tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-48263380085507862472024-03-14T11:49:32.852-07:00my cup runneth over... and all over the floorShilo Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07112722572934509091noreply@blogger.comBlogger143125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4826338008550786247.post-52736181983872957142011-06-26T11:07:00.001-07:002011-06-26T16:41:18.873-07:00NEW BLOG- HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME<div>For my birthday present, S. wrapped up my existing computer. When I "opened" the wrapping paper around my screen I discovered that he created a new blog on <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">word press</span> for me. I now get to look professional so I better get my act together! The site is:</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#3333FF;"><a href="http://www.mycuprunnethallover.com">www.mycuprunnethallover.com</a></span></div><div><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipN35XdhKeT3i4s8S3tr0EyQhJpXOn5p-Tv0wsjdT4g6bI5p0c51m6irhp7DpDPfrkfTKDxHNS0WJOV9RTFbYpCKWE78SLvm8ZRyHcW1veZbuy8zRVLZ2gkqmilmy8idFdK78VSsBWmg8/s1600/DSCN1821.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipN35XdhKeT3i4s8S3tr0EyQhJpXOn5p-Tv0wsjdT4g6bI5p0c51m6irhp7DpDPfrkfTKDxHNS0WJOV9RTFbYpCKWE78SLvm8ZRyHcW1veZbuy8zRVLZ2gkqmilmy8idFdK78VSsBWmg8/s400/DSCN1821.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622588767674918274" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></a>We are still working to move everyone listed as followers over and getting the details figured out but feel free to hop over there- I'll post at that site from now on.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZNm6sORYYNAJv_2MULyCEh5vm0oJrd_a4wDZQ3l8DtYOwrv7W8hRgGi06kiIGs2ZnLLPd9T6bIof2NyyGeZQtW7k-HwmgTeItnILdCQWJGrWc1geJXl04inkyIiKTSGiNKKe5aULVOCI/s1600/DSCN1809.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZNm6sORYYNAJv_2MULyCEh5vm0oJrd_a4wDZQ3l8DtYOwrv7W8hRgGi06kiIGs2ZnLLPd9T6bIof2NyyGeZQtW7k-HwmgTeItnILdCQWJGrWc1geJXl04inkyIiKTSGiNKKe5aULVOCI/s400/DSCN1809.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622588630745958114" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px; " /></a>Happy Birthday to me!Shilo Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07112722572934509091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4826338008550786247.post-32929476855741747122011-06-20T14:16:00.000-07:002011-06-20T15:05:48.463-07:00Hudson at Five<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4VjuF-V5s8Cr0G8vNoH4-y1HKt4IKWnYZYYu43THnHU-RshkCi5k_wYdtZPz-Uq0otwIt4IgOt3QwvbFQMY-jE91_vuFYLJc3J2_zqj-sZ7B5uVmtO05qhJkY16fK1DDy1OD8AXw5KCc/s1600/DSC06743.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 286px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4VjuF-V5s8Cr0G8vNoH4-y1HKt4IKWnYZYYu43THnHU-RshkCi5k_wYdtZPz-Uq0otwIt4IgOt3QwvbFQMY-jE91_vuFYLJc3J2_zqj-sZ7B5uVmtO05qhJkY16fK1DDy1OD8AXw5KCc/s400/DSC06743.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620423446553489698" /></a><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Last month I was making dinner and Hudson was drawing at the table. Completely out of the blue he looked up and said, "Mom, I want to ask Jesus in my heart."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Surprised and wondering what brought this on, I asked, "Why, Hudson?"</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">With a sudden burst of intensity he answered, "I just love Him </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">SO</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"> MUCH!"</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">I clarified, "So you want Him to forgive your sins and you want Him to be your best friend? You know that means you serve Him instead of just doing things you want to do? You want to honor Him and obey Him</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"> first</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Yes, Yes, Yes.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">We prayed.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">We had been having some problems with Hudson telling the truth whenever he felt backed into a corner. That next week I came into the garage and S. told me about a neighbor boy who dumped out fertilizer and made a mess on the side of the house. One look at Hudson's face told me the neighbor was not the only boy at fault.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">"Hudson, tell me about what you did on the side of the house."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">He looked at me, wheels spinning, and I knew what he was considering. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">I interrupted his thoughts urgently: "Hudson! Right now there is a battle in your thoughts. Part of you really wants to lie so you don't get in trouble. Remember you asked Jesus in your heart. He can give you strength to tell the truth </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">right now</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">. Stop and ask Him to help you. I'm going to go in the house and pray. You stay here and tell Dad the truth."</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">I walked out. After concentrating a long time in silence, he told the truth and dove into S.'s arms. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">That night when tucking him in I said, "Hudson, I can see Jesus in your life. I am so excited that He helped you tell the truth and I am so excited that you listened."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Very seriously he said, "Mom, it was really, really hard." Then he grinned relief and hugged me tight.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Hudson at five wants to know how everything works. I hope this never changes about him. He recently asked, "Are cars battery powered? How does the car use the gas? Why does a car need an engine </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">and</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"> a battery?"</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Then we pulled into a gas station and as I got out he began crying. Hard. "Mom! I never got to see how you pump the gas! I don't </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">know</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"> how it gets in the car."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Soon the three older kids were all unbuckled and standing next to me watching the magic of the gas pump: "Here's where my card goes in. I unscrew this cap...never, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">ever,</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"> ever unscrew this cap until you are sixteen..."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Satisfied, they all piled back in and I waved an apology to the car behind me waiting for my demonstration to be over.