I felt numb after my family’s death, and my vision consisted of blah color. Life took on a prolonged beige tint. It took me a long while after the accident before I could distinguish and acknowledge the beauty of something like rainbows--something my toddler Michael used to point to when the light reflected off our home aquarium, causing "Bow!!!" to appear, much to his utter delight.</span><br />
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<span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">Eventually, with developing vision, the baby is able to <i>reach</i> for things. After some grief resolution took place, and I could see things more clearly, I started to reach more aggressively for my Savior's hand to pull me through the many dark and cloudy days. He alone can guide us best because He alone sees perfectly. God has no blind spots. Without Jesus helping my "development," I would have been completely blind to God's many blessings revolving before, during and after the physical deaths of my family. </span><div><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif"><br /></span></div><div><span face=""helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif">The most important blessing to me, is the recognition and concrete assurance He gives me--us--of eternal life and reunion with our loved ones . . . those in Paradise who now have superb, stellar vision. </span></div>DONNA--(Admin)http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615435504270283978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5270579737122401821.post-36749642301838009322019-02-28T19:48:00.001-08:002019-02-28T19:48:05.231-08:00LISA AND AGE 35<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8R-_gv2Zp6YOa4BKPZqJFPm1KodGJtT-6Lk59iMYcbDXrMhBT0DGp21wcKCB7UN5aba0PUihMDEuq_IeuZFBPyO4EAON0sAc2M4qohDEhHkih8q7yJh_sn03KJn5fvAY119_wWVxoIFE/s1600/fullsizeoutput_712.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1342" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8R-_gv2Zp6YOa4BKPZqJFPm1KodGJtT-6Lk59iMYcbDXrMhBT0DGp21wcKCB7UN5aba0PUihMDEuq_IeuZFBPyO4EAON0sAc2M4qohDEhHkih8q7yJh_sn03KJn5fvAY119_wWVxoIFE/s320/fullsizeoutput_712.jpeg" width="268" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><b>The crocheted frame my Mom made that I treasure. She suffered a massive stroke not long after. </b></i></td></tr>
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<b>Tomorrow, March 1st, my baby Lisa would have turned 35 years old. Incredible to me. The years march on and on (onward from 1984), and I cannot envision Lisa any age other than last I saw her . . . just 9 and 1/2 months young.</b><br />
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<b>I got tired of wondering what she'd have been like had she physically lived past 1984. In the end, it just doesn't really matter. The possibilities are endless and I've long tired of trying to figure out which choice she would have made: her appearance; her likes; her dislikes, etc. The only thing that matters now to me, is that we are in a loving relationship and God assures me we'll be reunited in Paradise.</b><br />
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<b>I've read something recently that talked about those soon to cross over, how they have dreams unlike any other as far as "realness." All report seeing their deceased relatives and/or friends. Deceased pets were seen by those who were very young. These dreams brought great reassurance to those that were dying. I think that's why my own father had a vision of seeing my Lisa at the end of his bed, just sitting there, all young lady-like and gorgeous. The tell-tale sign was her hair behind one ear like it was in a photo my Dad had of Lisa. He'd felt just awful he'd never even had a chance to hold her before she went to Jesus. The vision was a way of helping to ease that pain before he crossed over, a short while later.</b><br />
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<b>Isn't that just like God? To give us comfort, in order to prepare us, before we physically die. (Usually a scary prospect to the majority of us.) I realize now, that God is all about comforting us. That's what a parent does if they love their child. They try to soften an upcoming stressful situation as much as possible. A parent may allow something painful to occur, but the parent still loves the child. God is love. Short and sweet. Just like my adorable Lisa.</b><br />
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<b>I love you always and will see you soon, my little angel-child.</b><br />
<b>Mom</b>DONNA--(Admin)http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615435504270283978noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5270579737122401821.post-30315335667819751882019-01-20T12:46:00.000-08:002019-01-20T12:46:58.580-08:00KNOCKED OUT<div style="text-align: justify;">
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A neighbor brought my attention to an article about a widow and her arduous path back to recovery from that loss. The widow wrote a self-help book, the title of which, as a bereaved mother, completely turned me off: "A to Z Healing Toolbox," by Susan Hannifin-MacNab. Part of the article described the book's content and what really got me was, "Have a plan. A, B, C, . . . " Don't get me wrong, I'm sure this book that's won awards is great for suffering widows. But my neighbor thinking we have so much in common, threw me for a loop. </div>
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My <i>neighbor</i> has admittedly never suffered bereavement of husband or child. She thought I might be supportive of the author and offer encouragement to her. She meant well, and I'm very fond of this neighbor. My way of thinking is, if she's recovered enough to write a self-help book, she wouldn't find it particularly timely "help." But there's a bigger reason I was turned off by my neighbor's suggestion. That is because I am prejudiced. After experiencing the loss of both (my beloved husband and children), at the same time, I passionately feel that losing my children was far, far more difficult to recover from. To me it's like comparing apples and, not oranges, but broccoli; the difference between widowhood and child bereavement being that vast a contrasting experience for me. </div>
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Child bereavement to me, was like being flattened completely out by a steamroller running over me. l felt as though I'd lost my very life. There was no more "me" anymore. My identity so wrapped up in being young Michael and Lisa's mother; when they died, it was as if I'd died, too. Down, down down, buried far below in the ground. How do I get up? Which way even, <i>is </i>up? Do I even <i>want</i> to get up? Why <i>should</i> I get up when my children are no longer here? What's the use? What's the point? They don't need me anymore! Or do they. . . are they crying for me and wondering, "Where's Mommy???"</div>
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Far from needing a toolbox of handy "A to Z" helpful suggestions, back then I just needed to get the desire to even breathe again. That took a long time. God provided helpful people that gently, ever so gently and kindly, encouraged me, prodded me to get up again and want to continue breathing. With help, I got out of the protective cocoon I'd been in, unable to take another memory-trigger slamming me back down. By allowing God's assurances that my children were happy and that I'd see them again sink in, feebly holding onto that wavering faith, I was able to withstand the years of being in a slugfest of daily pain that advanced and retreated depending on my strength to withstand the punches that came from out of nowhere. I didn't know back then, how to prepare for what I didn't know was going to happen to me!</div>
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Widowhood was tough, too, to be sure. But the main difference for me I think, is that I didn't feel as though I'd lost my very life when my husband died. Sadness and pain were there, triggers were there but the intensity of the loss was as different as night and day. I didn't have the horror of anguish, feeling as though I'd failed as a mother because I couldn't save Michael and Lisa from dying. There wasn't the inner turmoil and despondency that my children's lives were grossly, unjustly, unfairly shortened. All the consequent woulda, coulda shoulda's were infinitely more numerous and torment-laden in regard to being child bereaved compared to widowhood. There just is really no comparison, even though I deeply loved my college-sweetheart husband.</div>
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Appropriately, today's church sermon was about Jesus turning water into wine. The upside of severe suffering is that we have the potential after recovery, to become more sensitive to the slightest nuance of joyfulness. After undergoing child bereavement, we bereaved mothers can joyously look forward to Reunion, and restoration of our children; our very lives. Something as inconceivable in the beginning of our grief, as Someone turning water into wine. Soldier on! Donna </div>
DONNA--(Admin)http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615435504270283978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5270579737122401821.post-32291868549881482852018-12-22T00:12:00.000-08:002018-12-22T00:12:24.285-08:0033rd ANNIVERSARY<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Shortly it'll be 33 years ago that the fatal accident took place. 33 years is purportedly how old Jesus was when He died. 33 years from His birth to His death; an entire earthly lifetime. That's a very long time to be counting this anniversary date.<br />
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The pain of sudden and total loss of my husband, son and daughter has softened to an almost indistinguishable twinge. The pain of coexisting with my second son and our conflicts has taken up that space. The more challenges I endure in this life (and my son endures), the more confirmed I am that my first family is free from all of this suffering. How much more pure can one's soul be than an infant or toddler that's gone straight from cradle to Heaven? How very much capacity they must have within them to receive the utmost outpouring of God's overflowing Love.<br />
