tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-40366751728896778622024-03-13T15:16:58.724-07:00 THE ROAD NOT TAKENTHE ROAD NOT TAKEN.... I believe that time is a companion who goes with us on the journey and reminds us to cherish every moment for they will never come again. Thressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16292130333271819941noreply@blogger.comBlogger48125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036675172889677862.post-80864128290032756242013-01-17T11:36:00.000-08:002013-01-17T11:36:57.110-08:00So it would seem that I have taken a brake from the blog for a year. W<br />
<a name='more'></a>ell I'm back and will try to be more faithful this year. I'm hoping for better and brighter year with new adventures.Thressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16292130333271819941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036675172889677862.post-34223647743342284572011-09-10T10:05:00.000-07:002011-09-10T10:05:41.090-07:00Goodnight My AngelMy thoughts this day (9/11) are to many to put into words or do justice to the thousands who died that day and the millions who will remember them this day and always. I had a conversation with a little girl this week who was born four years after this great tragedy. she was like a breath of fresh air. It was as if God was saying in the spring all things are made new and alive again. I will not forget their sacrifice but I will live and grow. My light will shine so all can see I was not diminished by this tragedy but like a Brisol Cone Pine have sprung anew, better for the fire. I love you my friends and I'm grateful you too are here to journey on with me. The words of this song come closes to my feeling this day.<br />
<br />
<br />
Goodnight my angel time to close your eyes.<br />
<br />
And save these questions for another day.<br />
<br />
I think I know what you've been asking me.<br />
<br />
I think you know what I've been trying to say.<br />
<br />
I promised I would never leave you.<br />
<br />
And you should always know.<br />
<br />
Where ever you may go no matter where you are.<br />
<br />
I never will be far away.<br />
<br />
Goodnight my angel now its time to sleep.<br />
<br />
And still so many things I want to say.<br />
<br />
Remember all the songs you sang for me.<br />
<br />
When we went sailing on an emerald bay.<br />
<br />
And like a boat out on the ocean.<br />
<br />
I’m rocking you to sleep.<br />
<br />
The waters dark and deep.<br />
<br />
Inside this ancient heart.<br />
<br />
You'll always be a part of me.<br />
<br />
Goodnight my angel now its time to dream.<br />
<br />
And dream how wonderful you're life will be.<br />
<br />
Some day your child may cry and if you sing this lullabye.<br />
<br />
Then in your heart there will always be a part of me.<br />
<br />
Someday we'll all be gone but lullabyes go on and on.<br />
<br />
They never die thats how you and I will be.Thressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16292130333271819941noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036675172889677862.post-74730828738529669832011-01-02T01:21:00.000-08:002011-01-02T01:21:20.837-08:00<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">"The best thing to hold onto in life is each other."</span> <span style="font-size: x-small;">Audrey Hepburn</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_w0vr7pZqZzE/TSBAymoQ3ZI/AAAAAAAAAcw/TgSAZQrDCP0/s1600/shoes+walking.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" n4="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_w0vr7pZqZzE/TSBAymoQ3ZI/AAAAAAAAAcw/TgSAZQrDCP0/s200/shoes+walking.jpg" width="168" /></a><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">We are never alone. In our lives good times and tough times come to us all. In the good times we may feel that we have friends a plenty. But in the tough times we quickly realize we are not alone. Our friends and family are here, too. </span></div><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Hope can open doors of change. We must surround ourselves with people who share our hopes. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Faith moves mountains so we must be sure to surround ourselves with people who believe you can and that you will prevail.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Love can do anything, so we must surround ourselves with those who love us and care for us.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">We must believe in each other. We can do this, we must do this. In this way we make each other enormously strong. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">The truth is that there is no problem so big that together we cannot solve it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">We are always bigger than anything that can ever happen to us. </span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">"Someday all you'll have to light the way will be a single ray of hope... and that will be enough."</span> </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> <span style="font-size: x-small;">Kobi Yamada</span></span></div>Thressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16292130333271819941noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036675172889677862.post-19959211826285201442010-10-03T13:57:00.000-07:002010-10-03T13:57:50.370-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRR8dooV993aNQzPfVnYJWFTCHHz_t3S0TYosN96kCAvnBDsLFa2yMHw3QQucIoT7c5CSYR-7ts8rpRZrC7rfJtdtsrwcFP4OTxYjO4wh2wUHk1NLUyfqNFDOdlReEEqOzRxmgJm2NMuI/s1600/rose.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRR8dooV993aNQzPfVnYJWFTCHHz_t3S0TYosN96kCAvnBDsLFa2yMHw3QQucIoT7c5CSYR-7ts8rpRZrC7rfJtdtsrwcFP4OTxYjO4wh2wUHk1NLUyfqNFDOdlReEEqOzRxmgJm2NMuI/s1600/rose.jpg" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Our daily lives are proof of our inherent strength. As women we move through uncharted territory. We have the care of others whom we nurture emotionally and physically while exploring our own physical and spiritual dimensions. On the outside we are often strong for others, but inside feel weak and fearful as we attempt to set realistic limits that respect us as individuals. We must realize that as human being we have limitations. If we do not honor them they can overwhelm us until we become overextended, resentful and in some cases ill. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Sometimes the most courage’s thing we can do isjust to say, </span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>“I CAN’T DO IT ALL FOR EVERYONE”. </strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Even when all around us tell us different it is important to remember that we can be strong enough to say <strong><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">NO</span></strong>. That is when we come to know in our hearts that it is okay to honor ourselves by having limits. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">It is a somewhat hard lesson to learn and put into action. It will be one of the most difficult things as women to learn. Have the courage to acknowledge your strength and set limits that will grow and develop until we no longer have limits but only possibilities.</span>Thressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16292130333271819941noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036675172889677862.post-37249673055580526582010-05-05T04:20:00.000-07:002010-05-05T04:31:28.062-07:00After Cancer, Gratitude<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6cHRoKTmtfan-HHhxbI8-6qPYyaQRQHCpQ2AsoUaOGCK0Ut99EmjMAYewAjOsUoeCuJ6Em9QjgduALWS74Rx9mTLPahyphenhyphenG7b2Gy6UyHw883x8sTpjdW7Ta4FAtAQ0lr6lPLLAi_9ui1DQ/s1600/doll_1%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6cHRoKTmtfan-HHhxbI8-6qPYyaQRQHCpQ2AsoUaOGCK0Ut99EmjMAYewAjOsUoeCuJ6Em9QjgduALWS74Rx9mTLPahyphenhyphenG7b2Gy6UyHw883x8sTpjdW7Ta4FAtAQ0lr6lPLLAi_9ui1DQ/s200/doll_1%5B1%5D.jpg" tt="true" width="160" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>I’ve been thinking a lot about gratitude lately, trying to put my finger on what exactly I’m grateful for in the 6 year since I was first diagnosed with caesuras tumors and had my first surgery to remove them. </strong></span><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>When you have cancer, when you’re being cut open and radiated and who knows what else, it can take a great effort to be thankful for the gift of the one life that we have been blessed with. Believe me, I know. </strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>And sometimes, in the amnesia of sickness, we forget to be grateful. But if we let our cancers consume our spirits in addition to our bodies, then we risk forgetting who we truly are, of contracting a kind of Alzheimer’s of the soul. </strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>Not that I felt grateful each moment of each day. I’m grateful that what ever anger I felt after my diagnosis pasted quickly. I still got frustrated sometimes by the physical challenges I faced in the wake of cancer. </strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>Gratitude is an antidote to the dark voice of illness that whispers to us, that insists that all we have become is our disease. Living in the shadow of cancer has granted me a kind of high-definition gratitude. I’ve found that when you’re grateful, the world turns from funereal gray to incandescent Technicolor. </strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>There are, of course, the obvious things to be thankful for. The love and care of my family and friends; the concern and support of colleagues and community; the skill and insight of the doctors and all the other medical staff who have brought me to this very moment: </strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>The nurses who spooned ice chips into my cotton mouth after surgery; chemotherapy and radiation.</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>The nurse therapists and aids who blasted Flogging Molly and Jars of Clay for me when I had chemotherapy. The blood technicians who made a steel needle feel like cold silk; the hospital aides who took a couple of minutes to talk to me about movies, books and mortality when I was in so much pain I couldn’t find rest. </strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>These small moments of gratitude are the most poignant to me because they indicate that I’m still paying close attention to the life I’m living, that I didn’t succumbed to numbing obliviousness. </strong></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhw_K8kUmio98PyANfevHxqs9An8l1Cy8pCLjXrrYrtBeJpdkVmIgyi3STYW2m1AJEfEylJFId0Ta14v9rCifN2L47YqZ5KSUyJVTRgg3rZ_p4vHx-fPU7EPFTfkHrIiBIAMRUlMHh9rM/s1600/coraline%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhw_K8kUmio98PyANfevHxqs9An8l1Cy8pCLjXrrYrtBeJpdkVmIgyi3STYW2m1AJEfEylJFId0Ta14v9rCifN2L47YqZ5KSUyJVTRgg3rZ_p4vHx-fPU7EPFTfkHrIiBIAMRUlMHh9rM/s200/coraline%5B1%5D.jpg" tt="true" width="198" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>These days I’m grateful for: </strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>The once a month Friday morning breakfasts with my cancer survivor group. </strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>Those nights when I sleep through, and don’t have to get up and do the zombie shuffle to the bathroom. </strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>When just the right song vaults and shimmers from my favorite radio station.</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>The pollen-encrusted bumblebees patrolling the blue-purple cat mint and bleeding heart that has been with me since my first diagnoses. </strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>An iced raspberry lemonade. </strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>The healing sound of my boys. Drinking from their water bowl. </strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>The latest book in the JD Robb series or a new murder mystery from Mary Higgins Clark. </strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>A chicken salad croissant with sliced deli pickles. </strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>For my visits to the hair salon every six weeks for a restyle. </strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>And gratitude, finally, for the you. Thank you for friendship for just being “normal” so I could feel “normal” too.</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><br />
<strong></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><br />