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">One aspect of Hudson that has been remarkable this year is his role as a brother. He is a peacemaker. In fact, we have had to intervene from the other kids taking advantage of his generosity. There is, however, a line that can be crossed. When someone has pushed too far we see gritted teeth, balled fists, and a reddening face. We're all smart to back off and let him cool.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">He has surprised me in his relationship with Little Girly. </span></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia2dfH2M0HzSF-DpvwgIbvj6Czmgi6EBBZ758mvGhWR7yfcZ7xrXjKEr7MQaeD-KW5-5qZkam2ChV8bvz0TWhvSCRIws2Pc-aZP5CN5NFJbEOvhDK5Q5Q-KlNUHSqjX_p9C_fuXXf9jxA/s400/DSCN1757.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620423277205895074" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Darla was the one to talk, plan, and make room for a baby sister. Hudson has been the one to stick with it. This morning as I got ready, Hudson played cars next to Little Girly. She scoots and inevitably can't reach her toys. He would play, and patiently give a toy back to her. He'd play more, then make his way over to give her a pacifier. On and on it went. When he walks in a room she lights up and kicks her legs. He sings her all of her favorite songs, takes her dirty diapers out, and kisses her until she can't take it anymore.</span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">My "little" boy has already lost six teeth.</span></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4NletCQ_HdG9AejBRLbWOmab_CWtQBZEySOPXHZTJ4CjNUNIUIEfbPoTGj4H3KDOqyHb77jBb8o2E5aIAuEuRSUDeTyXdwGGGjcX3NtIrf4d9VDnhsEw_E-g3nA9735A_CNT-YynQs3A/s400/DSCN1339.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620423097004196578" /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Many have been knocked out and appropriately, Hudson is passionate about hockey. He has been practicing on roller blades to keep up with our Canadian neighbors who play hockey in front of the house. He is by far the youngest but with how hard working he is, I don't doubt he'll learn to keep up.</span></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA0tC2sCEJ2rqrK_l-s4MLY9nqusUxWp3rqoaGxv-H2KFwJ0TGt948DxGS8SbNV2G_7MHte_qgK4nYvQAwvWK0D2_vi0YfStns5LFtNDwn5xZ-0lp73K7uOUX0LWQr00y6FpOQQo_aKG0/s400/DSCN1672.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620423007925460530" /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Hudson took swimming lessons this year and swallowed half the pool- I mean... learned how to float a little.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">He loves legos, riding his bike, working in the garage (with real tools), and using the weed eater or hedge trimmer by himself (with a cautious dad "spotting" from behind). He even likes playing polly pockets with his sister...as long as his doll can climb up "dinosaur mountain" to conquer all the meat eaters (yes, this was a real scene from this week's playtime).</span></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj70HYBcJoSknGYBck3wIeNwgtacNGjqyc2bQJs_QbSCKXfX1iIOphNOTijGc1N_phXHMBAe37MUA9D1YXjrYafMY4DSzZwZX8olUmkfPpHvvv0AYvBIyGu8SyyBAmHz0jOMEurFbExjeg/s400/DSCN1252.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620422894551936562" /><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">In the fall Hudson will start kindergarten. I'm planning on homeschooling him for this year and am looking forward to the ways it will grow him and expand our relationship.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">My prayer for him this year is that his heart will not only be sensitive to the Lord but that he will begin to know God's voice. I pray that as he begins school he would develop confidence and love for learning. I ask for protection over his sensitive heart.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">As S. has begun working out at home recently, Hudson has been putting on his own workout shorts and shoes. We saw him out in the backyard doing push ups and he regularly takes out workout equipment to "do my exercise". He attempts to do yoga poses in the living room and when he caught me giggling at his concentration during chair dips, he sternly looked over and said, "I'm getting strong and healthy."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Ahh...he is. And I am very much looking forward to what being five entails for my strong and healthy boy.</span></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgalcfNlo3AlQWC_fzBbR7On0OiP_IBwW8_uB8c8fh5NX7ZYAl3D6fIU6qwpa_1Vre55bxT6iUuA8bkRxcJuaxvGUOdP3mrPTOhZeEyhFw5HEncmEw2tL7JkzzKyzwoyZrPnCvAxzH_k9o/s400/DSCN1469.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620422657633972610" />Shilo Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07112722572934509091noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4826338008550786247.post-4440418652362539692011-06-11T16:29:00.000-07:002011-06-11T18:36:42.048-07:00She thinks his tiller's sexyAt first I thought I found my husband attractive because he was handling a machine and smelling like man... <div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYmJAt1zUwxZopOdl9JGkrv7haOITLGynApGU-Qvpxn5DLEUSFV9tTGhGQgqebtoltfPsnJwpS0QcBSm7tQq-AM3Hfn0vZt3hB9OVd3Hlhtv-4TGYQdL0wd3fMP7OYsIxGAbrER5npo9I/s400/DSCN1752.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617108844245115490" /></div><div>Then I realized even more than that it was because he was doing it all for the health of our family (can't wait to plant extra carrots, beans, and squash to puree for Little Girly), and for his wife who despite selling the house- really, really still wanted a garden. Not only that but I didn't even ask or beg, he voluntarily spent his Saturday afternoon doing this. And that my friends- is a turn on.</div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2gaTMhcL2uWoNR9I33zq_xGgDICz2f2q2r0-8JoTiu5W6q4c5RYmz9XKcKusBQvPebFq6bZ9AE0c66ryXiNacLaIjal_nr7BxuM9RfzC5KjadopLWw-2t9cEw-lGR7BTpbOtJUE6iCrk/s1600/DSCN1749.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2gaTMhcL2uWoNR9I33zq_xGgDICz2f2q2r0-8JoTiu5W6q4c5RYmz9XKcKusBQvPebFq6bZ9AE0c66ryXiNacLaIjal_nr7BxuM9RfzC5KjadopLWw-2t9cEw-lGR7BTpbOtJUE6iCrk/s400/DSCN1749.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617108739052497922" /></a><br /></div>Shilo Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07112722572934509091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4826338008550786247.post-18657552275431190922011-06-06T12:49:00.000-07:002011-06-07T15:23:34.497-07:00A Decade of Dutch<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">S. and I just realized that we passed the 10 yr. mark living in our little Northwest corner of the country this month. What began as a summer of work turned into a decade and- behold! I believe that foreign feeling might be roots! Alas...they might be attaching to the ground!