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It used to bother me that not only did I "lose them" but I lost the earthly boundaries of our relationship status. I used to be their Mom that knew everything and did everything for them. Now they know more than I and have become my superior. The role reversal further established our distinctness, our separateness and our great divide. Most people don't like change. Even if it's for another's good, sometimes. Over the years I finally realized I needed to let everything go. All my preconceived ideas about what I thought I'd deserved from my Motherhood. All the things that were expected to have taken place and yet were completely ripped away for all time. All <i>earthly</i> time. The grieving experience is a lengthy process of evolution. The end result for me was not to expand though, so much as it was to contract myself and to let God take over every single expectation that I had and let Him make it what He said it should be and will be. Trust has been paramount in all of this conversion process. Change has been hard but has definitely gotten easier the more I have been able to give in to God's way of doing it. His way of doing everything in a perfectly well-thought out plan of execution. Only He knows the final result of all the angst I've been through and I know that when I transition finally and rejoin my family in Paradise, then I'll have those impossible to answer now questions fully answered. I get glimpses here and there of the "why." I have some painful "answers" that I've formulated over the years of my own personal growth.<br />
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Eventually I'll know but I'm convinced that finally knowing "why" is going to be overshadowed by the joyful reunion with my loved ones. It'll be like trying to tell someone about how incredibly lousy something was, all the while you're walking through Paradise with delights to the left of you and delights to the right of you. Pain? Agonizing sorrow? What are those compared to ALL of this glory around you and ecstatic highs you're now experiencing? It'll be like tasting the most delicious chocolate cake you've ever tasted; you're delighting in it and somehow whatever was bothering you suddenly is furthest from your mind. Joy has taken its place. Multiply that by a trillion and I think that's what Heaven's going to be like. I'm just not going to care about the whys of the painful details anymore because pain will be no more so I'm not likely to think on it.<br />
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We all have much to anticipate and hope for. Don't give up hope! Trust in God Almighty with whom nothing is impossible. And with whom all joy is forthcoming. Michael and Lisa and Tim, I love you and will see you pretty soon. Tell Jesus to get that luscious six-layer chocolate cake ready!<br />
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Love You! MomDONNA--(Admin)http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615435504270283978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5270579737122401821.post-6469893669349748802018-10-28T18:16:00.001-07:002020-07-01T13:18:14.823-07:00"WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE"<div class="separator"><div style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb3r0n_5FG2TJ5JxqUWX2QuXrYzWaxxJwHgeR7GXPDDLJfoDlN-1zFagxbS9vF_pvCuXI2ds_KWnVwOlQzxRtwAV_QD9HtbgmZKpeYKDo8R5IwLmTdng1mC8vkyu7quSrlK7WWhhXmAA8/s320/D3E8C9FF-BD14-45BA-BCE1-4F3AC334A516_1_201_a.jpeg" /></div></div>
"Wanted Dead or Alive," the old song sung by the group Bon Jovi, has made me think closely about that title choice, from the bereaved mom viewpoint. I certainly wanted my children and husband back in any way, shape or form I could have them. Heck, I was ecstatic finding some of Lisa's hair in her old hairbrush one day long ago. But "Dead or Alive" seems to me rather redundant phraseology. Because "dead" refers only to the physical body being dead and not the most important "me" part of us--our soul. That can never die. Our souls are safely held by God in secure, vault-like safety because of His over-reaching Omnipotence:<br />
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"I give them eternal life, and they can never perish; no one can snatch them out of my hand. My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all; no one will snatch them out of the Father's hand." (John 10:28-29)<br />
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There's no room for doubt in what He says there. My husband and children's souls, all our souls, are safe with God. Any matter of destruction may come to us physically, sometimes with resultant physical death (like with my family) BUT their souls, all souls of the departed are <i>still unscathed and untouched by the errors of humans. </i>Because of God's Omnipotence, nobody can do anything to us unless it is allowed from above. No matter how awful, there's a reason why something bad's been allowed to happen to us or to our loved ones. I've been so relieved these 30 plus years, trusting that God had a reason <i>why</i> my husband, son and daughter all died instantly in a senseless crash . . . and why I survived.<br />
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Speaking about "survival," we had a visit by our Presiding Bishop (Episcopal church) who made a comment I thought befitting for us, bereaved parents. Talking about our departing rector and upcoming "change," she said essentially that after a wound, scar tissue will form. But . . . The important thing is<i> . . . "Scar tissue is always tougher than regular skin." </i><br />
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That's how I feel, that bereaved moms and dads are tough. Constant repetition of our "triggers" causes scar tissue to form over wounded areas. And sensitivity to painful stimuli has been lost in those areas that are now substantially more tough and thick. Amen to that!<br />
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We're a tough lot, us bereaved. When I go in for weekly accupuncture treatments, my nurse asks me every time in a monotone voice, a few routine questions asked all patients,<br />
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"Has anyone punched, slapped, hit or otherwise physically hurt you in the past week?"<br />
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I guess domestic violence is pretty prevalent, unfortunately. But what about emotional abuse? I've read that can be even worse than physical abuse in a troubled relationship.<br />
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As far as I feel, there's no greater emotional pain and heart-stabber than the loss of children; the emotional equivalent of being on Death Row. The ultimate faith-questioner <i>and</i> the greatest potential for spiritual growth due to the extreme flexing of all our resources to cope.<br />
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The Bishop said something funny to conclude her sermon last week. I think it's appropriate for bereaved parents facing "change," too.<br />
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"Nobody likes change. Except of course, "wet" babies!"<br />
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Thankfully, we have a Saviour Who knows all about profound loss <i>and</i> bountiful gain, and how to help us make the best of it. <i><b> </b></i><br />
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<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>DONNA--(Admin)http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615435504270283978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5270579737122401821.post-15527085797531175242018-09-16T00:57:00.001-07:002018-09-16T00:57:08.333-07:00MICHAEL AND NUMBER 36<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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So many more birthdays have come and gone than the last one I had with Michael. That one, he turned the big "Two." Today, I'm marking his number 36th in Earth-years. It's mind-boggling to me. Even still, the questions come: "What would he have wanted for his birthday gift?" What would he have even liked that I could make a choice from? His last favorite toy was his Sesame Street themed "Ernie" stuffed toy. Now, at 36 had he still lived on Earth, he would have likely had kids of his own to buy toys for.<br />
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Unlike so many, I'm going to break tradition here and say it has gotten easier. Gone are the deep and painful grief stabs at every point. Gone are the questions; "Are they ok?" "Where did they go?" "Will they still remember me?" "Will I always feel this bad?" I still miss them, of course, that just goes with the territory when you truly love someone who's gone for an extended stay. But with age comes familiarity and with familiarity comes a lessening of the surprise attack of shock-like jolts of unrelenting pain that would ease up, only to come back again from yet another newly discovered trigger to my grief.<br />
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My son by remarriage has gone through such a troubled life, that I secretly wonder if Michael and Lisa have been spared from the generational effect of my having grown up in a dysfunctional home. Over the years I've grown in my appreciation of the fact that Michael and Lisa have not had to go through the angst of growing up in a world that increasingly shuts God out. Even to the point where there's been talk about removing "In God We Trust," from our coinage. With so much atrociousness in the world, the fact that Michael and Lisa are safe and secure in Heaven for eternity has grown increasingly comforting to me instead of repugnant. As I've grown and matured, the distance between us all seems less and less. Eventually, that distance will dwindle to nothing, as, God willing, I'm reunited with them when I transition into Paradise. Until then, I (try to) "patiently endure."<br />
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HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAREST MICHAEL MOUSE!~ I LOVE YOU (and Lisa and Tim!) Mom<br />
DONNA--(Admin)http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615435504270283978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5270579737122401821.post-74301973683542460112018-07-30T11:45:00.000-07:002018-07-30T11:45:25.876-07:00PSALM 137<br />
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Part of psalm 137 (NIV verse 4) explains how I feel today.<br />
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<i>"How can we sing the songs of the Lord while </i><br />
<i>in a foreign land?"</i><br />
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Yesterday in church (Episcopal), it was announced that a long-time parishioner had yet another recurrence of his cancer. This time, things look particularly grim and survival not expected. A collective gasp of sadness and worry emanated from our group. Myself included.<br />
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But then in my mind I countered this sadness with Jesus' own words:<br />