<strong></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><br />
<strong></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><strong></strong></span></span>Thressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16292130333271819941noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036675172889677862.post-14215416134265338552010-05-02T03:42:00.000-07:002010-05-02T03:44:49.149-07:00I'M STILL HERE . . . . .<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_w0vr7pZqZzE/S91V-QrvRNI/AAAAAAAAAZU/PZ5IGiWiv1c/s1600/IMG00057-20090209-0218.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_w0vr7pZqZzE/S91V-QrvRNI/AAAAAAAAAZU/PZ5IGiWiv1c/s200/IMG00057-20090209-0218.jpg" tt="true" width="150" /></a></div><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">August of 2004 started me on a journey of scary discovery, surgery, chemotherapy, eighteen months of remission, return to scary discovery, surgery, chemotherapy and remission once again. Over a month of no cancer and good health returning.</span> <span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">I never expected to become a cancer patient again. The scare in my twenties was more than enough. I didn’t expect to become the friend, surrogate daughter, mother, aunt to other cancer fighters. But that has become part of my journey these last six years. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">It all started with my own cancer diagnosis by Dr. Hurst and Michaels at a routine “lady exam”. I laugh now but I was sad to think that all my “lady” problems might just be the beginning of menopause . Later after the cancer was confirmed I cried just wishing I could go back and have my share of “menopause. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">I should have expected the cancer as there were and are many women in my family tree who have also taken this journey. I will say in my defense that most of these women were in their late”50” when they were diagnosed. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">I thought at the time in 2004 no worries I have nothing to be concerned about, Right? I had had no symptoms that cancer had struck again. As if cancer ever really gives you a real sign!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #660000; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>“ HEY STUPID HAD SO MUCH FUN LAST TIME SAVED UP MY MONEY FOR A RETURN PRAFORMAMCE! IF IT ALL WORKS OUT I’LL JUST BE HERE FOR A LIMITED ENGAGMENT!!!</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">I was so arrogant in my thoughts until a few days later sitting in the office of a oncologist that Dr. Michaels had recommended I heard those words “YOU’VE GOT IT!”? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Those careless word from a doctor I would see only once more throw me into a spin. My life was thrown upside down. The change was so complete that every thought I had from that moment began with, <strong>“NOW THAT I HAVE CANCER”.</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">I started a journal that was titled <strong>“CANCER SUCKS”</strong>. It became my <strong>“NOW THAT I HAVE CANCER I’M GRATIFUL FOR". . . </strong>journal. Some of those entries made there way to my blog and e-mails.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">As I wrote in that first of many journals I was not sure of my destination. I met Dr. Sherrie Smith and through her Dr. R J Udalle. They became my lighthouse, my beacon in this storm. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Those words written in a journal have become more than simple recordings of my own expedition. They have become the thoughts of others who have shares this journey of cancer with me. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">I think of these word as not my own alone. These journals have become for me a common journal for all who must make this journey.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">It became a way for me to say “you all have to walk that lonely valley by yourself”. I also realized that this was a paradox for we all need companionship for this journey. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">I am on a journey , it is a trip of individual steps. I have learned to live in the moment while casting my thoughts and dreams to the future. Somedays only the moments could be visualized. Often it seemed minute to minute. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">And so my life for a time became divided into categories that only I or maybe another cancer patient could understand. For a time there was no beginning or end. There was just the journey inch by inch, mile by mile, day by day… and so on.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">The changes this journey have brought to my life where and are huge and at times overwhelming. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">These changes brought great potential for meaning and enlightenment. Like the small changes in the egg as the chick peeks its way free of the shell.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">It was on my birthday they cut the first of many tumors from my body. It was on another special day when I wrote my first entries in the “NOW THAT I HAVE CANCER I’M GRATIFUL FOR” journal. I read all those words often. I have not changed a word of them. I have not made myself look more heroic or sympathetic. I have left them as they were. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">When ever I would or do think what have I done, or what did I do to cause this I read those words. Words written when I was sick and tired from chemo and just sick of being tired. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">They have helped me to not yield to the temptations of self pity. They have time and time again lifted my spirit. In their pages I have found only inspiration to continue my journey. Those page have been the salvation for a scared and lonely child, girl, woman…. The person I have become. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">My story has not ended an those journals still have empty pages to fill.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: small;">NOW THAT MY CANCER IS GONE . . . </span></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;"></span></strong></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_w0vr7pZqZzE/S91WQ_jjGUI/AAAAAAAAAZc/0-MFL8wQED4/s1600/thressa1.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_w0vr7pZqZzE/S91WQ_jjGUI/AAAAAAAAAZc/0-MFL8wQED4/s200/thressa1.bmp" tt="true" width="150" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong>The story continues. . . . </strong></span>Thressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16292130333271819941noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036675172889677862.post-65384588391794356292010-03-26T22:29:00.000-07:002010-03-26T22:49:51.215-07:00My Puppy Love!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmhUTkrmbcrjOOXivbTNEJ_YJhI_jykMattHUj5W6jK2CmJ1QkKCseu5d-5T0gM_O6TnmY5iGVMKXoOr27oAFMmVeVphyphenhyphenidHPpklTGM8ec8BrUkRnTbsMs1cUpwhlhaLzgJzgCsv5XU5w/s1600/IMG00015-20100216-1350.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmhUTkrmbcrjOOXivbTNEJ_YJhI_jykMattHUj5W6jK2CmJ1QkKCseu5d-5T0gM_O6TnmY5iGVMKXoOr27oAFMmVeVphyphenhyphenidHPpklTGM8ec8BrUkRnTbsMs1cUpwhlhaLzgJzgCsv5XU5w/s200/IMG00015-20100216-1350.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQPa0aBXCzqf7ODahxT1IOBTg0G6H8vD6fVUs1walOptAZBz3RjaxYVtdMkUntGwQk_Hdc-5eyIp95SZSm9rl5A_g8ghmjhyst9EF96TeOW1Vrd-eqotHJVZt6B14Z826oB0i9WdPlukE/s1600/IMG00022-20100217-1508.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" nt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQPa0aBXCzqf7ODahxT1IOBTg0G6H8vD6fVUs1walOptAZBz3RjaxYVtdMkUntGwQk_Hdc-5eyIp95SZSm9rl5A_g8ghmjhyst9EF96TeOW1Vrd-eqotHJVZt6B14Z826oB0i9WdPlukE/s200/IMG00022-20100217-1508.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">There is no Kiss Like A Kiss From You!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Courier New; font-size: large;">Love you KC Ballard</span></div>Thressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16292130333271819941noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036675172889677862.post-3267537352004828372010-02-02T02:19:00.000-08:002010-02-02T02:27:55.100-08:00<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>Accepting the Beauty of Our Imperfections <span style="font-size: large;">. . . .</span></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong></strong></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZL__rR8jvSOe3iF-Htmfg6s3mHhpbqK05iA7BkrxKwgbGrNxcSRKeXzO_8IwgBV5z-g3YjVYKd1iCDmlIHHJY6I_lDt0gk-VsTOzIhOuO3SiZQLTcWHITfwHi0BL1RSy3QFoKJjkIl1M/s1600-h/imperfection+doll.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" kt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZL__rR8jvSOe3iF-Htmfg6s3mHhpbqK05iA7BkrxKwgbGrNxcSRKeXzO_8IwgBV5z-g3YjVYKd1iCDmlIHHJY6I_lDt0gk-VsTOzIhOuO3SiZQLTcWHITfwHi0BL1RSy3QFoKJjkIl1M/s320/imperfection+doll.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">If I indulge in the “comparison crunch,” the victim is usually my self-esteem. There will always be someone smarter, thinner, more creative, prettier, or younger than me. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Like me, like you, like all of us we’re filled with holes like Swiss cheese, but our inadequacies are in different places. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">I have adopted as my motto the disclaimer often found on clothing made of cotton or raw silk.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">“This garment is made of 100 percent natural fibers. </span></strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Any irregularity or variation is not to be considered defective. </span></strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><strong><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> Imperfections enhance the beauty of the fabric.”</span></strong></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">What a great way to look at ourselves! Imperfections only enhance our beauty. It is not that I don’t want change, grow, or do my best, but by celebrating that I’m made of “100 percent natural fibers,” I’m creating a climate of acceptance in which transformation can, and will take place.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">I close my eyes and imagine myself as a unique and priceless tapestry created entirely from natural materials. I admire my tapestry exactly as it is now. That wise part of my subconscious has given me a rich symbol to explore.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">In my gratitude journal I write down my feelings and thoughts about this beautiful tapestry that is me. I give thanks for its uniqueness, and appreciate it as it is.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>I accept myself just as I am now.</strong></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>I give thanks for myself and my many imperfections. </strong></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>I give myself permission</strong></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><strong>to transform and beautify my personal tapestry.</strong></span></div>Thressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16292130333271819941noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036675172889677862.post-18580394531423802442010-01-26T17:58:00.000-08:002010-01-26T17:58:20.870-08:00How many times do we congratulate ourselves. How many more times do we criticize ourselves? Congratulating ourselves is energizing; criticizing is debilitating. <br />
Often at the end of the year we look back and laminate that we haven’t accomplished anything. From the perspective of others we have done amazing things in wonderful and courageous ways. <br />
If we look back on our year with a critical eye and give ourselves a gold star for each of our accomplishment we will soon be amazed at how much we have accomplished. Our attitude of self-criticism will change to one of self-congratulating. We will laugh more, feel excited, energized, and empowered.<br />