</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">When my dad threw out the idea of moving to Lynden I was getting ready for my senior year of high school. "Just for fun" we came up to visit the small Dutch farming community. I found it quaint, endearing, and beautiful but knew enough to not take </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'times new roman';">my dad seriously the first time around.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">The seriousness grew quickly, however. That summer, as I drove my '89 Ford Tempo north following a line of U-Hauls and vehicles, I was almost laughing. </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Are we really doing this? </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">I unpacked my room and enrolled in a new school mere days before my senior year began.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Being Dutch myself, I had never spent time with people other than my family who shared our heritage. It was a strange adjustment. We weren't the blondest, tallest, cleanest, or the most frugal anymore! I liked Lynden but had no plans to stay as college was coming quickly.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">After three years of college and a year of marriage nowhere felt settled but I was accustomed to that because we moved often as I grew up. I was hoping S. might take a job in Southern CA, we were looking at grad schools on the east coast. But... we ran out of money. I evaluated our checkbook and told S., "we can pay one more month of rent or we can pay for a U-Haul. If you don't have a job by Wednesday then I say we call </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'times new roman';">U-Haul."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">We did.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">My parents assured us that they could park a trailer in their driveway and connect us with some summer work in town. S. bar tended at the town's resort and I worked in the raspberries. By the end of the summer I began considering finishing school online so we could stay. We found a tiny house on Main Street with a window seat and a whopping 840 square feet. That's all it took for us. We made an offer and began to unpack some boxes.</span></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOJyQbfid4XtaK1yuIBTlD0R6IlNvKr-vKICYc1SGtJ_ZfHgCZFyFuH_01oFmSTOGlHgHyfpQA_4o_4uI-Kn436MMhGk0dY8UNPlmpVnmCqil1IB-Y4jyvBcN-n7gxAiPPMgdDUnzvCCs/s400/Scan.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615311001522457634" /><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'times new roman';">By fall we visited a new church in town and on our first visit the worship director approached us. "I'm so glad you guys are here. You want to help us start a youth ministry?"</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">S. wasn't so sure. I was very sure. We said yes...</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">and one summer turned into another... and another... and another.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">I went to our town's Farmer Day Parade Saturday and was reminded of the many reasons I love this town. I love that every year we see the Parade with the tractors, berry pickers, and children dressed in traditional Dutch clothes. </span></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUrOZ3dvstfwY56I3Q1m1_RW1VYdDELASit4L5U9mei8fQTEhBk-EU7l40wFvZcsiP8vN2YvwcsnD05vUdRY0ZDXlhGVGowzq5dr0ZKhRUmeYUzb0t3CsJpJqZQVnyprbt765IQTcIq10/s400/DSCN1697.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615310856431818946" /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin2XLWXiWrW6rs6WETezPSPgH7oQSyH3WBrilsVmTieyAO5qKHyouepvw1xKt90qoS3Q8NOBSPe7OpnyyU6teqQ1Yxyyxt7pNPwcp9HG2jjrbQZ-zpruxuu3sm90q-Vx8EVYtCgaMGbo4/s400/DSCN1698.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615310773499317842" /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"> I love that in every hard season of the past decade I have experienced huge support from other families in town- financially, emotionally, prayerfully. I love living in a place that has a rich heritage of trusting the Lord. I love the smell of raspberries, the excitement of harvest, the big deal we made about the two lane road growing to four lanes.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">I love that the lady from craigslist called for directions and actually guessed what neighborhood we live in because the pictures of our van showed familiar trees in the background. I love that the high schoolers who roll their eyes that </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">there's nothing to do in this town,</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"> move away and then come home realizing that having a community of people to BBQ and play soft pitch with might be a little more lasting (and less expensive) than clubbing or going to events in a bigger city.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">When I was at my sister's house on Thursday I realized my boys were on a tractor with a strange man. When I went out to retrieve them I realized it was that older gentleman that calls me "Tadema" (my maiden name) with a Dutch accent because he knew my grandfather 40 years ago. Love that.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">We may get uprooted again someday. We are open to where the Lord leads. But on a recent drive with Mt. Baker in view </span></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3AhvOLm7o7O0KNTw3wZkyAh0SNAe0iKka_TnuQhtWrJvR_KECTXpoFVBP7ZDEV22oA4K-JiEyB4OMuLshD4ld6J9OgFL41TDOWIWrrIl8foIC-boW0Pu9JAc0IeDb_GUa0gFW-XHP3YE/s400/IMG_3035.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615310644899503858" /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">I told S., "I know I'll be fine with what the future holds and wherever we go. But if the Lord sees fit to keep us planted here... that is just fine with me."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div>Shilo Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07112722572934509091noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4826338008550786247.post-68167355575424252352011-06-04T21:10:00.000-07:002011-06-06T15:20:33.177-07:00Words<div style="text-align: left;">It came as no surprise after reading Gary Chapman's book <i>The Five Love Languages </i>over a decade ago that I am "words of affirmation". The premise of the book is that there are primarily five ways that we feel and express love: physical touch, quality time, gifts, acts of service, and words of affirmation. Like everyone, I need all five of these things but words resonate with me. In high school I kept a shoebox filled with notes of encouragement and affirmation. My poor mother and sister are not "words of affirmation" so I watch them put forth much effort (initially like fish out of water) to "speak my language". My poor husband often will tell me he appreciates me and I answer with "why?" hoping to hear a little more. I know...pathetic.