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<span style="background-color: cyan;"><span style="color: red;"> . . . "Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise." </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: cyan;"><span style="color: red;"><span style="background-color: cyan;">(NIV Lk 23:43). </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span><span style="background-color: #6aa84f;"></span></span></span><span style="background-color: black;"><span></span></span></span></span><br />
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It's not just a coincidence that Jesus was telling this to someone described as a "thief;" one of two thieves ("takers") suffering crucifixion agony alongside Jesus ("a giver.") One had no dying repentance. The other, this so-called "Good Thief" was repentant, asking Jesus to remember Him when He entered His kingdom.<br />
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The good thief was no saint, yet he was told by Jesus as directly as possible, that he WOULD be with Him in Paradise <i>right away</i>-- and as a matter of fact, how about "today?" Not after lengthy groveling before a decree is handed down. No begging. No, none of that. "Today." <br /><i></i><br />
<br />
The Nicene Creed has been around since the 4th century. So the concept of life everlasting with a resurrected body in glory is not some johnny-come-lately idea. In my church we profess the Creed every Sunday without fail. So why do I feel so lousy today?<i> </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
I feel, again, like "odd man out" because I never heard anything to counter the negativity associated with this beloved parishioner's imminent death. It was as if we were non-Christians sitting there. My attempts later on to talk of our mutual (<i>is</i> it mutual??) belief that this decorated WWII hero, a pillar of our small church community, will be after death, merely sliding right over to a place of light, joy ("I think it's almost like a party going on up there!") and with Jesus, met with silence. And counters. And frankly, I expect more from my long-time Christian friends. Am I the only one out there that feels almost a tad of excitement for the desperately ill and suffering ones, soon to transition and be with Jesus in Paradise?<br />
<br />
I know, I know, there's a period (usually quite lengthy ie. particularly with child bereavement) of intense sadness, loss and near-despair. Losing two children and my college sweetheart in an instant taught me that pretty well. But . . . there's a yin to the yang of horrific loss--it's called remembering and believing Luke 23:43 (that verse above) and what the Nicene Creed says about the resurrection of the body and "life" of the world to come.<br />
<br />
(I like the Catholic wording of the last line of the Nicene Creed better: <span style="background-color: cyan;">"And I <i>look forward to</i> the resurrection of the dead and the <i>life </i>of the world to come.") </span>(Italics mine). <br />
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<strong><span style="font-size: large;">The Nicene Creed </span>(episcopalchurch.org)</strong></div>
<div>
<strong> </strong>
We believe in one God,<br />
the Father, the Almighty,<br />
maker of heaven and earth,<br />
of all that is, seen and unseen.<br />
We believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ,<br />
the only Son of God,<br />
eternally begotten of the Father,<br />
God from God, <span style="background-color: cyan;">Light from Light,</span><br />
true God from true God,<br />
begotten, not made,<br />
of one Being with the Father.<br />
Through him all things were made.<br />
For us and for our salvation<br />
he came down from heaven:<br />
by the power of the Holy Spirit<br />
he became incarnate from the Virgin Mary,<br />
and was made man.<br />
For our sake he was crucified under Pontius Pilate;<br />
he suffered death and was buried.<br />
On the third day he rose again<br />
in accordance with the Scriptu<span></span>res;<br />
he ascended into heaven<br />
and is seated at the right hand of the Father.<br />
He will come again <span style="background-color: cyan;">in glory</span> to judge the living and the dead,<br />
and <span style="background-color: cyan;">his kingdom will have no end.</span><br />
We believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life,<br />
who proceeds from the Father and the Son.<br />
With the Father and the Son he is worshiped and glorified.<br />
He has spoken through the Prophets.<br />
We believe in one holy catholic and apostolic Church.<br />
We acknowledge one baptism for the forgiveness of sins.<br />
<span style="background-color: cyan;"> We look for the resurrection of the dead,<br />
and the life of the world to come. Amen.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: cyan;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: cyan;">
</span></div>
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Peace be with you!<br />
Donna<br />
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<i> </i>DONNA--(Admin)http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615435504270283978noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5270579737122401821.post-25259944845005508372018-07-16T21:35:00.000-07:002018-07-16T21:35:01.466-07:00ONE QUESTION<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp-ojPJBbOn7W3BZfQSsKqBIy7LJM6NSllJY8sdV0xh2bn5hpNteJ_VXgg9D08T9T4o9fhZI-K5wIphylVwp8PBcnBjLBiL6mEDwwFjF1eKygKuKimuOHp26O1jihJ9fk6rOADJl_UyT0/s1600/QUESTION+MARK.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="199" data-original-width="170" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp-ojPJBbOn7W3BZfQSsKqBIy7LJM6NSllJY8sdV0xh2bn5hpNteJ_VXgg9D08T9T4o9fhZI-K5wIphylVwp8PBcnBjLBiL6mEDwwFjF1eKygKuKimuOHp26O1jihJ9fk6rOADJl_UyT0/s320/QUESTION+MARK.jpg" width="273" /></a></div>
"Am I going to feel this miserable for the rest of my life?" That was the question that, after the initial bereavement shock and numbness wore off, I would wake up with and go to bed with and constantly grapple with all day long. How could I go on? How could I face a life of day after day, non-stop bereavement pain? There wasn't anywhere I could hide where "it" wouldn't find me. <br />
<br />
One day, I'd be all steadfast faith; convinced of their eternal joy. Then the next day, my faith would evaporate the second I saw a child that was around my toddler boy or baby girl's age. Or a young guy around my husband's age. My faith was strong enough, all right. Strong until another trigger slammed me down to my knees. Like a wobbling fighter in the ring, one more good right hook took me down. Very down. But God provided a way out.<br />
<br />
They were mother and daughter. (The daughter was near my age.) Both had experienced child bereavement and now both were "mentoring" me after my own bereavement. Only one had Faith that I could survive, though. The other prayed I'd never wake up from my post-accident surgery, to spare me from what <i>she</i> endured. It scared me, all the talk I heard around me, from some moms who'd trod the path for so <i>long</i>. How, "The horrible pain never stops!" "It <i>never</i> gets better!" Scary stuff! What <i>my</i> future would be like?<br />
<br />
Don't listen to anyone who is ultimately discrediting God's ability to save you from bereavement's stabbing pain. Even if they've been on the journey a long time and other things they've said have been helpful. <i>Your</i> path is <i>your own</i>. And you <i>can</i> survive! You <i>can</i> regain a life without constant horror. Give it to God to "fix." Let Him handle it. Then step back. Expect to receive. (Even if it's a teeny-weeny faith-expectation--at least, you're trying!)<br />
<br />
I'm glad I decided to follow the example of the mother--not the daughter. Only one of those two led me closer to Jesus and the glimmering of a way out of gloom. I took <i>her</i> hand, weakly trusting He knew the way out. What happened afterward?<br />
<br />
"He brought me out into a spacious place; he rescued me because he delighted in me." (NIV Psalm 18:19). <br />
<br />
Don't get all hung up on "Because he delighted in me." It only takes a tiny mustard seed amount of faith to "delight" God. Maybe that's all we can come up with under such intense pain . . . but it's enough to change our world for the better. Peace, Donna<br />
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<br />DONNA--(Admin)http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615435504270283978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5270579737122401821.post-44660151013222874002018-06-15T10:58:00.004-07:002020-07-01T13:21:42.033-07:00MY BOOK<br /><div style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: justify;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTzz1ETthJIByOIyBBLHnejh3QPP0EQW1ME7cocM4HUHuOlr3GlI3cdc_rfNfFYfogm0iFvEC-Sh38HbRmIuMpHbSRHufWp9RCILOikTMAHUQAFkn0CaDxIpLYRq2Wi2KTd0fBzSdU5pg/s1600/IMG_3838.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTzz1ETthJIByOIyBBLHnejh3QPP0EQW1ME7cocM4HUHuOlr3GlI3cdc_rfNfFYfogm0iFvEC-Sh38HbRmIuMpHbSRHufWp9RCILOikTMAHUQAFkn0CaDxIpLYRq2Wi2KTd0fBzSdU5pg/s400/IMG_3838.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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After 2 years of sporadic at times yet intense work, my book (in print and Kindle version) is finally done and is up on Amazon now. It’s been a labor of “tough love.” I anticipated being able to finish writing this book in the several months hiatus from my library bookstore volunteer job. What people don’t tell first-time writers though, is that you basically, write the same book over and over again as you find your written “voice” and learn new skills as you progress. Which means going back to the beginning again and refreshing your previously written work with your new writing knowledge. Again and again!<br />
<br />
After some soul-searching, I decided I would change identifying details out of consideration for the fact that "the impossible" has happened with me, more than one time. Other than names and places, everything else is true. My goal with this book is not to make money, but to somehow, some way help others that are either struggling with bereavement or know someone who is. </div>
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What I learned from writing this book, is a reemphasis of how much God help helped me, and how I’ve changed over the years after my family’s transition into Heaven. Gone (thankfully!) are the long stretches of near-despair; the feeling that they (us!) were “cheated” out of life’s joy, etc. I feel acceptance of God “allowing” their physical death and have complete reassurance in my mind that they are with Jesus in our Father’s heavenly abode. Trusting in God (sometimes akin to leaping blindfolded into hopefully waiting and open, secure arms) was how I got to this place of peace. Everything I needed was initiated first, by trusting God. He delivered. That's not to say I don't feel sad at times, of course. But I've also learned that I cannot stay in that spot, because I get sucked under like quicksand the longer my feet stay there. I learned I had to reach out my hand for help.<br />