We need to be a good friend to ourselves. We need to have the courage to stop the criticism that cripples us and learn instead to compliment and congratulate ourselves. We can make it a habit by doing it day after day until we are empowered to become our better selves. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnlf7Pd1eggtGx3JhcpbVkpRAW9-KZxZbSQblwECPnuPcx2omwPk99bRjALAAa7uLeie7zRmR4QbipsGY5l7tygCGhN1fAlmGZoUb_9eZuxnYfULX6N2d_eSDhxvtU5-cXynWertl25kI/s1600-h/4211277875_b4faefc5d7_m%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" mt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnlf7Pd1eggtGx3JhcpbVkpRAW9-KZxZbSQblwECPnuPcx2omwPk99bRjALAAa7uLeie7zRmR4QbipsGY5l7tygCGhN1fAlmGZoUb_9eZuxnYfULX6N2d_eSDhxvtU5-cXynWertl25kI/s320/4211277875_b4faefc5d7_m%5B1%5D.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I congratulate myself for the good things <br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I do, say, and think.<br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I congratulate myself on the person I am,<br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">And the person I am becoming. <br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I deserve gold stars . . . . So do you.<br />
</div>Thressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16292130333271819941noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036675172889677862.post-30467196657922111992010-01-23T02:35:00.000-08:002010-01-23T02:35:04.471-08:00Tending Our Inner Garden<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKILci23CMFyLstTss9Be1SAl5NNQxf79MUrneHuG-WTb1LylKDMiQftJ12Ni8WaWk2VmhMKfON6W1NGExmxEv36Uw66t-TV13e6UR7-yiggUc8i2H721spqK_amWfhbbTvjAVwU4zwnU/s1600-h/water_the_flowers_stock_image_by_vallendesterstock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" mt="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKILci23CMFyLstTss9Be1SAl5NNQxf79MUrneHuG-WTb1LylKDMiQftJ12Ni8WaWk2VmhMKfON6W1NGExmxEv36Uw66t-TV13e6UR7-yiggUc8i2H721spqK_amWfhbbTvjAVwU4zwnU/s320/water_the_flowers_stock_image_by_vallendesterstock.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKILci23CMFyLstTss9Be1SAl5NNQxf79MUrneHuG-WTb1LylKDMiQftJ12Ni8WaWk2VmhMKfON6W1NGExmxEv36Uw66t-TV13e6UR7-yiggUc8i2H721spqK_amWfhbbTvjAVwU4zwnU/s1600-h/water_the_flowers_stock_image_by_vallendesterstock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> <div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>Gardening is a soul-feeding activity for us. We nurture and care for our flowers, vegetables and trees by watering, weeding, and feeding them. </strong></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>Many of us even talk to them.</strong></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>Many studies have been done to demonstrate how plants react to our voices. </strong></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>When spoken to in a soft and soothing voice, the energy around the plant expands and brightens. The plant will even lean towards the voice. </strong></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>When spoken to in a harsh voice or approached in a threatening way the energy field around it will shrink, the color of the plant will change and lean away from the perceived threat.</strong></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>What kind of Gardner are we to our inner gardens? Do we cultivate kindly? Prune with patience? Encourage and appreciate our flowering? There is no other flower like us. We are unique and beautiful, worthy of the finest care. Our compassionate inner self allows us to bloom more readily and more exquisitely. </strong></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>By allowing the image of a flower to come into our minds we make it part of us that is thirsting for appreciation and care. See yourself being watered from a beautiful pitcher. Imagine your flower lifting its head to accept the refreshing sprinkles. Feel its to your roots. Be thankful for as you absorb the sustaining and empowering water. Soak in the sensation of being nurtured and encouraged to grow.</strong></span><br />
</div><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><br />
<strong></strong></span><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><br />
<strong></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><br />
<strong></strong></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong>I compassionately tend my inner garden.</strong></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;"></span></strong></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong>I gently and courageously prune</strong></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;"></span></strong></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong>Limiting beliefs and actions from my life.</strong></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;"></span></strong></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong>I appreciate the unique beauty </strong></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;"></span></strong></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong>I bring into my world.</strong></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Thressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16292130333271819941noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036675172889677862.post-40891386356497726182010-01-17T02:38:00.000-08:002010-01-17T02:39:30.957-08:00<div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4-S8aN08Ww_7UhsySe9Q0Ujs-6bCAysR1JEdYHOBU0LVujenTiMnTFaJghtKIbzcS8KDis-VCkJqZGsxLeT20BPAq6aFqdYma16I8hu3eE8e7Hius6oZoVecksR5fviXXLUiyXKWXktA/s1600-h/ATT02527MA22519695-0012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4-S8aN08Ww_7UhsySe9Q0Ujs-6bCAysR1JEdYHOBU0LVujenTiMnTFaJghtKIbzcS8KDis-VCkJqZGsxLeT20BPAq6aFqdYma16I8hu3eE8e7Hius6oZoVecksR5fviXXLUiyXKWXktA/s320/ATT02527MA22519695-0012.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>Expressing gratitude is transformative, just as transformative as expressing complaint. </strong></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>Imagine an experiment involving two friends. </strong></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>One is asked to spend ten minutes each morning and evening expressing gratitude (there is always something to be grateful for), while the other is asked to spend the same amount of time practicing complaining (there is, after all, always something to complain about). One of the subjects is saying things like, "I hate my job. I can't stand this apartment. Why can't I make enough money? My spouse doesn't get along with me. That dog next door never stops barking and I just can't stand this neighborhood." The other is saying things like, "I'm really grateful for the opportunity to work; there are so many</strong></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>people these days who can't even find a job. And I'm sure grateful for my health. What a gorgeous day; I really like this fall breeze."</strong></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>These two friends do this experiment for a year. </strong></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>At the end of that year the friend practicing complaining will have deeply reaffirmed all her negative "stuff" rather than having let it go, while the one practicing gratitude will be a very grateful person. . . Expressing gratitude can, indeed, change our way of seeing ourselves and the world."</strong></span><br />
</div><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Seven Tenets for Refining Gratitude </span><br />
</div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">1. Gratitude is independent of one's life circumstances.</span><br />
</div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">2. Gratitude is a function of attention.</span><br />
</div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">3. Entitlement makes gratitude impossible. </span><br />
</div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">4. When we continue to give gratitude on a regular basis, we recive it back ten fold. </span><br />
</div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">5. Our deepest sense of gratitude comes through hope and faith. </span><br />
</div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">6. Gratitude can be cultivated through sincere self-reflection; and </span><br />
</div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">7. The expression of gratitude (through words and deeds) has the affect of heightening our personal experience of gratitude. </span><br />
</div><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span><span style="color: #783f04; font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Thressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16292130333271819941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036675172889677862.post-89482011447966753522010-01-16T17:51:00.000-08:002010-01-16T17:55:01.176-08:00<div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUlCe9MzHrHuTkGhj_7jZURbOlshCKyMdXphig_mPMk0a462kmFkzBabYMAgx9W6hwlpDbvJrWnT7sMu9HgcfANnqlYAysut-JgyobHhiPfgfpZV0ahS8t8azCUwKB_DIeNMlnEJb4_5M/s1600-h/3649273157_eef07b9306_m%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #7f6000;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUlCe9MzHrHuTkGhj_7jZURbOlshCKyMdXphig_mPMk0a462kmFkzBabYMAgx9W6hwlpDbvJrWnT7sMu9HgcfANnqlYAysut-JgyobHhiPfgfpZV0ahS8t8azCUwKB_DIeNMlnEJb4_5M/s400/3649273157_eef07b9306_m%5B1%5D.jpg" /></span></a><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I will not die an unlived life. </span></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I will not live in fear</span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">of falling or catching fire.</span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I choose to inhabit my days,</span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">to allow my living to open me,</span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">to make me less afraid,</span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">more accessible;</span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">to loosen my heart</span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">until it becomes a wing,</span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">a torch, a promise.</span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">I choose to risk my significance,</span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">to live so that which came to me as seed</span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">goes to the next as blossom,</span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">and that which came to me as blossom,</span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="color: #7f6000; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">goes on as fruit.</span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"><br />
</div>Thressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16292130333271819941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036675172889677862.post-9461417111181300702010-01-13T21:01:00.000-08:002010-01-13T21:11:31.297-08:00The Soil In Which Virtues Grow. . .<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">G<strong>ratitude is the soil out of which other great virtues grow. </strong></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><br />
<strong></strong></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>Cicero said: "Gratitude is not only the greatest of virtues, but the parent of all others."</strong></span><br />
</div><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><br />
<strong></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>Gratitude is a journey of accepting and appropriating the giftedness of life. Gratitude is the journey of discovery of meaning and purpose within all creation from the subatomic to the ever expanding universe of general relativity.</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><br />
<strong></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>Gratitude is a life intentionally dedicated to the service of others. Gratitude has become my friend and mentor. I give thanks for my life as an opportunity to give serve to my family, friends and others I meet on this journey.</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><br />