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>It makes sense then that as I'm raising a family, we talk much about our words. If one of my kids says something thoughtless or hurtful, they get an opportunity to make it right. They sit down with the person they hurt and share two things they love and appreciate about that person. </div><div>If there is a silly squabble over a toy my kids will be seen holding hands and repeating, "You are more important than toys. You are my best friend." </div><div>Yes, they repeat it after me but yes, truth is also being ingrained. If nothing else, they roll their eyes at me and then giggle together about their silly mom. I'll take it.</div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8No4WefAjP7Ff3aZO-ybh_NYd1RnqQbZ2LhWEhhmBCfaQVvgMx3cBXvewJuxm6fRg1YUgJ9xLV4Mcbqx_S77LdKSdpSATYG9nb41SGygIJH3tVLOR_IKo_TXIK-YDgygb4902798I8NA/s400/DSCN1676.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614595711130716306" /><div>There are days that I feel like I am correcting and instructing every word uttered: "You need to ask him with a<i> kind</i> voice this time." "If the neighbor boy talks about your sister that way then what is your job as a manly brother who fights for his sister and her honor? That's right- you tell him he can leave if he has mean things to say. Do not <i>ever </i>join in with them again." "No, he is not a 'meanie'. That choice wasn't kind but speak something truthful about him now."</div><div><br /></div><div>Then the clouds part. The sun's rays shine through. And I experience a moment where all the training comes together and I get to bask in beautiful words being said in my home. Darla is a very natural artist, brimming with creativity the rest of us only wish we could muster. It is then so meaningful to hear her build up her brothers: "Oh, wow Hudson. I didn't think about drawing a spaceship like that. Mom, did you see his cool spaceship?" "Everett- I can tell that's a person! Good job with his eyes, Everett!"</div><div>It helps having an oldest child who shows love through expressive words. When I was going to be gone for a day last month she said, "Oh, Mom I just don't want you to leave. Whenever you are gone nothing feels quite right...oh, I just love you and I want you by me <i>all</i> the time." Sheesh- how am I supposed to leave after that?!</div><div><br /></div><div>My favorite is the random affirmations throughout the day. Hudson squeezes Darla and says to me, "Darla is the best. EVER. You my best friend, Darla." She lights up. </div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPXL-TpP4qVDNdJIMrI8bwYPReovnYsRKtDnI0YZJe4O-cIvJVNTUR6gJkGlcKqhErSNWRmIl7L8iX4uCAI9IWaBJzff-ImLGaopZfbYWPgxSQ0UdukydMk6EkzgwiQvMfBtznLrR3tIk/s400/DSCN1706.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614595133180693074" /></div><div> Everett told me, "Bruthy give me this motorcycle. Him a good bruthy." </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I was laughing with S. about how we've trained the kids when he came home this week and told me my butt looked great in my jeans and I said, "You're the third person that's told me that today."</div><div>"What?! Who else is telling you that?"</div><div>"Actually Darla <i>and </i>Hudson."</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>The sweetest result of our words has been my older three kids talking to Little Girly. Daily I hear them speaking truths to her and I get to watch her five month old self soak it up. "Baby- you are so pretty! Look how cute you are today. You're the best baby ever. Oh, we LOVE you. Good job holding your head up! I hope, I hope, I hope you stay here forever. You're so cheerful. Mom- she really is the best, isn't she? You are so fun for us Little Bear." </div><div>Equally as beautiful is watching Little Girl receive it. She grins and kicks. How powerful is Truth spoken. When we speak blessings and God's love over her, she is focused and intent on our faces.</div><div>Particularly, Hudson melts me as he tells her how beautiful she is as I get her ready in the mornings. He has heard me telling her how God has made her, how she is a blessing to our family, how God has a plan for her life- and I've heard Hudson using some of my words when he's talking to her.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Little Girly had her first experience with baby food this week and S. and I were laughing at our three little cheerleaders: "Good job! Good job with that squash, </div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOP_3hP4NHdvu8QUHHUC7o7YN5vN97xnuQrQJu7tbQNaiCdwDrd5e2zWRDVemikIJMao6dm-H0BNdxczC-ZkM6wZYIAyu-gqblCENViVzhVYD6qTLxZe-Nb6WKSs8G09kHh0sYjCG05jI/s400/DSCN1644.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614594472658026050" /><div>Little Girly! You are so big. You're a big girl now. Wow- you are a good little eater. Mom, did I eat as good as her when I was a baby?"</div><div>I finally had to tell them to give some space and quiet down because Little Girly would grin at the encouragement</div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOe-59MNjPiZNjn6hllJWcC2SlKX7YhNC7x_JTBmwRZB-EMssJwQKc0_rul-9NxjHQKvr8yrI34SeR2-oQKccGkK1PYxnOZb214yhGW9r4JOr2O7hG1ndlAPGlKHPMu4ndxFl1cr3ftvc/s400/DSCN1642.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5614594057057965026" />and the squash would dribble right back out. Oh well, I suppose valuable things are being taught and instilled... perhaps as important as the skill of eating.Shilo Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07112722572934509091noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4826338008550786247.post-51816465508415036982011-05-27T15:24:00.000-07:002011-05-27T20:51:56.400-07:00Horn of Plenty<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'times new roman';">I've been thinking about plastic fruit after reading an article by business expert and author, Tim Sanders. He tells about the horn of plenty that sat in the middle of his grandma's table. When he inquired about it as a young boy, she informed him, <i>"It's not just a decoration. It's a declaration of abundance."</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">She then explained to Tim,<i> "When I was much younger, there was a terrible Depression in this country. Those were times when everybody talked like sad sacks and counted the days until they lost everything. Spend time with them, and soon you'd catch the fear too. Even though Dad's farms were producing crops and our gas station was busy, he caught a case of it. The talk at the dinner table was always about the economy and who was going broke."</i></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><i>"One day my mother, your granny Hattie, came home from the Five-and-Dime with this horn of plenty. It represented prosperity, something all of us needed to think about..."