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Peace! Donna </div>
DONNA--(Admin)http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615435504270283978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5270579737122401821.post-74679759824136648002018-05-20T12:00:00.001-07:002018-05-20T12:00:03.550-07:00THE STRAIGHTAWAY<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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THE PROGRESSION OR MY BEREAVEMENT JOURNEY:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLccWeqN3GQapflMZHMpy91FCgaVLq40rUVKWSuFGKL_E6UlWHsck4eKfbhh_KNtpV0m2NE5NMnTnKqeCYA8GEP0_SjSb9U8QGWkvhcbluzbA8XDooYg1mZ5aX-xs5GUMVbTTspGbA0iw/s1600/th-11.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="355" data-original-width="474" height="149" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLccWeqN3GQapflMZHMpy91FCgaVLq40rUVKWSuFGKL_E6UlWHsck4eKfbhh_KNtpV0m2NE5NMnTnKqeCYA8GEP0_SjSb9U8QGWkvhcbluzbA8XDooYg1mZ5aX-xs5GUMVbTTspGbA0iw/s200/th-11.jpeg" width="200" /></a></div>
Photo 1: In the very beginning of my grief journey after losing my family, all I could see was scorched ground. I couldn't lift my head up and saw nothing but earthly destruction.<br />
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Photo 2: After a period of time I could lift up my head and look beyond the earthly destruction to see renewal possible, but struggled with the fullness of their joyful existence without me, without the life they could have had. <i>We</i> could (should?) have had.<br />
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Photo 3: When healing progressed, I saw renewal of health, and growth --for both myself and my deceased ones. But I couldn't reach them; there were so many obstacles in my way, such a long way to go before I could see them easily again. But blue skies were definitely present among the clouds.<br />
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Photo 4: It's now a feeling of a "straight shot" right to them but it's still aways off and how much longer does the road continue on? The obstacles separated are offset by the gorgeous blue sky that is shining through and illuminating my path forward towards them. I remind myself, "Keep trudging along the road and you will get there eventually--guaranteed!" All roads intersect at a level where we mortals cannot perceive. God, the great architect of the universe, has made all things united.</div>
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<br />DONNA--(Admin)http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615435504270283978noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5270579737122401821.post-33568120322669825252018-03-01T20:21:00.001-08:002018-03-01T20:28:17.220-08:00NEW BIRTHDAY TRADITION<table 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/AVvXsEhjCXJ1HwGAeeqWqg2Qwb2ws8c-TlPqwI18sBA9Fy9dSfn9w-g_NBl0Gs2f4Oj37NCmHMfri_BSTifGUMBN0HXCKXKsPfU147a0sSvK8bwWNiYyZVMYnXGGTrXRrHuyjDl-MFhGZD_xsyI/s1600/lisa+portrait.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjCXJ1HwGAeeqWqg2Qwb2ws8c-TlPqwI18sBA9Fy9dSfn9w-g_NBl0Gs2f4Oj37NCmHMfri_BSTifGUMBN0HXCKXKsPfU147a0sSvK8bwWNiYyZVMYnXGGTrXRrHuyjDl-MFhGZD_xsyI/s320/lisa+portrait.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Lisa's last portrait. (Nine months young.)</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-size: small;">~~~ HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY LITTLE LEPRECHAUN!~~~</span></b></div>
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Today, March 1st, is Lisa's birthday. She was only 9 and a half months young when she went to Heaven, along with her big brother Michael (2 yrs. 3 mos.) and their Daddy. Had she stayed here on Earth, she'd be <i>34 years old!</i> Today I decided on a new tradition to honor my family. </div>
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This also being the birthday of a friend of mine, I was busy picking out and sending her one of the online greeting cards she and I get a kick out of sending each other. It suddenly dawned on me . . . why not pick out a birthday card for Lisa? One of the "talking" cards that she can listen to. Why hadn't I thought of doing this before? </div>
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I scoured through the cards to pick one out as if she were merely living in a different state. (Which technically she is, now living in a Spiritual "state.") I found just the right card. A cute one with a cat in a rainbow wig. Funny, that cat exactly resembled the cat in the photo I have of Lisa smiling at a cat on our doorstep. That one was a grey tabby . . . just like this one on the card! That rainbow wig the cat on the card is wearing . . . that's the same kind Michael had once worn with a Halloween costume! Humph, kinda strange, this one card having two similarities like that.</div>
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I used every last one of the allotted characters when typing out what my chosen female voice would say to Lisa. The additional, written "personalized note" was also carefully worded. I then "previewed" the card, listening to the playback two times. I felt Lisa with me, listening too. Even though I believe that loved ones are always around us Spiritually, sometimes their presence is just sensed more easily than at other times. For me, that's on bittersweet days. </div>
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I'm planning to send Michael and Tim a talking card on their birthdays now, too. And maybe I won't stop at just their birthdays. Why don't I send them a card just as I would've had they not left for Heaven? </div>
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Thank you, God for giving me the idea of how I can send smiles across miles.</div>
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DONNA--(Admin)http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615435504270283978noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5270579737122401821.post-70223341303360621162018-02-24T00:57:00.001-08:002018-02-24T00:57:58.475-08:00IT'S OK TO BE DIFFERENT<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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In the bereaved parent world, there's a ton of "They'll never do this" and "They'll never do that." I've often felt like the oddball out because I'm hanging on for dear life to my Christian beliefs. But even Jesus got laughed at when he told the grieving many to stop their despair; the young girl wasn't dead, she was just "asleep."<br />
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<span style="color: red;">"Meanwhile, all the people were wailing and mourning for her. "Stop wailing," Jesus said. "She is not dead but asleep."</span> <span style="color: red;">(NIV Lk 8:52).</span><br />
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People who are asleep are still alive. They aren't responding to others around them like when they're not asleep, but they definitely aren't dead.<br />
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After the most recent mass school shooting, our President had words of comfort for the bereaved parents. He started his speech by including God but then quickly went into the typical lamenting of those focused only on loss. The fact that their lives were taken from them; their not getting/seeing/doing all the things parents wished they'd had the chance to. Lives cut short.<br />
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Where is God Soverign in all those statements? How is this helpful to hear? If someone recently suffers limb amputation, do we tell them all that they now cannot do? What they've missed out on? Why then do bereaved parents constantly have to be slammed down into non-helpful lamenting? Redirecting our thinking from an earthly to a Heavenly perspective, takes conscious effort in the beginning. Like with anything, it gets much more automatic with constant practice. It's well worth the effort. Despite what Society constantly throws in our face about what's important to focus on, those who believe in God can focus on what <i>He</i> tells us is true.<br />
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No life is shorter than what God has allowed it to be. Nobody takes our lives away unless God haas determined that person's work is over (no matter how short--even miscarriages, in my belief). My daughter's work was over while still a baby. My son, while still a toddler. Either God's All-Powerful or He's not. Someone All-Powerful cannot be overpowered by anyone. He alone determines when our work is over and our stress-free Life begins.<br />
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So to me, it's nonsensical for me to lament that my children didn't get to do this earthly thing, or that earthly thing. Because I believe our existence in Heaven is bigger than all that. I really don't think any of our earthly happiness can compare to what they're experiencing in their new Lives. It's like complaining they didn't get to play in the sand box . . . when now they're busy exploring the whole universe. It. Just. Doesn't. Matter. Admittedly, it took me a long time to get to this viewpoint (I'm currently 30+ years post-wreck). During most of my bereavement I'd constantly felt like my family had been cheated, but I'm sure glad I came to the conclusion that God, being God, <i>has</i> to be fair. I've changed my focus from "They didn't get to" to "Look at all they have!"<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Different can be bright.</span></td></tr>