<strong></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>Pastor Rinker, a seventeenth-century German minister, wrote this prayer:</strong></span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>“Now thank we all our God With hearts, and hands, and voices, </em></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Who wondrous things hath done, In whom His world rejoices;</em></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em> Who, from our mother's arms, Hath blessed us on our way </em></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>With countless gifts of love, And still is ours today</em></span><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>O may this bounteous God Through all our life be near us, </em></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>With ever-joyful hearts and blessed peace to cheer us, </em></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>And keep us in His grace, And guide us when perplexed, </em></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>And free us from all ills In this world and the next!</em></span><br />
</div><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>And praise and thanks to God the Father now be given, The Son,</em></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em> and Him who reigns with them in highest heaven -</em></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>The one, eternal God, Whom earth and heaven adore;</em></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em> For thus it was, is now, And shall be evermore.”</em></span><br />
<br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCpZqCd4IDot9IEV16BMxcZ5iZ_Rq8GdDhE_UODrVe194puej3nwFNrit0DwwEiVEMdxPcPFG8xDTpAVaVtqPw5u0m_st8K-g-3ac9HRmc1f7Y2Mlg22bX7CL1JMyHw8EwU0TVFIGEqFw/s1600-h/gratitude+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCpZqCd4IDot9IEV16BMxcZ5iZ_Rq8GdDhE_UODrVe194puej3nwFNrit0DwwEiVEMdxPcPFG8xDTpAVaVtqPw5u0m_st8K-g-3ac9HRmc1f7Y2Mlg22bX7CL1JMyHw8EwU0TVFIGEqFw/s320/gratitude+4.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong>Gratitude is the experience of unconditional love and the hope and assurance that beyond death is life. Surely this is the greatest reason of all to be grateful.</strong></span>Thressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16292130333271819941noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036675172889677862.post-42325683614391062552010-01-09T04:07:00.000-08:002010-01-09T04:55:13.416-08:00Cultivating My Attitude of Gratitude!<div align="center">.<br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong> Why should I show gratitude? Is it just the right thing to do, or does it have some other inherent value? Showing honest strength takes energy and thought. Having an attitude of gratitude requires the conscious effort of being thankful.</strong></span><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Uf08FUxnO7B0EQhAP5afeErxhfv3MX0fICIqgYK5sEKy6Ugie_827ownuo-7GnERfCz9kMmQG7VducIwNy03fAZHqkQpq6P6lHyM6jcaes_sAGI6gxS5swaWNAXe2pbHSJbndJpYDgE/s1600-h/3484418518_525b30e714_m%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Uf08FUxnO7B0EQhAP5afeErxhfv3MX0fICIqgYK5sEKy6Ugie_827ownuo-7GnERfCz9kMmQG7VducIwNy03fAZHqkQpq6P6lHyM6jcaes_sAGI6gxS5swaWNAXe2pbHSJbndJpYDgE/s320/3484418518_525b30e714_m%5B1%5D.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><div align="center" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong> When I express thankfulness, it not only impacts the person I am thankful to, but it also has benefits for me the giver of thanks. As I recognize the blessings in my life and act upon them my awareness increases and appreciation. Sharing my gratitude improves my quality of life because it can only result in positive emotions. Appreciating what I have also makes my life more valuable and meaningful.</strong></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong></strong></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong> I have learned to Be Grateful to those who light the flame that is the heart of me. There are times in my life when my own personal light has dimed or even gone out, only to be rekindled by the spark from another person. We each of us have great cause to celebrate with deep gratitude those who have lighted the flame within us. </strong></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong> AS I look around this place I call my life I see that I have hit a few rough spot now and again. Some of us seem to survive the avalanches better than others. More often than not other people have been sent to rekindle my faith and keep me from despair. These are the people in my life who deserve gratitude for supporting me when I needed it most.</strong></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong> Each day I’m given a new chance to make a difference in the world. Until I’m gone there will always be hope of finding happiness, peace and good health. I truly believe that if the only prayer I ever say in the whole of my life is “thank you” and I’m “grateful” my life would have been sufficient.</strong></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong> By maintaining an attitude of gratitude with each new day, I am developing the habit of appreciating what I have instead of dwelling on what I don’t have. I have more peace and joy because of this positive outlook. I also handle challenges differently because I now begin with a more positive mindset.</strong></span><br />
</div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3H6Gk4FvwEA0nlDQmTS6krVH_ztCwn0AAWR4pnY26Aw2VEBRDBqA3R5uRBE1sz-MSD5oFHTbVqPBkDeDb8mcduLSAui0wGr-H_B2Xk69mffKyLLL376dmrf-nmFwALGwnGAPrwckIiIA/s1600-h/3474888048_b1f99d4835_m%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3H6Gk4FvwEA0nlDQmTS6krVH_ztCwn0AAWR4pnY26Aw2VEBRDBqA3R5uRBE1sz-MSD5oFHTbVqPBkDeDb8mcduLSAui0wGr-H_B2Xk69mffKyLLL376dmrf-nmFwALGwnGAPrwckIiIA/s320/3474888048_b1f99d4835_m%5B1%5D.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong> I’ve come to realize that saying “thank you” isn’t so hard to do. Having a spirit of gratitude has also become almost second nature to me, almost!</strong></span><br />
</div><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong> Acting on thoughts of gratefulness is a challenge some days. I realized recently that as I show my gratitude for others more openly I’ve stopped taking them for granted. I’ve stopped make assumptions about how my friends should treat me or others or what they should or should not do for me.</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong> Sometimes I think we get so focused on our “rights” that we forget to be gracious and appreciative of what we really do have. When I show gratitude, I become more keenly aware of and appreciate small everyday experiences. For example, I use to be quick to complain when traffic made it hard to get to work or my doctors appointments on time. However, I now appreciate days when the lights seem to all work in my favor. Frustration comes from unmet expectations, but gratitude results in not having unrealistic expectations and truly finding the joy in whatever comes your way. Showing gratitude has attracted others to me and has improved my overall attitude. </strong></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong> I believe now more than ever before that as we express our gratitude, we must never forget that the highest appreciation is not to utter words, but to live by them.</strong></span><br />
<br />
<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqnIr-EH22xsEwfNKKkUICZW5_dSE0riLux32vC4DEDp4FCa1NhbstFM5E9WsusQJai7PZV9GSiNOXQede9QGjP2XaqwuLqEA2fNRX3mRIvAHM3WilxVTzLpecyFUgHBVSVNYTfSL4J5U/s1600-h/3364766490_2729e063bc_m%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqnIr-EH22xsEwfNKKkUICZW5_dSE0riLux32vC4DEDp4FCa1NhbstFM5E9WsusQJai7PZV9GSiNOXQede9QGjP2XaqwuLqEA2fNRX3mRIvAHM3WilxVTzLpecyFUgHBVSVNYTfSL4J5U/s320/3364766490_2729e063bc_m%5B1%5D.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"><strong> I am once again this year keeping a “Gratitude” journal where I will simply list those people and things that I am grateful for in my life each day of the coming year. This last year with the return of my cancer I started carrying it in my purse to make notes even when I was not at home. Sometimes when I would think of a person I’d like to give thanks for, I would make a note of it, including a nice way to express my gratitude. If I didn’t write it down, it would soon be forget the thoughtful acts of kindness done for and to me and than it would be as if they had never happen. This last week I took time to review my past year the last of a decade. . . I’ve been blessed. It’s easy to feel gratitude when you see your life in written words.</strong></span><br />
</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs4AHgoDENGxfQJzS_nFC_wXIswOueoVfxgHcmm58ACur_orYLknkQZpRsKXy0eFYHJDZIDGcUe1lfPw13kEIGOS9vAv4F3Q_SqcDuuO1aZIRyVwhdQ6YPq2rHaEtCaLWpSvTWf_ayVLU/s1600-h/3481743690_7442455693_m%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs4AHgoDENGxfQJzS_nFC_wXIswOueoVfxgHcmm58ACur_orYLknkQZpRsKXy0eFYHJDZIDGcUe1lfPw13kEIGOS9vAv4F3Q_SqcDuuO1aZIRyVwhdQ6YPq2rHaEtCaLWpSvTWf_ayVLU/s320/3481743690_7442455693_m%5B1%5D.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong>My Resolution for the year. . . </strong></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;"><strong>Cultivate My Attitude of Gratitude!</strong></span><br />
</div><span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Thressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16292130333271819941noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036675172889677862.post-45747087838333322172010-01-04T02:12:00.000-08:002010-01-04T02:14:02.608-08:00. . . I Am a Butterfly. . . . I Am Free. . . .<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggyBMs_ofrmI9AV6fbTAZKkEibVWBOicgh5Ihlw-1znsbN6RIp0Er8AJFze_w3DuZWumuU4hUQS4cOPrijyQe-YXzHPPEOhztFDViA-ps9IhyWiPkxibjc08AlMimID7Lw0JOgwS7lTT8/s1600-h/smithsonian-butterflies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggyBMs_ofrmI9AV6fbTAZKkEibVWBOicgh5Ihlw-1znsbN6RIp0Er8AJFze_w3DuZWumuU4hUQS4cOPrijyQe-YXzHPPEOhztFDViA-ps9IhyWiPkxibjc08AlMimID7Lw0JOgwS7lTT8/s200/smithsonian-butterflies.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Because butterflies are deeply symbolic of my struggles to grow into my unique wisdom and beauty. They have always brought smiles to my face. Like the swans which also grow in beauty and grace, butterflies are not very appealing in their immature larva stage. But following a deep inner knowing the caterpillar goes into seclusion to allow its destiny to unfold. Protecting itself from all outside distraction in darkness and isolation in its cocoon. In all due time as promised by its inner wisdom the caterpillar emerges as a winged creature and spends the rest of its life spreading beauty and joy as it gently flies from flower to flower. A symbol of hope and transformation. </span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">As I move through the chaos, confusion and challenges of everyday life I remember that I have a winged and wonderful self within me, waiting to emerge from the darkness of cancer. Like those beautiful butterflies I need only to go into the stillness and solitude. . . to look within. . . to find my wise inner-self waiting to transform.</span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I know that I must be gentle and patient as I transform myself. I must have commitment and discipline as my transformation takes place. Each day I need to give myself a few quiet moments to just cocoon. I have the courage to have faith that I will emerge from my cocoon with spectacular fireworks.</span> <br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>It takes a while for our minds to become quiet enough for us to hear the fluttering of our inner wings. </strong></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>I will trust my inner butterfly. . . </strong></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>I will take a few quiet minutes each day to just tune into me. . . </strong></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #b45f06; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><strong>As each day passes I am more able to hear the quiet whispers of my inner wings. . .</strong></span><br />
</div>Thressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16292130333271819941noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036675172889677862.post-24617021807506114262009-12-10T22:58:00.000-08:002009-12-10T22:58:22.157-08:00The Courage to Be Me<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoUnHu3Oavk9AOYXN_gFvT408EzvxjXsErN4wWqHnuJ-PQWnWGY1cT6qH3FTDgB2_evdm9-WiW1yDZ-7-IUqMVTttLjl-NcIz9UkTUlUsJ7WZOv-_IKjaUoa-6pMHaX78g-yHP193gdio/s1600-h/2365417117_995597a68d.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ps="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoUnHu3Oavk9AOYXN_gFvT408EzvxjXsErN4wWqHnuJ-PQWnWGY1cT6qH3FTDgB2_evdm9-WiW1yDZ-7-IUqMVTttLjl-NcIz9UkTUlUsJ7WZOv-_IKjaUoa-6pMHaX78g-yHP193gdio/s320/2365417117_995597a68d.jpg" /></a><br />