</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><i>"Your granny Hattie gave a speech that night that changed our </i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'times new roman';"><i>family forever. She said that the talk around the table was holding us back and keeping our noses to the grindstone. She pointed out how much land we owned and how healthy we were. Then she stood up and announced that as of that moment, for our family, the Depression was over. She made the decision that we needed to move the conversation forward and get on with our lives."</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Tim asked, <i>"Was the Depression really over?"</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><i>"For us, yes, it was, because from that day forward, we never talked about misery or lack at the dinner table again," she said. "Instead, we started every meal with a discussion of the day's progress. For the rest of the 1930's we found opportunity right and left." </i><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"> (Taken from Chick-fil-* leadership conference, Leadercast journal)</span></i></span></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnllNnQMjD7ebFIz9wRNWqLp9pCOVQFWNtpuKINUYCg_sHqk8eT2foG2zJd0FNvTpJZdnfazexLZa92TtPb1puRe68YSISXYEhPAUezWKOMFWd1EAbnP3O8E7HR2UpXAZ8DzjJEa_5ofs/s400/horn-of-plenty.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610041231894283042" /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'times new roman';">I realize that it may be over-simplifying to say that if we change the way we talk it will completely change our economics. But truth rang with the clang of conviction as I read. In part, because as a country we are living in a season of economic hardship. But still- as the richest nation we whine like the poorest.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Even more piercing was truth I heard from the Holy Spirit concerning my own perspective and situation. As I mulled it over this week, the Lord has been opening my eyes to His creativity in providing for us. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'times new roman';font-size:medium;">It has been tempting to worry about the inconsistency of our paychecks right now. It's easy to hold up my idea of what would make me feel secure and believe anything short of that is lacking. I was reminded that even with fluctuating income, we have been able to do a few Costco trips due to generous friends. Our lights are on, our house is warm, and we are </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';font-size:medium;"><i>still </i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'times new roman';font-size:medium;">richer than at least 95% of the world.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'times new roman';font-size:medium;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I've always dreamed of having a suburban (or 12 passenger van...don't judge me!) to have room for nieces and nephews along with my own kids. We were blessed to find an older suburban in great shape and I smile whenever I fire it up- here I am driving the vehicle I hoped for, in a time that I thought I'd have to "make do". We don't have a predictable check on predictable days but it has made God's provision so much more obvious. Even as we short sale our house, we have a great roof over our heads and some potential roofs when the season here is over. </span></span></div></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">My convictions were challenged this week when we lost a donor who gave a substantial amount to our ministry, due to economic hardship. We cringe as we feel like we are treading water, but then simultaneously God shows us His abundance.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">This week His abundance showed up in the form of a '94 truck. S. has been looking for months for a truck that he can make into a stage truck for concerts, speaking engagements, and for some things BIG OAK is doing at the fair this summer.. Originally a friend at a dealership was trying to find a trade in for it. Now in a time crunch, he instead generously offered to donate toward one we find. Initially it looked like an uphill battle to raise the difference and do the leg work. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">But, wow. In the past week we have had a handful of people donate toward the truck S. found that <i>exactly </i>fit his vision. It didn't stop there. The people who happened to sell it to him also <i>happen</i> to attend our church and support what BIG OAK does. Then they <i>happened</i> to volunteer to do the stage conversion and <i>happened</i> to connect us with another business who generously donated a flatbed that they had just <i>happened</i> to obtain the previous day. S.'s co-worker and close friend just <i>happened</i> to learn pin striping this year and is going to be able to do the design work on the truck. Another generous man is volunteering his time to complete the interior. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Today we are marveling at God's creativity. We thought provision would entail a big check. Never did we imagine it would involve an entire team of people catching the same vision. Now many people get to participate using their own gifts and BIG OAK gets a sweet truck that will get much use as S. shares Christ with students.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Isn't it easy to always feel like we are lacking? Yes, we might own a home but until that mortgage is paid down, we can't rest. Yes, I might have a savings account but until it is 5 times my monthly income I won't feel "safe". Yes, I might start a retirement fund but I'm plagued by the fear that I might have to pay for a nursing home and it won't be enough. The what-ifs, the fears, the constant measuring against what other people have destroys me. It puts the responsibility for abundance on my own head instead of doing the work God puts in front of me and understanding that God <i>is </i>a God of abundance.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Often in this season S. and I have been reminded of the Israelites in the desert. When God gave them manna and quail, it was enough for the day. They complained that they couldn't save it (just in case God didn't come through) and complained about the lack of variety. What an insult to God who was each morning filling their need before they were even awake to collect it. How quickly we stop stepping out of our tent to say, "WHOA! The manna is here <i>AGAIN!</i>" "Can you believe this?! The quail is <i>BACK.</i>.. what are we going on- forty years of provision here? What a God we serve! Woo-hoo!"</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">How quickly we pout and whine, "Only enough for <i>today</i>? Why can't I ever <i>get ahead</i>? Manna and quail <i>again</i>?! When is my tent going to be a four bedroom house?" </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Oops. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">So I step back. I stop worrying about what our current short sale is going to do to our credit. Instead of focusing on the fact that we started a non-profit ministry in the midst of a flailing economy, I recognize God is meeting our needs each morning before we wake. I will get excited every time I start the suburban. I will praise God that right when Hudson needed new clothes, a friend gave me a huge bag of her son's hand-me-downs that <i>happened</i> to be the perfect size. I will celebrate the doctor visits covered by insurance and the groceries in my cupboard. I will use whatever it takes <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">(but please Lord, don't let it be tacky plastic fruit on my table...)</span> to declare to myself and to my family that God provides....ABUNDANTLY.</span></div>Shilo Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07112722572934509091noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4826338008550786247.post-79692248388738257262011-05-16T14:16:00.000-07:002011-05-18T10:18:38.584-07:0033<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHnN8n0hi3QfVqVJlUfqrRzoo9celLZxw3eqfvRtQeDbVUNvTonfP4efOapuvXJtxlZBqWq68-7QfwvrEhe9r7yCWLjmL1EdFFfunb1tD1YnfXlIBvjsNn43p7YijvFbJNtiWH2rcWd8A/s1600/IMG_0068.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 305px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHnN8n0hi3QfVqVJlUfqrRzoo9celLZxw3eqfvRtQeDbVUNvTonfP4efOapuvXJtxlZBqWq68-7QfwvrEhe9r7yCWLjmL1EdFFfunb1tD1YnfXlIBvjsNn43p7YijvFbJNtiWH2rcWd8A/s400/IMG_0068.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607782490936203026" /></a><div style="text-align: left;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">"Behold, I will do a new thing, now it shall spring forth; shall you not know it? I will even make a road in the wilderness and rivers in the desert. This people I have formed for Myself; they shall declare My praise." Isaiah 43:19,21</span></span></i></div> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Last year when S. turned 32 I struggled with how to celebrate. I could see the workings of the Spirit but S. had gone through low lows and I had watc</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">hed him self-destruct in front of me. It was a hard year to kick up our heels and celebrate.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Ahh...but this year is so sweet to commemorate. Coming to the end of himself and his own ability to succeed- even in ministry- was what ultimately bro</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">ught him to "</span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">deny himself, take up his cross" </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">and follow Christ. When Jesus says </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">"whoever desires to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it" (Matthew 16:25 ) </span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">He doesn't just mean to become "Christian". S. was a believer for years but only in the past year and a half was brought to such a deep place o</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">f surrender. He lost everything that felt 'secure' in his world. Instead of throwing in the towel or making things happen on his own, S. got on his knees and waited for God to begin building life into him.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">And now...I could write for hours </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">and</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> kick up my heels. As S. has responded to the Lord, I have seen God focus him, teach him discipline, and feed Truth into him. For the first time since we've been married S. committed to do a Bible Study this past year where he didn't teach or lead. He studied for his own relationship with God and God met him there. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">S. has sought wise counsel and it has refreshed both of us to build friendships with people smarter and wiser than we are. He has slowed </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">down to fall in love with our family. Not only is he intentional with our own kids, he has allowed God to break his heart wide open to love Little Girly as his own. It didn't happen automatically. He prayed that God would put him in the right place as he was tempted to have his guard up, not knowing if she will become a Taylor. He believed God was telling him that in this season he is Little Girly's dad and chose to take on that role without inhibition. His love for her is evidenced by the way that she grins, squeals, and throws her arms in the air when he walks in the room.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I have seen the Lord take a man brimming with cr</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">eativity and ideas and I have watched Him chisel away to give clear direction and specific vision. S. started BIG OAK with about fifty possible directions to take it. God gave us a fantastic board of directors and the right connections to move in the </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">best</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> direction in this season.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">A week and a half ago I had the privilege of working the BIG OAK booth at a leadership conference. We got to share about a;life and give mini-presentations to people about how it will work to have this devotional tool online. Watching the vision catch, hearing people from churches and Y*uth for Christ say, "This is a need! How can we get </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">our hands on something like this?" fueled my excitement for what we do. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I am excited about a;life and how the Lord has pulle</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">d pieces together for it. Even more so, I am excited to have a husband listening to the Lord. Watching him at the conference, I was excited about his ability to communicate vision and his growing passion to get students grounded in Scripture.</span></span></p><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2ti9t6rzVW1PPX2yFSYtUXA0-za1OOijK5DvFhK0_OKGDt6EAEWfczBlOGairvNvyq3Pi6PL8UJIVnrtZVin1FIBhc4LdY7yGXLbeWw0TCmcieCYQmfycFcypSB8I-Y5pwq1keUpVB6w/s400/Taylor+Family-35.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607782357223191778" /> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">My prayers continue for my husband. I pray this year that God would continue to quicken S.'s ears to His voice, to continue renewing his mind and transforming his spirit. But mostly, this is my year of thanksgiving. It is my year to step back and praise God that the prayers I prayed for a decade are being answered in gracious ways. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">This morning at 3am I sat on the couch with Little Girly and her stuffy nose, which was preventing her from sleep. S. stumbled out with some great bed head and said we might as well be up together. As we watched a sitcom and rocked Little Girly, I marveled at the irony: somehow as S. and I are at our poorest (materially) we are experiencing the richest of all seasons. That can't be anything but the work of the Lord. May we get to experience more of God's richness this coming year- Happy Birthday Sean!