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DONNA--(Admin)http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615435504270283978noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5270579737122401821.post-48036904516557966402017-12-22T00:33:00.003-08:002017-12-22T00:33:51.976-08:00BEREAVEMENT BASICS<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">By the time this is written, it will be 33 years that my two children and their dad went to Heaven. I can't believe it's been that long because it's so easy to recall. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I forgot to light my candles for them on the annual candle-lighting day that's held nationally. But lighting a candle one day of the year in remembrance of them seems awfully piddly. I remember Michael, Lisa and Tim</span><span style="font-size: large;"> --always in my heart. They've not gone so far away, anyway. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Some Bereavement Basics I've learned over the years: </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">1. God had a Good reason why He allowed what happened to occur. (Details at a later date.)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">2. They're more alive now than I am.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">3. They know that I love them. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">4. God forgives and restores.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">5. We're going to be reunited when I transition, too. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">6. They're happy and <i>they're</i> "the lucky ones." </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I tend to be an "all or nothing" kind of person. I chalk it up to the mix of mostly Greek, Irish and a bit of Italian ancestry my DNA results confirm. In regard to my Christian belief, this tendency has served me well. I figure, God's either perfect . . . or He's not. He's either all loving . . . or He's not. When it comes down to whether my young children and young husband were "cheated" out of anything of importance, I use this quality in my thinking, often. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">He's Love Himself! Completely Good! Exuberantly Generous! Of course He restores anything that my loved ones might require to be filled to the brim with Joy! Or He wouldn't be God . . . He can't be both hot and cold in regard to L-O-V-E in all it's wondrous ways.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">I'm thankful for all who've crossed my path whose faith has strengthened mine. Who've given me greater insight as to the depth and complexity of this terrible thing called "child bereavement." When we all finally make it through those pearly gates, the rutted roads we've been plodding on will be changed to streets of gold. Joy--that will never tarnish. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Michael, Lisa and Tim--thank you for the joys you gave me and for leading me closer to Jesus. Set a place for me at the table! </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">See you soon! </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Love you, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Mom</span><br />
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<br />DONNA--(Admin)http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615435504270283978noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5270579737122401821.post-70059665838429315112017-11-03T13:31:00.000-07:002017-11-03T13:31:53.789-07:00BROUGHT TO MY KNEES<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<b>Last week I was brought to my knees in soulful agony. Why? Because I was brought back to the place of grieving for my children ". . . like the rest of mankind, who have no hope." (1THESS 4:13). What brought me to that dark place again, a place I thought I'd left far behind after over 30 years having two transitioned children? Being tired and weary. Listening to the Enemy's suggestion that I had more pressing things to do rather than tending to my daily morning devotions. Slipping away from feeling close to Jesus through distancing myself from Him. I know He knows best about all things and allows only what is beneficial to all in the end, regardless of whether I can comprehend the validity of this. I get grumpy when I'm tired, though. Deep down and with wavering faith, that truth <i>seems </i>like lunacy when it comes to something like the death of innocent children. Instead of railing at Him, I distance myself I've found. Especially when I'm feeling overrun by problems; I can take care of myself, thank you.</b><br />
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<b>So it was a dark place. Honestly though, I'm thankful for that wretched experience of feeling so overwhelmed with missing my children that I almost couldn't breathe. It helped me to remember just how awful those early-on days of child-loss are, so I can better empathize with those that are enduring this worst type of trial-by-fire.</b><br />
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<b>"Hope" was missing in me . . . and deep agony crept in like a thief that evening. I'd momentarily lost the most important reason why I've been able to cope with my tragedy all these years. I've clung to Hope in God's assurances given to bereaved parents through His Word, like a life-raft thrown to those facing potential drowning.</b><br />
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<b>I regained my balance again after a good cry. My believing that Michael and Lisa are alive and in Paradise with God and all His Holy Angels--our reunion awaiting--again righted me upward. </b><br />
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<b>I came across this tiny devotional book written in 1843, "Psalms and Hymns and Selections," at my local library's resale Bookstore. This selection, with the title of "Safety of the Elect," seemed to fit this blog post; I'm copying it here:</b><br />
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<b> <span style="font-size: large;"> "Faith hath an overcoming power, </span></b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> It triumphs in the dying hour:</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Christ is our life, our joy, our hope;</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b> Nor can we sink with such a prop."</b></span><br />
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<span style="color: red;"><b>Stop the blood loss! Don't give up! Grab onto the lifesaving Word of God!</b></span><br />
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<br />DONNA--(Admin)http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615435504270283978noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5270579737122401821.post-20804583275313400452017-09-17T22:06:00.000-07:002017-09-17T22:06:30.859-07:00ANOTHER BIRTHDAY PASSES<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>Yesterday my 2 year old turned 35. That's how I view it from my earthly perspective. There's been no, "Now you've turned 3!" then "Now you've turned 4!" and so on and so forth. It's just like he's stuck forever in my mind at "2" turning--this year--a robust 35 years old. It's been very jarring to me as the years have progressively increased and the span of what Michael "was" and what he "would have been" contrasting so enormously now.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>After the yearly jolting, I take up my mental word-armor, the remembrance of how none of that matters--at all--in the grand scheme of things. All my angst may be perfectly normal but it's still "earthly thinking." Jesus once reprimanded St. Peter because he (St. Peter) was only thinking along earthly terms--not heavenly terms.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i><b><span style="color: red;">Jesus turned and said to Peter, "get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me; you do not have in mind the concerns of God, but merely human concerns." (Matt. 16:23 NIV).</span></b></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>What does it matter that Michael (or Lisa) didn't live long in earthly years--if I truly believe (which I do) that he's in Paradise and Perfected and Paired up with Jesus and happy as a lark as The Father sees fit? I remind myself to stop having "merely human concerns" and get myself back on track. Otherwise I'm a stumbling block to myself. If I get on the sad track, it speeds along at a furious pace and leaves me feeling nothing but drained of energy. Stop! I'll tell myself.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>I had the electric candle I bought years ago turned on yesterday. I couldn't help but notice how cheap the fake flame looked. Nowadays they make them so much more real-looking. I did a quick assessment of whether I was failing Michael in some way by choosing to keep it instead of buying a brand new, more realistic-looking one. Again, earthly thinking about something that matters not a whit in reality! In Michael's reality!</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><b>It was on actually just prior to it being Michael's birthday as it was another day of getting to bed way too late. I wouldn't be asleep at midnight so why not light it now and place my favorite photo of him near it--now? If it wasn't lit and it was after midnight and I could light it but chose not to . . . would that indicate I didn't care? Again, earthly thinking needing redirecting. I still need to redirect even after what soon will be "33" years since the wreck that killed them all instantly. Old habits die hard.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>I know almost nothing about Michael. That's the plight of those of us whose children die very young. He had a lot of sweet qualities about him and also an impishness. He was easy to please. He had a hearty laugh. When he turned two, at his party held at my in-laws, he helped a little girl he had never met before who was struggling to blow her balloon up. He told me when Lisa was crying if I was out of earshot. He was willing to sit cuddled tightly together next to Lisa in a spacious baby stroller that was really just designed for one. He liked to paint; his last picture--painted shortly before the wreck happened--resembled an angel with wings spread. He liked the Sesame Street character, "Ernie." He was brave. While at a friend's house, the friend's grandfather dressed as a clown and dropped in for a visit. The friend cowered in fear as Michael stood his ground, more curious than anything else. He burned his tender arm on my in-laws' outdoor grill after an impulsive reach . . . and didn't even cry about it.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b>What has helped me the most to survive the wreck, was Michael being obedient to whoever told him to repeat after them, "Going Home to be with Jesus!" numerous times in the two weeks before the wreck. That, and how he always pointed out beautiful rainbows to me . . .</b></span><br />
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<br />DONNA--(Admin)http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615435504270283978noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5270579737122401821.post-33703836803584390512017-08-05T11:49:00.001-07:002017-08-05T11:49:56.853-07:00LOOKS CAN BE DECEIVING<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I've always been intrigued--and somewhat afraid--of the verse in Scripture that quotes Jesus saying,</h3>
<b><span style="color: red;">"And many false prophets will appear and deceive many. " (Matt 24:11).</span> Also stated by Jesus is: </b><br />
<b> <span style="color: red;"> </span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: red;">"For false messiahs and false prophets will appear and perform great signs and wonders to deceive, if possible, <i>even the elect." </i>(Matt 24:24)</span>--emphasis mine. What in the world --even the <i>elect</i> get deceived? As of the other day, I can totally understand how easily that can happen. </b><br />