</div><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">In the six years since I was first diagnosed with cancer, had my first remission and than the return of that cancer my faith and <span style="background-color: white;">courage</span> has been underscored countless times. I have had the privilege of walking through this journey with women who are healing or have healed from excruciating losses and health challenges as well as those struggling through dark nights of the soul. These same women have walked with me as I grappled with similar experiences. Together, holding hands as we bared our hearts and souls to one another. Our journey has taken us through the fires of hell to the mountaintops of light and joy. </span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;"></span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">No matter what tribulation or negotiation I have had to navigate through my medical procedures I have felt their love, their compassion for me.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">No matter the darkness on disillusionment, despair, depression these sisters, my personal heroes have helped me to regain and keep my equilibrium in this ongoing fight with cancer. </span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Through my struggles I have gained valuable insights and deeper compassion for them and others who are or have been part of my ever increasingly growing orbit. </span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">I feel sometimes that I am the float on the Fisherman’s line, that even when I am seared by sorrow and shrouded in darkness That eventually I bob to the surface, bringing with me valuable insights and ever increasing compassion for myself and others. </span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Each time I bounce back (sometimes it’s a low, slow bounce) from one more challenge, I become more deeply aware of how inherently courage’s and wonderful these wise women in my life are. </span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">They each seem to be physically, mentally or spiritually nudging some inner part of me saying, “Wake up! Life is a much richer and beautiful place! You can be and feel so much more.”</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">As a woman of courage I must let daffodils bloom in my heart, have the wisdom to absorb the joy of everyday miracles that surround me. I must find the ability to create a place where love, joy and laughter abound. </span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">And most of all when my friends and loved one shower me with compassion, encouragement and support. . . I must not struggle I just need to bath in its warm glow.</span></strong><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><strong><em>I Am Strong and Capable.</em></strong></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: #134f5c;"></span></em></strong></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><strong><em>I Can Do What Ever I Set My Mind to Do.</em></strong></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
<strong><em><span style="color: #134f5c;"></span></em></strong></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: #134f5c; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><strong><em>I Am Filled With Strength and Confidence.</em></strong></span><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Thressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16292130333271819941noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036675172889677862.post-66534789008334538122009-11-21T03:11:00.000-08:002009-11-21T03:43:51.622-08:00Who Am I . . .Where Does My Path Lead . . . .<div align="justify"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#660000;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5406519430743334610" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 189px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 230px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn5tCP-JJ-yEjZz1QRoXLnytQXejns5xGzM407K9TwLNpUB-93rak95UdOMNJqdr1KKfhkUCfE024JixBykEAOH0M2k1OEEuT7zA_QXl6iTgFw0jfvyHuqGzhfIc9qBZqq2F9Ag2vd3n4/s320/400_F_12646371_N8lHkYhBtVdaRwIum7aok2ZItYhE1IaF.jpg" border="0" /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="color:#660000;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I am</span> from sharp yellow #2 pencils, corduroy jumpers made from McCall patterns, wool knitted mittens wet with melting snow and stacks and stacks of books to read every week.<br /><span style="font-size:130%;">I am</span> from summer at the pool, pony tails, roller skates, Schwinn bicycles, and hand-me-down blue jeans. </span></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="color:#660000;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I am</span> from watching drive-in movies from the back of a station wagon, waffle ball tournaments in the backyard, and perfect attendance in grade school. </span></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="color:#660000;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I am</span> from girls camp and summer boyfriends and long car trips to the Black Hills, Utah, Texas, Montana, and Minnesota.</span></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="color:#660000;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I am</span> from the heart of the west, flyover country, a red state with a redder governor. The pledge of allegiance, `you are my sunshine’ and personal prayer every morning.</span></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="color:#660000;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I am</span> from piano lessons and band concerts and running through the sprinkler in the backyards of neighbors. </span></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="color:#660000;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I am</span> from hand-cranked, homemade vanilla ice cream, hot dogs and hamburgers on a charcoal grill. </span></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="color:#660000;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I am</span> from slumber parties and football games and pep rallies and track and field days.I am from petunias planted under bay windows with dew drops clinging to their petals every morning, long clover chains, blowing dandelion seeds to earn a wish, chasing fireflies on summer nights and putting them in a jar so they’d light up my room at bedtime.</span></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="color:#660000;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I am</span> from a prayer before dinner at six, served by hands that smelled like Jergens lotion. </span></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="color:#660000;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I am</span> from adult conversations about war and religion and neighbors and bills and politics and dreams and books and work. </span></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="color:#660000;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I am</span> from warm, honey buttered scones, pot roast after church on Sunday, chili, fried chicken, macaroni and cheese, mashed potatoes and gravy, meat loaf, and apple pie. </span></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="color:#660000;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I am</span> from tomato soup with grilled cheese sandwiches, green beans with real bacon, tuna and noodle casserole, and spaghetti and meatballs.</span></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="color:#660000;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I am</span> from telling the truth even when it hurt. </span></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="color:#660000;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I am</span> from two brunette, both introverted and an extroverted making me something in between.I am from the careful one and the risk taker.</span></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="color:#660000;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I am</span> from advice like `duck and cover’ and `look both ways’ and `wash your hands’ and `pretty is as pretty does’ and `study hard’ and `work hard’ and `don’t forget to say your prayers tonight.’</span></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="color:#660000;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I am</span> from God. Protected by angels. And now I know I’m led by His Spirit.From the heart of it all…a place that’s good to be from. </span></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="color:#660000;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I am</span> from generations who grew their own food, made their own clothes, built their own homes . </span></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="color:#660000;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I am</span> from the ones I love still living. From a family I was born into, to a family I constructed.</span></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="color:#660000;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I am</span> from boxes and boxes of photographs, the names and the nameless, of generations past and present that alternately thrill me and haunt me. </span></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="color:#660000;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I am</span> from other people’s dreams I never shared to living my own. </span></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="color:#660000;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I am</span> from small successes, big failures, and multitudes of experiences between those two extremes. </span></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="color:#660000;"><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I am</span> from guilt that never quite disappears to a hope that no one can</span> steal. </span></span></div>Thressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16292130333271819941noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036675172889677862.post-37451444048550861082009-11-19T14:13:00.000-08:002009-11-19T17:16:22.917-08:00Now That My Cancer Has Returned . . . .<div align="justify"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_w0vr7pZqZzE/SwXifktazuI/AAAAAAAAAVU/OtHTPiEmWmQ/s1600/08.jpg"><span style="color:#330033;"><strong><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405975959786147554" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_w0vr7pZqZzE/SwXifktazuI/AAAAAAAAAVU/OtHTPiEmWmQ/s320/08.jpg" border="0" /></strong></span></a><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;color:#330033;"><strong>. . . <span style="font-family:courier new;">You can't take the pain away.</span> </strong></span></span></div><span style="color:#330033;"><span style="font-family:arial;">One of the hardest things about being the mother, father sister, friend, aunt, or cousin of a cancer patient is being unable to take their pain away. There is no kissing of boo-boos with cancer.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">As I write this blog entry I'm recovering from minor wrist surgery. That will include two weeks of PT. The very cute guy (snack and a half!) in the PT clinic has a mean streak that his long brunette hair and beautiful blue eyes doesn't hide once he has gotten hold of my arm! They like to call PT physical therapy but I know it is really physical torture! I'm sure that if I ran into my torturer at the mall or a bookstore he would not recognize me because I won't have that twisted grimace of pain on my face. It's the only way he has ever seen my face. </span></span><br /><div><div><div><div><span style="font-family:arial;color:#330033;">Today as the my PT was making my wrist go places it did not want to go. I had to wonder why God had not come up with a better way to let me know when something is wrong with my body, a better way or method than pain, like a color change or a really special ring tone.</span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;color:#330033;">There are times where there are actual color changes in my body. If I turn blue or yellow, I know something is wrong. There are sounds, too, Like ringing in my ears or a rumble in my bowels. </span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;color:#330033;">But for the most part my body has stuck with the tried and true method <strong>. . . Pain</strong>.