</span></span></p><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7CBUAEDLudCb0u58qataeItKTVTmopJ_MujY2zNddoGt9KbmmY0ICi48WGKv7o8WQofU-QU1XmDcUtC4sNarqVpdd5CpLXe1AqQlkI6hO72896TZ0vg0T-6Udzb6OSFTvzcCTHMG1IGc/s400/DSCN1379.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607781818415479858" /><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center;mso-pagination:none; mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinwBo8wZgdSBh0WtF65RxbDODyjLyIS3R7hJaOv-gOh7n8EuiUzDe77uMSXceeOLWhTE-xINx87wUYewtV33ACNY6KRURFkE3-UW_mOOL-NTEbXg3JkeBIAWcmsI-Sq8UD403yDdszqMI/s1600/Taylor+Family-35.jpg"><span style="text-decoration:none;text-underline:nonecolor:#0000E9;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center;mso-pagination:none; mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhni-a_Su60xGJrcvOwmXBnDurbs3f0gjT8L07gLgWTiIzF33qi4jHdygds4M_PNjUjkS3G66bHmxRKtaVfiSm_Ql8bzmHh1t90pLIKcTwdM5h8J3ibcp9v3YONx2OiQaQPiEecB-4RX1Q/s1600/IMG_0068.JPG"><span style="text-decoration:none;text-underline:nonecolor:#0000E9;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center;mso-pagination:none; mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkp8Qdcl5nuFuXBuG6HT4oFhPh0HjD646Tyhnw2EpecgG6mZJ2P_49DEWmOWQNV88ANSHrgNsoqV4SFQW2ZOpp3begcv7tp8F_QlPpsPxuyf3RhqazfgZ1xxfAc12gIgpW9HeFYekgdnE/s1600/DSCN1379.JPG"><span style="text-decoration:none;text-underline:nonecolor:#0000E9;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></a></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"> </span></span></o:p></p> <!--EndFragment--> <div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Shilo Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07112722572934509091noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4826338008550786247.post-65599713983407936512011-05-15T14:48:00.000-07:002011-05-15T15:10:32.850-07:003 years for Everett<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7rI5YE62FKQpTAao_wSVnzQyoHKrtMjr8ZQCb8V73eCm_-VKNNTZcyVOLStTuYK83TZ5GnOCRkBKdShGFKXIoAB4rI4HIeO5JBAEaPUshzqqIoK1uncpuKVXPa0AclZAUOstZiqekQ7A/s1600/DSC06798.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7rI5YE62FKQpTAao_wSVnzQyoHKrtMjr8ZQCb8V73eCm_-VKNNTZcyVOLStTuYK83TZ5GnOCRkBKdShGFKXIoAB4rI4HIeO5JBAEaPUshzqqIoK1uncpuKVXPa0AclZAUOstZiqekQ7A/s400/DSC06798.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607067375190480290" /></a><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Last week our family landed at our favorite local coffee shop for sandwiches and coffee while we had a house showing. It was dangerously close to nap time so I was extra diligent in helping our kids remember manners in the otherwise quiet shop. A beautiful elderly couple sat in chairs near us, enamored with our kids but mostly with Everett.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The woman told him, "Your smile is bright as sunshine!"</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">He smiled again to prove it.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The gentleman had a strong Dutch brogue and chuckled at the amount of activity happening at our table.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The kids ate. Everett tried to sneak under the table. The kids talked. Everett tried some tricky stunt on the bench he was supposed to be sitting on. The kids helped clean up. Everett saw something in the display case that he thought needed his grubby hands all over.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">S. took care of three kids. It took all of me to keep Everett going in the right direction. He was amiable, funny, and mischievous.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We were packing up to leave and the kind woman watching said with a knowing wink, "I see you have an alpha male there."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I laughed. "Yes. That's one way to put it."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">She leaned closer to impart her grandmotherly (great-grandmother, I learned later) wisdom. "Those are the best kind. They may take the most work to raise but it's worth it. It's the 'sheep' I worry about. That one that you have...he's definitely not a sheep."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I laughed again. "True. True."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Then I had to leave abruptly because while the other children were waiting for me, I realized Everett was already exploring the parking lot.</span></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp1kZO2yx9jjDh6Jt7FHFkbwgt-mZONtzxWR-QhypmLzxp3ItAODMzPj0FrIs-wxOO37KW7_dv_Z9XZOFh8QllWPmxJVpY4lkCbaHsgRmrYl6lR6PRLR_SONTRlnhf89_zxKF5qxR0-vY/s400/IMG_0011.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607066672676004530" /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I am learning with Everett that sometimes when I think he must need more intervention, what he really needs is more independence. For example, we have struggled with Everett regressing in potty training. My instinct was to hover, to remind him too often, to decide for him when to go. Then one day I heard the toilet flush, the sink go on and off, and a very satisfied Everett emerged. Apparently he needed to do it all himself.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqa2e2yYiEFDAyDG_xfavfzIDAEfjf-zvKz-Jh41LAhGeAww48FJbwFjy3cBKMymYLNHspVUjrhFzbTonOzt_2mggDmzy9ruiRx-bkTgjvPONlUoAYewfs6eFMVkfaZwhjaJvdDzZZvUc/s400/DSC07002.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607066145313020306" /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Everett is quite social like his dad (I have yet to have an introverted child...). Right now he is intent on learning social cues. If he does something funny he will continue to test it until it is no longer funny (and then still try again </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">just to make sure</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> the moment has passed). He also has been observing faces. We were at the Y and Everett was intently studying a woman while she watched her kids swim. I had wondered a couple weeks earlier if this particular woman was tired or had endured a sad season of life.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Apparently Everett was wondering the same thing because he pointed from across the room and said, "Why that lady so sad?" (Fortunately it sounded like "I dat lady do dad?" and she didn't pick up on it.)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Yesterday at the bakery he saw a man walk through and inquired, "Mom? Why that man have a mad face?"</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"I don't think he's mad, Everett. He's just in a hurry and doesn't seem to have a very cheerful resting face."