<b> </b><br />
<b> It started by reading a couple books written by a famously respected New Age healer/guru who shall remain nameless. I found a curious mixture of what "I" believe in the Bible peppered with his Eastern philosophy and attitudes --which then started to subtly and then boldly stray from what Jesus taught. </b><br />
<b> </b><br />
<b>This so-called expert doesn't believe in a personal God. Doesn't believe in that Jesus cares for us tenderly like His flock of sheep. Doesn't believe that when we physically die we'll remember our individuality or others'. That there's a collective storage of memory rather than our own personal memories to retain after death. Apparently, we're just all nameless unindividualized groupies of a rock-star Ultimate Consciousness. </b><br />
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<b>What had initially sucked me into the vacuum of being misled was the sprinkling of Scriptural truths found throughout what I was reading. And his believing that Jesus did live and was a healer. It was like a hook, his acknowledging Jesus as real and Good. </b><br />
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<b>But then I felt increasingly uncomfortable with what he had to say about Jesus. That's always been the deal-breaker for me. If some way of thinking refuses to acknowledge Jesus as The Son of God, The Messiah, Our Savior . . . I bolt for dear life.</b><br />
<b> <span style="color: blue;">"Dear friends, do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God, because many false prophets have gone out into the world. This is how you can recognize the Spirit of God: Every spirit that acknowledges that Jesus Christ has come in the flesh is from God, but every spirit that does not acknowledge Jesus is not from God. This is the spirit of the antichrist, which you have heard is coming and even now is already in the world." </span></b><br />
<b><span style="color: blue;">(1John 4:1-4).</span></b><br />
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<b> What's been tripping me up are New Agers that speak of Jesus in lovely ways . . . then go in for the kill by denying He meant this or really didn't say that or a number of other conventions to try to veer me off the right track. It just all reminds me too much of the deceiving ways of the snake in Eden's garden. The subtle planting of doubts, seeds of mistrust and confusion. </b><br />
<b> The Enemy's gotten sneakier these days. It's not so obvious a false prophet is what he is--especially when he's the darling of Society and comes across as all gentle and wise. Just because somebody "acknowledges" Jesus, doesn't mean they submit to Him. I think that's the clincher for the anti-Christ types. Their <i>unwillingness to submit</i> to the Almighty's embodiment known as Jesus The Son Of God. These types seem reluctant to be a mere creature; they seem to need to be the Head--refusing to be anywhere near the lowly Tail. I'm not falling for it anymore. I'm going to be apply the litmus test of conformity to all of Jesus' teaching before reading <i>another</i> <i>word</i> of an Anti-Christ.</b><br />
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<br />DONNA--(Admin)http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615435504270283978noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5270579737122401821.post-81048865085413303932017-06-26T15:53:00.000-07:002017-06-26T15:53:50.738-07:00FIREWORKS<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: small;">Soon the 4th of July fireworks shows will be upon us. To me, childbirth and bereavement have a lot in common with fireworks.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Preliminary signs and sounds clearly told me to excitedly anticipate something--soon it would be bursting forth! The beautiful transformation started as soon as the firework was loosed from its container. Shockingly bright light pierced my darkness. Such heavenly joy I found, far above earth's gravity. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: small;">And then, bereaved, the harsh reality of the unrelenting and constantly returning blackness of this world's night set in --I couldn't even raise my eyes off the ground--completely unable to see anything beautiful again until a period of waiting time completed. Oh how I longed for more of the same beauty I previously so enjoyed! I did not want to wait! </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: small;">My children had burst upon the scene so beautifully . . . but like fabulous exploded fireworks, enjoyed tremendously, but gone far too quickly. Photographs and videos were such poor recreations of what once was!</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: small;">Early grieving for me was like having bottle rockets going off constantly in my head. Just loud, startling noise with no substance. I didn't know where they were going to come from, this annoying racket suddenly making me feel unsure and unsafe. Something seemingly as innocent as "sparklers"--those tangible items of theirs I'd come across (or innocently seek out)--caused me a surprising number of user-injuries. Sometimes there'd be unexpected huge booms, making me feel I was in a real war with life or death repercussions. How so much beauty was mixed with anxiousness! </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: small;">Not until the fireworks show ended and the noisy crowd went home did I even start to think about the future again, this God-given hope I clung to of another round of beauty. My bereavement darkness finally ended, leaving me in constant, joyful anticipation. He that brought me such wonder would yet again bring beauty and after so much time waiting . . . likely a "new and improved" version. When Beauty and I reunite, this time there won't be any more darkness to disappoint or keep me from enjoying their presence with me . . . in non-ending, explosions of delight. Don't give up hope!</span></span>DONNA--(Admin)http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615435504270283978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5270579737122401821.post-68875381628274115832017-04-16T19:08:00.001-07:002017-04-16T19:08:30.599-07:00EASTER THOUGHTS<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I love this religious holiday. Jesus being resurrected from the dead is the very reason "I," can live again after my husband and children died. There's reason to hope again that my life is still living; because He lives, they live also. </div>
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I like what I read once, that either Jesus was a raving madman or . . . He was telling the truth. I believe through His loving actions performed and compassionate way of living--that He spoke the truth. My family's death isn't the end of the story. God always has a better Plan B. I'm looking forward to it! I believe it will be as if we'd just stepped over into our new world, when it happens. </div>
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My cat Abby just couldn't understand why she couldn't go outside on her leash the other day. It was too late in the day and coyotes are known to prowl for food around here at dusk. How I wished I could tell her why she had "to wait awhile" in a way she could understand. But that cannot be in this life. I wonder if God feels a little sad for <i>us, </i>because we have to wait for our desires and are unable to comprehend the "why" and yet He very much wants our happiness in all things.</div>
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Another interesting occurrence was found in a tiny, vintage book written in 1843. I found this for $1.50 at the library bookstore I volunteer at. Inside the book was an ancient pressed flower encouraging the reader to read a passage primarily speaking about "It is well with my soul." Which just happens to be a favorite "God is blessing me with this song" of my friend Dale. One other page was dog-eared. I turned to that and found a passage talking all about how God "Restores." The concept of which was etched in my brain somehow, right after my family's tragic accident and been a constant focus-thought for me ever since.</div>
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Easter Day today and I just had an interesting occurrence. A little girl just asked me if she could help me as I worked on my front yard's flowers. This reminded me of when my first Fall rolled around after my toddler Michael had been killed. How I'd longed to rake up leaves only for him to scatter them again. And when I felt the saddest, that's when God sent a young neighbor boy I'd never met before--to walk down my sidewalk. Someone who just wanted apparently, to wordlessly rake leaves with me for a couple minutes and then silently continue his way down the sidewalk.</div>
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Jesus' Resurrection was huge --but small miracles abound around us if we just pay attention. </div>
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"Happy Easter!"</div>
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DONNA--(Admin)http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615435504270283978noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5270579737122401821.post-55659992844263105012017-03-01T11:56:00.001-08:002017-03-01T11:56:22.310-08:00FROM EARTHLY DUST TO PERFECTION<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="color: red;">LISA AT THREE AND 1/2 MONTHS YOUNG</span></b></td></tr>
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Today--March 1, 2017-- Lisa would have turned "33" years old. Wow. It's hard to fathom that, since I last saw her physically at only nine and a half months young. From my headboard shelf where it's kept, I lifted off my favorite framed picture of Lisa . . . and saw <i>dust</i>. Coincidentally, today happens to be "Ash Wednesday" and the start of Lent for Christians. Seeing that dust under her photo, I recalled this verse from Genesis (3:19):<br />
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<b>" . . . For dust you are and to dust you will return." (NIV)</b><br />
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I realized I'd never focused much on the <i>prior </i>verses<i> </i>that spoke of all the toil and trouble mankind would now have after choosing<i> their </i>will over God's. Lisa (and all transitioned children) have in fact <b>been saved</b> from having to struggle in this life<i> and</i> all little children that have died are guaranteed by Jesus to now be on easy street. Jesus clearly has a fondness for little children. They probably refreshed His Spirit just like they refresh our own weary spirits during our earthly trials.<br />