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;color:#330033;">This is my bodies method of warning and there is a reason for it. With pain you have to take notice, you have to pay attention to it. You can for the most part ignore the color yellow or a hissing or a buzzing until it is to late. Pain has the advantage of making you stop RIGHT now. When my car makes a funny noise i don't stop I just drive on. I don't think I would drive on if my car gave me a whack in the nose instead!!</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;color:#330033;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="color:#330033;">The thought of a better way got me to thinking <strong>. . .</strong></span></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;color:#330033;">Why not a better way of sharing pain? Most of us would gladly take on the pain of a loved one. We want to, but we can't.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;color:#330033;">On TV I see veterans from Iraq and Afghanistan whose bodies are far more worse than my wrist. These men and women must do much harder PT rehab than I do. </span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;color:#330033;">I would be more than willing to share their pain, but I can't. This body of mine is the only one I have. It is the only one I can do PT for. </span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;color:#330033;">I know that you want to share the pain that I and other cancer patients must carry for a time or even to death. But just like me you can't. Each of us has only one body and through a plan that we may not totally understand pain is not transferable. I recall when a friend of mine was killed in a motorcycle accident at the young age of twenty-seven. His grandmother was a close personal friend of mine. While visiting with here shortly after the accident she said " it makes no difference how old your child(grand) is or how old you are when your child dies it's just plain wrong." She was right than and her words are still true today. </span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;color:#330033;">We can share through prayer, through presence, through encouragement, but not in the body itself. We can not live without one another, but there are also points beyond which we cannot go. </span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;color:#330033;">This is one of life's strange paradoxes. We must have one another to create life and to give it meaning and yet we are also alone in this life. </span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;color:#330033;">Now that my cancer has returned there is once again no way to kiss the Boo-Boo and take my pain away. </span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;"><span style="color:#330033;">Of course, kissing my Boo-Boo was never really intended to take away my pain <strong>. . . . . . . . . .</strong></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;color:#330033;">It takes away my loneliness.</span></div><br /><div><br /><br /></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;color:#660000;"><strong>Now that my cancer has returned, My loved ones can't trade places with me to take the pain away, but they can kiss the Boo-Boo and take the loneliness away. . . .</strong></span></div></div><br /><div><br /><div><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><p align="center"></p></div></div></div>Thressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16292130333271819941noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036675172889677862.post-49916655464725391302009-11-02T17:16:00.000-08:002009-11-03T18:49:28.310-08:00Now That My Cancer Has Returned. . . .<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVG3z5g_ZW7ujp-AZ1ttF4DCiUaSoOdOUZgK5iDo_fn8CVQe0Dj_2Sa2-BRu7I_sBjpHBwfRr5bE9aXLBC_VMrlhkwLyPcJ9UWdydVUzRewpamSQbIp5-5NQR8Zl4Ur_E0H0Am6cXeb20/s1600-h/Young-woman-digging-001.jpg"></a><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399764856916269858" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 124px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_w0vr7pZqZzE/Su_Rhzch2yI/AAAAAAAAATw/ZfXh4uxCpGI/s320/working_landing.jpg" border="0" /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:180%;">I'm Committed</span>. . . .</span> there are probably friends of mine who think I ought to be "committed." Like in an institution, but that's not what I mean. </span><div></div><div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Support, control, challenge and commitment, the four necessities for recovery. Commitment to self-growth and self-wellness and commitment to something beyond. . . some greater growth and greater wellness as well.</span></div><div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Commitment means action, a plan, doing something to get results. You can be in favor of something but not committed to it. Like democracy. I can say I'm all for democracy but If I don't vote than I'm not really committed to it. I might think it's a good idea to help the hungry, but until I do something. . . give money, volunteer at a food or homeless shelter kitchen or lobby my congressman, than I'm not really committed to easing the pain of hunger. </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">To resist the reemergence of my cancer I have to take action against it. It has to be my action, not someone else's. I know that chemotherapy and surgery and my other drug therapies are my commitment to action. These are my decisions to make. In the actual doing however it is the action of others. . . researchers, pharmacists, nurses and physicians. If I stop at only cooperating with or accepting actions. I have not really made the commitment to fighting cancer. </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Every day I have committed to sweeping cancer cells from my body. I have a virtual broom, it is strait, red with stiff, strong bristles. An as I sweep the circle of my cancer gets smaller, smaller, smaller, smaller and smaller until it has been swept totally away. This is just like the songs I sing that help me to visualize my cancer just being washed away! By the time I am done singing and sweeping all my cancer cells will be gone! This visualization is something I can only do for myself.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">I have committed myself to taking action to heal myself that is available to only myself. Visualization, meditation, and learning all I can about my disease and its treatment I will have better control and commitment to sweeping away my cancer. By sending the right message to my body and soul I have committed to healing myself.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The more I can do for myself the greater my own sense of commitment, and the better I Begin to feel about myself. This in turn increases the peace and reduces the stress in my body and gives the healing agents in my body room to work. </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">The best way I have found to relive my stress is through prayer and faith. These two action provide me with control of body and soul. Faith has giving me a control that I did not know I had and has made my commitment to action a reality. In turn by doing these things my spiritual health has filled all of the empty spaces cancer is trying to control. I am now in more control!</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Commitment is determination and action stuck together, like peanut butter and jelly sandwich. It is seeing the goal and kicking the ball toward it. </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;">Getting well takes commitment, which isn't easy. It surely is rewarding, though!</span></div><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"><strong></strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:130%;"><strong></strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color:#993300;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><strong>Now That My Cancer Has Returned, I'm Committed.</strong></span> </span></span></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"></div><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"></div></div></div>Thressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16292130333271819941noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036675172889677862.post-3738322150820870332009-09-22T22:54:00.000-07:002009-10-25T01:40:21.199-07:00Now That My Cancer Has Returned. . . .<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_w0vr7pZqZzE/SuQOHQ4m-yI/AAAAAAAAATY/PbXNoVwK8gs/s1600-h/children-singing%5B1%5D.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396453771450972962" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 270px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 212px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_w0vr7pZqZzE/SuQOHQ4m-yI/AAAAAAAAATY/PbXNoVwK8gs/s320/children-singing%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /></a><span style="font-family:arial;">I sing . . . . I always enjoyed singing, but now I sing all the time. It's almost impossible to sing a full-throated note and be tied up by fear at the same time.</span><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:arial;">I sing all sorts of songs from hymns, ballads, pop, blues, rock, folk and some opera (look out Americas got Talent) . . . . anything that comes to mind. I even make up crazy songs as I go along. Sometimes the words make sense and sometimes not. Sometimes they rhyme, other times not. Some have familiar tunes, but most I make up as I go along!</span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:arial;">After one of my first surgeries I could not sing. The muscles in my abdomen where spending all their energy just trying to help me breath. My diaphragm had little or no power. It was all I could do to get word out of my mouth. </span></div><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-family:arial;">Well I decided that if that where all I could do, that's what I would do! It is better to sing a small tiny song than no song at all!</span></div><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-family:arial;">Like most doors that close this one caused another to open. since I could not than and even now sing all that well, I began to compose. All though compose might not be the right word to use, it was more like I started to "adjust" songs. </span></div><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-family:arial;">I like to sing these "adjusted" song while I'm in the shower. That has always been the safest place. </span><span style="font-family:arial;">As I wash my hair, I sing, "Gonna wash that cancer right out of myself... and send it on its way." I adjusted the spiritual "Oh,Freedom." I sing, "No more cancer. No more cancer. No more cancer inside of me. And before I'll be a slave, I'll put cancer in its grave, and go home to my Lord, and be free." To the tune of " If You're Happy and You Know It Clap Your Hands" I sing I'm glad I'm a little cake of soap. Than repeating, I'll slippie and I'll slidie all over my hidie and I'll wash the cancer off with my soap!!</span></div><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-family:arial;">OK, its all right to go ahead and say it. . . . these songs are pretty bad! But as they are just for my hearing they work.</span></div><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-family:arial;">Singing dose not automatically wash the cancer from this body of mine. Although it might help, who knows? I do know that it helps to take away my fear.</span></div><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-family:arial;">You just can't sing and be afraid at the same time. That's why we sing in the dark. It is also very difficult to sing and awfulize at the same time. Awfulizing (I made this word up. . . I think?) is the process of imagining all the awful things that might happen to us. We spend more time at it than we realize. The less awfulizing we do, the more likely we are to get well. The immune system doesn't like awfulizing. My immune system does like singing. Even mine! </span></div><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-family:arial;">Singing is as natural as loving. They are very closely related. . . . two limbs of the same tree trunks, one root system. Together they spread out a canopy of shade. </span></div><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-family:arial;">Both those limbs get weather-beaten, however. They are besieged by frost, drought, parasites and blight. It's a wonder they survive at all, and in some people they do not. But their tree is rooted deep in the soil of the Spirit.</span></div><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-family:arial;">With all these blights and plagues attacking (cancer!) them, though, what was natural becomes unnatural. How many of us refuse to sing, claim they can't sing, give all sorts of excuses - from illness to shyness - why they must not sing? We do the same with loving. We're afraid we'll be hurt. We may have already been hurt. We're afraid we'll be rejected or just look silly. </span></div><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-family:arial;">I suspect we can learn a lot about how we love by how we sing. </span></div><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-family:arial;">My search for healing and wholeness include singing. I don't have to go on stage. I don't have to use a recognizable tune or sing on key. Neither do you! Just "croak" out whatever words you can remember or that just come to you. Sing your prayers (I do, it makes for interesting looks from the cats) and sing away your fears. Do it in your bathroom with the water running. </span></div><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-family:arial;">Sing along with Nickel Creek or Gerard Butler or Emmylou Harris or even Indigo Girls. </span></div><br /><div align="left"><span style="font-family:arial;">Singing leaves no room for fear. Even if singing does not cure you or me it will help to heal our souls. This is after all the goal of our lives. . . . not just to live a long time but to live well.</span></div><br /><div align="right"><br /><br /></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:130%;"><strong>Now That My Cancer Has Returned I Sing... try it, "Happy Days Are Here Again. The Cancer's Gone Away Again!"<br /></div></strong></span><br /><div align="right"><br /><br /><br /></div><br /><div align="right"></div>Thressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16292130333271819941noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036675172889677862.post-49170859901249768752009-09-14T22:46:00.000-07:002009-09-15T00:05:20.427-07:00Now That My Cancer Has Returned . . . .<div align="left"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5381585395476737698" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF0gSfIREkNrW8ghwHt9ZgenaHRWBPOYU3o3cy5P8ZHkgH49UJIfI2ebLm1A09_Q_YNvSYBMUeJTPMXNtE7lW8k3daeRVY745HyMl8Wv-7aIjGmPC3OlrV22MXuHgGfab8eQGdT3-I4tY/s320/greeneye1%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /><span style="font-family:courier new;"><strong>. . . I'm learning to see myself through the eyes of love . </strong></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:courier new;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:courier new;">Those who love me have much better eyes than mine. The eyes of those who love us are always the best. Unlike the old saying love is not blind at all. Love see with the eyes of God, not the eyes of the world. Love has remarkable clarity of vision, the scope of a eagle in flight, free from all those debris of reality.</span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:courier new;"></span></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:courier new;"></span> </div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:courier new;">There where things about me, before cancer that I could not love. There must have been a part of me that need the cancer so it could be cut out and through away. I don't quite understand these feelings, but somehow I feel it is true. It's like when you set the alarm to go off at six in the morning and you wake up just before the alarm goes off, even though I usually snooze steadily on till seven. The body just knows.</span></div><div align="left"><br /></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:courier new;">You may not feel this way at all. I have a cancer friend who has often said to me " I'm blameless. I didn't do anything at all to cause this". I believe her. She knows herself. I know myself, too. </span></div><div align="left"><br /></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:courier new;">I look at me with the eyes of reality, and what do I see? A middle aged woman who is once again losing her hair. Those bright Hazel green eyes are more often than not bloodshot. They peek out through swollen lids. The veins beneath my skin have taken on the look of jagged and jaded lightning flashes. My lips are sometimes swollen, puffy and pale. That's the view through the eyes of reality. </span></div><div align="left"><br /></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:courier new;">Than there are the eyes of love. My dearest friend says to me, " when I look at you I see the love of friendship, sisterhood that dew me to you all those years ago". She tells me to remember what good times we have had when we would hike to a quite pinnacle and sit or lay on our backs and watch the night sky. We would tell each other what best friends we were and would always be. </span></div><div align="left"><br /></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:courier new;">And now you say to me hurry back. . . we miss you . . . I miss the view through your eyes. "You have no idea how important you have always been to me and always will be. You have made me believe I could and can make a difference." You have loved me just the way I am. Those aren't the eyes of reality, those are the eyes of love. </span></div><div align="left"><br /></div><div align="left"><span style="font-family:courier new;">They see me as I want to be and yet, for them, already am. </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"></span> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;">Now that my cancer has returned, I can see myself through their eyes. I like seeing me through the eyes of love. </span></div><br /><br /><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"></span>Thressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16292130333271819941noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036675172889677862.post-54790380444665105852009-09-09T20:45:00.000-07:002009-09-09T22:29:56.808-07:00You've Got a Friend . . . .<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijQ9P7RtkLNQIK7pZrBADgmX646B5weuUdg7pWq_uC35x7t0-g-SR-_5ao6Ja0Y8e1RcZQ0ZMFsQbr1ZIgfKI8B22yBnr_ylcwvxiyX7qy4Oss74pUs8t9ORibc412rRTbMY4A4xr3iwM/s1600-h/Times_Square_112808(2).jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379697161906389170" style="WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijQ9P7RtkLNQIK7pZrBADgmX646B5weuUdg7pWq_uC35x7t0-g-SR-_5ao6Ja0Y8e1RcZQ0ZMFsQbr1ZIgfKI8B22yBnr_ylcwvxiyX7qy4Oss74pUs8t9ORibc412rRTbMY4A4xr3iwM/s200/Times_Square_112808(2).jpg" border="0" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIpsJt_RNrFyBMql3cKn4xcfkkCInlC-_Qh7c6m7eRIda9lYHrg_BPNSBpLXuJTh_GFgizmbMdjWHirQ6_3xZaN88QSvdBmh1CsBZJhE1O7Dk8R2rtWTLYj8L0A_LWf2MVOFtpQdYgpXM/s1600-h/Times-Square-12-1024x768.jpg"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_82mbS4kYOO9VvucY4z-vl5Z2rD3VOZKHIkyHn66qDG3_X_oqPivLvEh2aI83g4t6MTQ_YR8qggumIDghdbDpEDAwwLQDn0HwpR-XLtpVULBLRqxIsq1HknsVnbdV-S4ndXCjv4tXJ-Y/s1600-h/time+square.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379697142984889714" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_82mbS4kYOO9VvucY4z-vl5Z2rD3VOZKHIkyHn66qDG3_X_oqPivLvEh2aI83g4t6MTQ_YR8qggumIDghdbDpEDAwwLQDn0HwpR-XLtpVULBLRqxIsq1HknsVnbdV-S4ndXCjv4tXJ-Y/s200/time+square.bmp" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /></div><span style="font-family:courier new;">An old proverb says that "one friend in a lifetime is much; two are many; and three are hardly possible."</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">Not true! The truth is that starting from when we were little children and continuing to this very moment good friends have had a way of coming in and out of our lives at every turn. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">First came our childhood friends, than our high school and college friends, than our work friends, the friends that come through family associations, our community service to others, and than came the friends after that, and on it goes.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">While it is true just one, two or three of these friends come to stay forever, while the rest have come and gone. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">Each and every friendship, however brief brings a lasting and priceless gift if we only take the time to stop and look for it.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">For me it has sometimes seemed like I am Time Square New York! I stand in one place as so many people pass in and out of my life. We spend special times together during the chaotic interim until it is time for them to board their bus or catch a taxi or hop a subway train. O! yes sometimes the farewells are sad but while we are standing at those crossroads what a time we've had!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">Think of all the wonderful people in your own "Time Square" life and be happy for them, honor them. What a time you've had!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">Don't wait for tomorrow to tell them how you feel. Let them know today . . . . You've got a friend.</span><br /><br /><br /><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"><strong>LOVE IS BLIND</strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"><strong>FRIENDSHIP IS CLAIRVOYANT.</strong></span></div>Thressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16292130333271819941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036675172889677862.post-43492424479102741382009-09-07T00:09:00.000-07:002009-09-07T01:30:12.834-07:00She Who Loves A Garden . . . .<div align="center"><span style="font-family:courier new;">SHE WHO LOVES A GARDEN LOVES THE WONDERS OF CREATION AND APPRECIATES THE JOY THAT FLOWERS BRING.</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Courier New;">SHE WHO LOVES A GARDEN LIKES TO MAKE THE EARTH MORE LOVELY AND ENJOYS THE BEAUTY SHE'S CONTRIBUTING. </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:Courier New;"></span> </div><div align="center"></div><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYS1x_ewj7R2apvFzzOuuOCReDYv3GOUP5YDlFnsZrRA7wRg_Se07M3oiCndyEIEIZmXhIUmiWlezKO8wVZmlUsWA0AwJes5SlfxHoHhF8-NkPE36x9RVJItRR8B9UknpKALqzUMusvfE/s1600-h/untitled.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378633383531132610" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYS1x_ewj7R2apvFzzOuuOCReDYv3GOUP5YDlFnsZrRA7wRg_Se07M3oiCndyEIEIZmXhIUmiWlezKO8wVZmlUsWA0AwJes5SlfxHoHhF8-NkPE36x9RVJItRR8B9UknpKALqzUMusvfE/s200/untitled.bmp" border="0" /></a> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:courier new;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:courier new;"></span> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:courier new;">SHE WHO LOVES A GARDEN LEARNS THE LESSONS OF THE SEASONS AND HOW LIFE ITSELF ADHERES TO NATURE'S PLAN . . . .</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:courier new;">THAT FROM EVERY WINTER SLEEP THERE COMES A WONDERFUL AWAKENING HOLDING PROMISE AS IT HAS SINCE TIME BEGAN</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:courier new;"></span></div><span style="font-family:courier new;"><div align="center"><br /></div></span><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmDsro-IbxyQMrK6womlf81lLXZNpqiVZNiJCwk-MHRjBcgWasKW9d8KH9-Omth7X4TsWMUWidKYnwMf-gl3cwtKaKJ5_E2aYPjszFApuLlv4ydyFP93cSG9LPFXL96HTm5IEL3pVMIfo/s1600-h/gardenp3.gif"><span style="font-family:courier new;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378633370516904434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 188px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmDsro-IbxyQMrK6womlf81lLXZNpqiVZNiJCwk-MHRjBcgWasKW9d8KH9-Omth7X4TsWMUWidKYnwMf-gl3cwtKaKJ5_E2aYPjszFApuLlv4ydyFP93cSG9LPFXL96HTm5IEL3pVMIfo/s200/gardenp3.gif" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:courier new;"> </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:courier new;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:courier new;"></span> </div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:courier new;">SHE WHO LOVES A GARDEN KNOWS IT'S ONLY HERS TO BORROW . . . .</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:courier new;">THAT THE TENDER CARE SHE PUTS INTO THE SOIL . . . .