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<span style="color: red; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Jesus said, "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, </span><i><span style="font-size: large;">for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these."</span></i></b></span> (NIV Matthew 19:14 --emphasis mine.)<br />
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They "belong" there! They've got the run of the place! "Reunion" for them must have been more like "Further Union." They've never once consciously parted from Christ!<br />
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I've also come to realize that because they died so young (Lisa at 9 1/2 months and Michael at 27 months) having any kind of "rift" between us never happened. Although I did not get to see them mature to an adult age . . . there are no smoldering regrets, arguments or resentments that can taint the mother/father and child-turned-adult relationship. I will never carry any troubling, unfinished emotional business between us to my grave or they to theirs. Like I have with the relationship memories with my own departed parents.<br />
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Those of us that have very young transitioned children will also never have any questions about their relationship with Christ either. A big comfort to me is that they died being "as close to an angel" as is possible in this earthly life.<br />
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I've come to understand that even though in this life I've not had some of the "fun" stuff of seeing Lisa and Matthew grow to adulthood, I'm blessed beyond measure believing Jesus' Word that Heaven belongs to children--especially.<br />
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On this Ash Wednesday, when we Christians focus on the reality of physical death (ashes literally placed upon our foreheads) I remember that God in His Mercy can also raise us up to New Life. And that even though my children no longer have their fleshly bodies:<br />
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<b><span style="color: red; font-size: large;">"The Spirit gives life; the flesh counts for nothing. . . . "</span></b> (NIV John 6:63).<br />
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Earthly death is just a transitioning moment . . afterward we come to fully realize our joy of having union with Life and Love Himself. (And I believe in Purgatory being a time of fairness . . . of learning in order to truly and freely be able to make that choice irregardless of any prior harmful influences.)<br />
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<b><i style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: magenta;"> <span style="font-size: large;">HAPPY BIRTHDAY LISA!</span></span><span style="color: white;">!</span></i></b><br />
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I LOVE YOU AND YOUR BROTHER ALWAYS (and your earthly Dad!)<br />
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<br />DONNA--(Admin)http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615435504270283978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5270579737122401821.post-9054299792973236232017-02-18T12:04:00.000-08:002017-02-18T12:04:45.904-08:00FEELING WHIPPED<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">As a Christian bereaved mom, I sometimes feel as though I'm being whipped into submission to get back into the line of what "truly loving" bereaved moms "must" feel. This comes, evidently, from non-Believers . . . even if they consider themselves a Believer, it appears to me. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">How many times must I hear that an apparently "truly" grieving mother must steadfastly refuse to believe there can be no possible "explanation" for our child's early death? But what about our belief that God has His reasons why He allowed something horrible to happen . . . understanding that our comprehension of the "why" not humanly possible during our lifetime. <b>Trust in God</b> does sound like a platitude to some . . . but it is my best "go to" answer as a Christian who believes, but is not able to understand the divine. I believe that I will have full knowledge after I transition. I don't consider myself a mindless robot . . . but someone who has spent a lifetime so far trying to understand and figure out just what I believe, after my foundation was so violently rocked at age 28. I'm 60 now.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">As of now, I have no clue as to why that 10 ton truck had to be at that intersection . . . <i>precisely</i> when our pickup intersected that spot. In a state known to have "the" least population; While traveling on a lonely rural highway; Just before Christmas, too. This is "the hard stuff" of being a Believer. We may never know in this lifetime why tragic stuff happens to good people. (But look at Jesus as an example of this).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">As a Christian, I TRUST that God allowed it for some reason that He, being non-subject to time had knowledge of "why" this had to be. Or it would not have been allowed. I still believe that God is 100% Love and I still believe that God is 100% trustworthy. Call me a fool if you want. I will never stop believing otherwise.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">This talk sounds like nonsense to a non-Believer. Their stated reasoning (or variations of):</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"There is no good reason why God should allow an innocent child that was healthy, beloved and had a whole lifetime of love and life to look forward to."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">If a Christian bereaved mom tries to counter the above statement with--horror of horrors--Scripture references, then a whole new slew of vehemence often erupts.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Platitudes" and "Trite sayings" are hurled at the Christian who has found extreme comfort from just the very things an apparent non-Believer is hurling back at them in utter disgust. I can understand the anger toward Christians that are insensitive technique-wise at communicating their beliefs. There is no protest from me with bereaved moms that are angry at Christians who seem to be one-upping others by Faith bashing. But others, and I consider myself one, are trying to help a fellow bereaved mom gently find her way through the darkness by shining the Light of Christ and His assurances and how that has proven helpful to us. Wouldn't you share <i>your </i>food with the near-starving?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">For those bloggers who trash Christian moms for trying to help others--those of you who lump us all together as bigoted bullies-- you are not helpful to one half of your listeners (or readers). </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I read today on a bereaved mom's blog, that she and others like her:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Would want to punch her in the face" (a fellow bereaved mom and a Christian--for sharing her faith).</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">When faced with aggression, it's only normal to retreat. Maybe that's why some Christian moms feel it's just easier to keep silent rather than speak or write, amid the difficult-to-counter likes of:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"I love my child too much to ever be okay with their dying before me . . . it's just not normal."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"My child was taken before their time and missing out on everything good in this life."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"I hate G*d because of what He did to me."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">"God hates me because of something I did to Him."</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">These are difficult topics to address even for those that are trained professionals, to say the least! I've had my share of put downs for trying to help other bereaved moms. That's why this blog is geared toward "Christian" moms, because I feel at least I have a starting point from which to reaffirm our mutual belief of life and HOPE following death. For both Mom and child. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">After being bereaved now for over thirty years, I have fought many battles in regard to losing instantly both my infant daughter Lisa, toddler son Michael and Tim, my husband of ten years from an auto accident. The last thing I feel like battling is trying to defend my undying love for them even though I firmly believe my Christian assurances. Bottom line:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">YES!! I STILL WILDLY LOVE THEM!! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I believe in complete and utter restoration for them of all that is truly "important" of which they've not had the chance to experience on earth. I miss them not being physically here with me on earth. But if they had the chance to be 100% happier being <i>away </i>from me for awhile (I believe in Reunion after death)--then I would <i>let them </i>and live my life accordingly in Christian hope. BECAUSE I LOVE THEM THAT MUCH!!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I believe their honor and remembrance before God is what truly counts--not how many people on this planet currently acknowledge remembrance or love of them. So . . . those that die young have still lived a "worthwhile" life. It doesn't matter who remembers or how many foundations in their name are formed. That even if nobody were to remember them in this life . . . (Alzheimer's runs in my bloodline) . . . their lives are worthwhile. Because God has assured me through His Word they are okay now . . . and I still believe it, even though bad things have definitely happened to definitely good people.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">After my lengthy bereavement walk, I've concluded that the only things hat matter are that they were Created in Love, were Loved by both God and me, and I'm assured of Restoration and Reunion through that same Love because Love never dies and never "takes" . . . but only "Gives."</span><br />