</span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:courier new;">. . . . HELPS THE CHILDREN OF TOMORROW CARRY ON WHAT SHE HAS STARTED, GIVING STRENGTH AND LASTING VALUE TO HER TOIL.</span><span style="font-family:courier new;"><br /><br /></div></span><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEDMZWA8GjYJthRsjLEvx48RX0nIi7kXgt_X0ccrU9Q_VYAo8xXsrjHcpaogzDZq2kDs6dytjc5VKhg1QGf7csz5ZEJo2MhCRPhsLHwcsNR0TtiZTTw_a11YQEFYVgH8D8n1hvTrqYvM0/s1600-h/flower_garden.jpg"><span style="font-family:courier new;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378633360375017986" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 199px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEDMZWA8GjYJthRsjLEvx48RX0nIi7kXgt_X0ccrU9Q_VYAo8xXsrjHcpaogzDZq2kDs6dytjc5VKhg1QGf7csz5ZEJo2MhCRPhsLHwcsNR0TtiZTTw_a11YQEFYVgH8D8n1hvTrqYvM0/s200/flower_garden.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:courier new;"> </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:courier new;"></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:courier new;">SHE WHO LOVES A GARDEN LOVES THE JOYS OF SIMPLE LIVING AND THE PEACE ON WHICH NO MAN CAN PLACE A PRICE.<br /><br /><br /></div></span><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk546NILxN-suDKy_NkTdHze9r3DslDjEuoDV-RvU_oWF69ObxZgQKdPfFqyqtP-A_Jnr-8RLUNCzWb9I3V2PY2LCj5SzuaDlST0w-3useiq8pmAF7Tiwy44s312iETU9JT9xJepzR-lk/s1600-h/716379121_5f7c586aa1.jpg"><span style="font-family:courier new;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378633352089857746" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 153px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk546NILxN-suDKy_NkTdHze9r3DslDjEuoDV-RvU_oWF69ObxZgQKdPfFqyqtP-A_Jnr-8RLUNCzWb9I3V2PY2LCj5SzuaDlST0w-3useiq8pmAF7Tiwy44s312iETU9JT9xJepzR-lk/s200/716379121_5f7c586aa1.jpg" border="0" /></span></a><span style="font-family:courier new;"><br /></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:courier new;">SHE WHO LOVES A GARDEN HAS A VERY SPECIAL TREASURE . . . . </span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:courier new;">FOR SHE HAS FOUND HER PRIVATE PARADISE.<br /><br /><br /></div></span><div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8ml0K21FJZeQtwk3Ty4R-xo0qkDaubrbiCVxdfohPU2JHbz0_cJcPFAHmRxm5Gfkmf1zSuRie4CE_5cE7nqFZD2ko3K-cqwtgXkoWcnCqNlaD7nePSkLMndKQ7bM0nDdyxFZuIhXvhuw/s1600-h/sweet-pea-mamoth.jpg"><span style="font-family:courier new;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378633348228681938" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 172px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8ml0K21FJZeQtwk3Ty4R-xo0qkDaubrbiCVxdfohPU2JHbz0_cJcPFAHmRxm5Gfkmf1zSuRie4CE_5cE7nqFZD2ko3K-cqwtgXkoWcnCqNlaD7nePSkLMndKQ7bM0nDdyxFZuIhXvhuw/s200/sweet-pea-mamoth.jpg" border="0" /></span></a></div><p align="center"><span style="font-family:courier new;font-size:85%;">words by Mary Engelbreit</span></p>Thressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16292130333271819941noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036675172889677862.post-32589795469174881012009-08-27T13:53:00.000-07:002009-08-27T15:18:28.535-07:00Know That My Cancer Has Returned....<img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5374770417220119890" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 207px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHGo-p28ApiGXmvfNjhtlypJzkyBSgQRJfQJcMjTokpqat_fv6gNh7ILxIC2hXmrFUdEGpiqBtO33vKKXUBC7MhBdBUYyHxP0sCJVclnStMll57Bs6i3L1Gkl4MyhzoW0wX3BvCUvKDh4/s320/SuperStock_1889R-33457%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" /><span style="font-family:courier new;">I'm vulnerable... and I want to take advantage of that vulnerability. I want to keep on to keep on being the new me.</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">Maybe I'll slide back with time. Perhaps my footprints on the sands of time won't be so fresh, so nicely edged, but instead will show patterns of decay. Steps that show one step forward two steps back. Maybe I'll go back to shaking hands instead hugging. Maybe I'll go back to holding in the tears instead of letting them flow. Maybe I'll go back to being strong instead of open.</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">But I don't want to backslide. I don't want to wall myself off. But I know that it could happen. When my drug therapies are over and the cards and well wishes trickle down to almost nothing and I have finally pasted my five year test? What happens when I become the old "strong" me again? </span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">Being strong isn't bad.... but it isn't everything either.</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><strong></strong></span></span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><strong>I</strong></span> like the new me, who weeps to see S&S (you know how you are) smile and share a few words with me about their Mom, Dad or brothers. Or Sarah C. showing me how well she can ride her bike. Or Tomas or Anthony telling me some small thing that has made their world a larger, brighter place. Just seeing a healthy child in motion is such a beautiful sight. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;"><strong><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">I </span></strong>like the me who talks to the plants in her garden to see how they are doing, letting them know how beautiful they are. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;"><strong><span style="font-family:lucida grande;">I</span></strong> like the me who is still learning the strange but wonderful language of my four cats. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><strong>I</strong></span> like the me who sings her prayers, and laughs at stillness, and hope all the time, without even knowing it, because it's so much a part of me. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><strong>I </strong></span>like the me who wakes up in the morning feeling joyful that there is so much to do instead of being encumbered because there is so much to do. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><strong>I</strong></span> like the me who welcomes pain as a friend because it reminds me that I'm alive. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><strong>I</strong></span> like the me who isn't bothered by the clutter and chaos of my desk but covers it over with sure knowledge of what is important and what is not. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;"><strong>I</strong></span> like the me who trusts the spirit more than the calender, date books and lists. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">I've always had the cool silent, determined courage of strength. Now I have the warm flowing, wining courage of weakness as well.</span><br /><span style="font-family:courier new;">So I pray, "Let me grow in health and illness, into the new me. Let me be worthy of the new me. Let me be thankful for the old me.... for the old me was a gift too.... but keep me vulnerable. Let every part of me move toward the whole me."</span><br /><br /><div align="center"><strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:180%;">Now that my cancer has returned, </span></strong><strong><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:180%;">I'm vulnerable, scared and glad.</span></strong></div>Thressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16292130333271819941noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4036675172889677862.post-83239875028902974802009-08-12T14:01:00.000-07:002009-08-12T17:06:35.371-07:00Now That My Cancer Has Returned... ... ...<div align="justify"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5369220279727458546" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvWUAa_pLtsEwd1wQaq3ZUto7b3J08eoyHkbgHUgYt2BvdXUd3EgLSOWHp08lSqaXyqwpHRkNNANlfo9cZcl8c-__CK580kJQtJfaTs2rBxrBD8b35ljs4a6ViT8hGTxC2CYXv1O7DvTc/s320/IMG00317-20090812-1645.jpg" border="0" /><span style="font-family:courier new;"><strong>... I don't count up how many pages are left in the books I'm reading. I don't count the minutes or seconds in my walks. I don't count the number of stitches as I do my needlework or count the number of beads in the birthday bracelets I love to make. </strong></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:courier new;"><strong>Love does not keep count. Love trust the spirit and listens to the body. Love stays in the moment. Love does not look back to keep score or count moments passed. Love doesn't count on degrees, statistics, records or personal best for justification. Love reads because it's good to read... Love walks because it is good to walk... Love does needlework because it is good to do needlework... Love is a beadier because beading is good. Love does not keep score.</strong></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:courier new;"><strong>There is something within each of us that wants to keep score, that wants the records to prove where we've been and to point the way we might want to go. Engineers have degrees... Soldiers and police have ranks... academics have levels of professorships, students have grades... organizations have goals... businesses have sales charts. </strong></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:courier new;"><strong>In its own way, Cancer is a record-keeping disease. There have been time when I have had to take my chemo-drugs away from the watchful eyes of my doctors and chemo nurses. I have had charts on which I recorded each chemo-drug dose. Those same nurses also wanted charts of diarrhea episode and blood workups. My oncologist has a protocol that tells him what to do with me. In the early days of my chemo, I was asked to keep a journal of all of my side effects... when they came, how severe they were and what happened. </strong></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:courier new;"><strong>As I settled in to my chemo routine I began to realize that my doctors and nurses weren't paying much attention to all the records I was keeping. They would ask to see them and than give the a quick glance before filing them. They would than put all their emphasis on me. I realized to them I was not just a history, or a bunch of statistics. Once they were satisfied that nothing unusual was going on (as if everything about cancer isn't already unusual). Those doctors and nurses trusted their instincts, they trusted me and they trusted the spirit. I have stopped keeping those records and have started to listen more closely to my body. It has become a much better guide.</strong></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:courier new;"><strong>I'm not saying that there is no place for history, records, statistics or scores. But if you live by the statistics you will die by those same statistics. When we live by the scoreboard we have no other way of knowing whether we are doing okay. I believe when we live by that scoreboard it indicates a life that must be justified and that our life is useless unless we can show the world our records of production. </strong></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:courier new;"><strong>One thing I have come to know as a cancer survivor and patient better than others is that you can not live life by statistics and that those same statistics are not always that reliable a guide. Not a reliable guide to the past or to the future. My spiritual changes are much more important than my personal statistical changes. Keeping the faith is more important than keeping score. </strong></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:courier new;"><strong>Some will we say, "What's the use of playing if you don't keep score... If you don't know who's ahead... if you don't know who won?".</strong></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="font-family:courier new;"><strong>If you can play, you're ahead. If you played, you won. If all you know is the score, Than you don't know the score.</strong></span></div><div align="right"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"><strong></strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"><strong></strong></span></div><div align="center"><span style="font-family:lucida grande;font-size:130%;"><strong>Now That My Cancer Has Returned, I Don't Keep Score Anymore...</strong></span></div><div align="center"><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:130%;"><strong></strong></span>Thressahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16292130333271819941noreply@blogger.com3