<br />DONNA--(Admin)http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615435504270283978noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5270579737122401821.post-54306262554749895552016-12-22T19:19:00.000-08:002016-12-22T19:19:24.507-08:00THEY LIVE AGAIN<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> Today is the 32nd anniversary of the day my family entered Heaven. How different in attitude I am! Back then it was all about death, destruction and "never got the chance to" thoughts. Like a wounded animal, I slunk off to be alone and to protect myself from any further injury. Every single thing (except God) seemed to be a threat to me back then--a threat to further self-destruction. There was only so much pain my soul could take. I was saturated with suffering to the utmost degree. "Enduring" was surprisingly as much physical as it was emotional for me, back then.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I never realized emotional pain could be so severe. It really took me by surprise by its intensity. That is completely gone now. Now, I wish they were here but I wish even more that they continue enjoying Paradise. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">God never said He'd keep bad stuff from happening to me after I was married and had kids. He did say He'd be with me through it all though, and He was. That was all I needed really, to get through my difficult bereavement --faith in the reality of God's being with me and loving me and helping me through it all. I let Him. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I'd had a previous shattering of my self; the upside being my faith in Him was increased tenfold because of how He helped me through all of that. Because of that first near-destruction, I came to believe that God knew what He was doing when He allowed that wreck to happen on December 22, 1984. I was able to hold up through this even more deadly-to-my-body-and-soul damage--the physical death of Tim (my husband and best friend of ten years), Michael, my toddler son and Lisa, </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">my baby daughter</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Today I have their pictures in front of the lighted accent lamp I got creative with (by changing it's three small shades to something I liked better). That's one of the things that's really different after 32 years of bereavement--my ability to choose to change. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Initially I seemed to have no choice but gloom and doom to focus on. I was a Christian, but the pain I felt wiped away any feelings of joy at their presence into Heaven. I just wanted them back in the trenches with me. I guess it was some type of "self-preservation." I would have had to give of myself in order to have positive feelings toward their physical absence from me. I had nothing of myself left to give at that time. I was completely preoccupied with"me, me, me"--what "I" wanted--not what was far better for them. How could I survive without them? How could I heal without them? I guess it was only natural, to want what would help <i>me</i> be "whole" again and not prolong further agony for <i>me</i>. I think we're hard-wired to keep ourselves alive.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Over the years I've realized that "God of Restoration," (the term that mysteriously saturated my mind while recovering post wreck in the hospital), was key to my finding lasting peace. I've come to realize that, "so what if they/we didn't get to do this or that. God has allowed it to be thus --and I trust Him!" So much of what I lamented over were only earthly "joys." Joys that would have been in their lifetime repeatedly tainted with sorrow; the remnants of sin that forever tinges pure white with a sickly yellow cast during everyone's earthly lifetime.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I have witnessed so much sorrow, pain and suffering during these 32 years that I am grateful to God that they are FREE of all that! Any earthly joys they have not been a part of, I truly believe have their restorative counterpart in Heaven. Nothing's impossible to God! Jesus Himself called that place of rest and recovery, "Paradise." That's good enough for me, to have confidence that God has seen fit to "provide for" whatever Tim, Michael and Lisa didn't "get" to experience on Earth. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">I honestly think that a lot of what we value here on Earth as being vitally necessary to have experienced, either is not really that important, or will have its maximized equivalent given to us in Heaven. The only thing that is truly important I feel, and what will be maximized in Heaven/Paradise is LOVE. And God's the expert when it comes to that department!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Trusting in God, I feel, is the single most important thing we can do to heal from the terrible pain of</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"> bereavement. We can then grow in Love--and have what's most important in common with our physically departed ones. Loving God is where they are . . . and how to be with them again. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><b><i>"And so we know and rely on the love God has for us. God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in them. (1 John 4:16 NIV).</i></b></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>DONNA--(Admin)http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615435504270283978noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5270579737122401821.post-79269936516189297232016-11-15T14:55:00.000-08:002016-11-15T14:55:07.041-08:00GOD IS SOVEREIGN<div>
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God is sovereign. That word is not the easiest to understand much less spell correctly. What does it mean exactly? It means we have nothing to worry about, essentially. Being sovereign means that God has <i>the</i> final authority on absolutely everything that happens to us.</span><div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Some horrendous things--like my family's wreck--have been "allowed" to happen. Other things He directly wills. Anything that is considered "bad" that happens to us, rest assured that falls under the "is allowed <b>not willed</b> by God" category. Otherwise His "Loving and Merciful" attributes would be questionable. (And so would my love for Him!) I find confirmation that God never plays "mean tricks" on anyone, in this verse:</span><div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"For <span style="background-color: black; color: cyan;">he does not willingly</span> bring affliction or grief to anyone."</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>(NIV Lamentations 3:33).</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Although there is definitely a malevolent force present in this world, it is still subject to God's sovereignty. I didn't use to believe there actually was an evil presence in this world. That is actually a common tactic that an enemy can use to gain entrance . . . making us believe he's not around--that he doesn't even exist. One cannot actively fight or even protest against something we don't even believe exists. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">One night many years ago, I lay in bed tossing and turning from anxious thinking. I was really expressing a lot of doubt and fear in my mind. Although I believed that God could certainly help me, I wasn't actively practicing that in my conscious thought--and letting negativity get the best of me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Then . . . I heard in my mind the most hideous laughter. I am grateful that God allowed me to hear it, because I changed my ways. Now if I find myself "going there" I change that negative thinking right away. Why give the enemy something he delights to hear? </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Jesus didn't have to struggle to oust the evil spirits He encountered. With just a word from Him they would flee. People sometimes forget that Satan is subject to Jesus' command and <i>has</i> to flee as he has no choice in the matter.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"You, dear children, are from God and have overcome them, because the one who is in you is greater than the one who is in the world."</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>(1 John 4:4).</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">When we're being plagued by doubt and confusion and negative thinking in general . . . do what a friend told me regarding a menacing mongrel on the attack: </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"Order it in a commanding voice to </span><span style="font-size: large;">'</span><span style="font-size: large;">Stop</span><span style="font-size: large;">!'</span><span style="font-size: large;"> and just tell it to </span><span style="font-size: large;">'Get outta here!'"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">When we recognize the Enemy is tackling us, we need to include the name of our Defender. Just say, "Jesus please help me get these evil spirits to stop bothering me!" (I like to repeat it again only so the enemy knows I mean business.) Without a doubt they flee quickly and you will notice instantly a peacefulness in your mind. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"No one is like you, LORD; you are great, <span style="color: red;">and your name is mighty in power."</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>(Jeremiah 10:6).</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Jesus' <i>name</i> described as "mighty in power" is to be understood in a <i>literal </i>sense. The power of the name Jesus really does cause evil that is disturbing us to flee.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The Enemy is real. He is here and he knows his time is growing short. During the holiday season it seems he steps up his attacks because there's frequent bouts of opportunity. But not to worry--God knows we're frequently fearful . . . Jesus often had to tell His disciples to "Fear not!" I love that passage where the disciples, scared witless because their boat was close to sinking from a furious storm, wake Jesus from Dreamland as he slept on a comfy cushion. With waves alarmingly high and </span><span style="font-size: large;">the wind howling--so fierce they could barely stand up--</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"He said to his disciples, <i>'Why are you so afraid?</i> Do you still have no faith?'"</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The peace of God guards not only our hearts--but equally as well <i>our minds:</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>"And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts <span style="background-color: black; color: cyan;">and your minds</span> in Christ Jesus."</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b>(Philippians 4:7).</b></span></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">"Do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand."</span></b></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">If we have faith and trust in God, then we can survive any storm--or enemy-- that threatens to overcome us.</span></div>
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DONNA--(Admin)http://www.blogger.com/profile/06615435504270283978noreply@blogger.com2