</span></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit7uItzggQxb5IMcYxS9p0pJclK4mbGRGer6xywJF4znnU73ybG0Ka4gYQWPs7liReSejLgSBidM5hXtuYLcKFwTFIwaPYWEkwOy5mLKvOMwv3JvIKPgwKvU6e1JK99zRNUhgTFpWoDOQ/s400/DSCN1245.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607065556687836786" /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">It's very difficult cuddling with Everett...because it takes all the restraint in the world to not bite his little cheeks. Something in the combination of his charisma and impish little grin calls to be munched on. He is affectionate and feisty at the same time, reminding me very much of the Tadema boys on my side of the family. The other night after wrestling him to bed by tickling, tossing, and giggling he insisted on giving me three kisses and an equal amounts of hugs. I knew he was procrastinating, knowing all this would keep me there longer.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Then as I was insisting "</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Last </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">one," he patted my back and said,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"You a great mom." </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"and </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">you</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> are a delightful son."</span></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWU3PKEUYhirst6DCpt82Suf4l8gbBU-ON34KuoaL6FPghcSVZC5BHn04sWW3GHXnm4PLIAgCzD3x5LMXA1W5PdR8_WmR6RElEYIcPHf8-cAHr-jt29_KKjdxAFthVpRsbRvEx4eb5vlU/s400/DSCN1270.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607065429592455522" /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">My prayer for Everett this year is that he would be excited about Jesus. When Everett is excited about something, there is no stopping his zeal. I pray that God would capture all that passion and enthusiasm to use for His glory. I also pray for protection over him physically because he doesn't have a lot of fear and can be impulsive in his bravery. He is a little warrior; dreaming about conquering bad guys and confident he could proficiently shoot squirrels with S.'s air soft gun. I pray that God would even now be preparing him for spiritual battle; equipping him to know the Word and to love prayer.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Today, Everett requested spiderman on his cupcake. Done. In fact, the spiderman figurine we have is able to hold 2 of the candles as fire torches. We'll see how that goes.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Happy third birthday, Everett Clifford!</span></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivNl8asI2n5zmbiJtAYcqEcgVPmzK0KjdN7DGq54QD8aLXLzTtE9wQ4vZv8zzYdy3_QMbc522KmJJd1ShEQcdf3SA9rpAwKxC-Alg8TZXsUnRN2R4cRzTrcT2C6Be_WZm2Duha-rzHXO4/s400/DSCN1464.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5607065173537916130" /><div><br /></div>Shilo Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07112722572934509091noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4826338008550786247.post-13599319775783530732011-05-09T13:54:00.000-07:002011-05-09T14:34:07.617-07:00The Hand That Rocks The Cradle<div style="text-align: center;">I had a post Mother's Day glow this morning. My sweet children painted little flower pots for me and each said what they appreciated about me (affirming Darla said, "I'm so glad you don't go work and you decide to stay with us instead.") </div><div style="text-align: center;">I hoped the glow wouldn't rub off as I was homeschooling (which meant shouting out word definitions) while I changed a wet diaper and warned my 2yr. old to stay on the toilet until I had a chance to make sure the wiping was adequate. Within minutes of starting school there were whines about spelling words, a multitude of army men spread on the carpet waiting to poke my feet as I walked through (holding a baby), and two preschool boys with a significant volume control problem. Instead of pulling my hair out in chunks...I recalled my favorite poem and share it with you now in (late) celebration of Mothers Day.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:large;">The Hand That Rocks The Cradle Is The Hand That Rules The World</span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;">by William Ross Wallace</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Blessings on the hand of women!</div><div style="text-align: center;">Angels guard its strength and grace,</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4AqtZGtdHkP2jNq612AyfYt6-6W-PBZSq5oG0BpTZ6U30DHUjjZRY7eLmYBsB_KfO10xnj9fBVfwoPr1rjycj1UUQrrPg7rbo6w7bk6J4tGIceE3vPrKSgl7YzRKbHsARGAkGMkyNLG4/s1600/DSCN1370.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4AqtZGtdHkP2jNq612AyfYt6-6W-PBZSq5oG0BpTZ6U30DHUjjZRY7eLmYBsB_KfO10xnj9fBVfwoPr1rjycj1UUQrrPg7rbo6w7bk6J4tGIceE3vPrKSgl7YzRKbHsARGAkGMkyNLG4/s400/DSCN1370.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604828197519119714" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">In the palace, cottage, hovel,</div><div><div style="text-align: center;">Oh no matter where the place;</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMruAZdKM1u4Dy4STqA2osFjMW5UHwLFp2szFZEPTpzTOPmHJA6BcJLIklhNvHzFBCZw2KsZ5SIOboBt1XmAe3CncrjKQmUD-muiOi5w6TaoJAHU_Q6RLC3gyBogSWGnFijjZNPH5cBDk/s1600/DSCN1367.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMruAZdKM1u4Dy4STqA2osFjMW5UHwLFp2szFZEPTpzTOPmHJA6BcJLIklhNvHzFBCZw2KsZ5SIOboBt1XmAe3CncrjKQmUD-muiOi5w6TaoJAHU_Q6RLC3gyBogSWGnFijjZNPH5cBDk/s400/DSCN1367.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604828007309383474" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Would that never storms assailed it,</div></div><div style="text-align: center;">Rainbows ever gently curled;</div><div style="text-align: center;">For the hand that rocks the cradle</div><div style="text-align: center;">Is the hand that rules the world.</div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh41bGlC69YNN-P1NPGSNwtlBN0he8OARxOuMZkPzhQcfpjGCd2fAAPxzgPE505tEEKUZcCo5i7KpL-b_w8uoGQhIQb6dGKUqkP_dtxyuAwGdHpCOrZiLaVtnq5MsVUBWl4kh_0XKTHRY/s1600/DSCN1288.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh41bGlC69YNN-P1NPGSNwtlBN0he8OARxOuMZkPzhQcfpjGCd2fAAPxzgPE505tEEKUZcCo5i7KpL-b_w8uoGQhIQb6dGKUqkP_dtxyuAwGdHpCOrZiLaVtnq5MsVUBWl4kh_0XKTHRY/s400/DSCN1288.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604827787041022002" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Infancy's the tender fountain,</div></div><div style="text-align: center;">Power may with beauty flow,</div><div style="text-align: center;">Mother's first to guide the streamlets,</div><div><div style="text-align: center;">From them souls unresting grow--</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTkDiDMhupzEr8FrAe2kqPUMeUljx42vy-i_qJLN-pZG6L-Vlfrc32x2b5dOFhYUIP37LjYMammJuhwZDVQNuxmVrNXbgHKaOUys0BKtdLSGFM0Vam8iBymKPhto8lu0P3uJ08DK_u69A/s1600/DSCN1340.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTkDiDMhupzEr8FrAe2kqPUMeUljx42vy-i_qJLN-pZG6L-Vlfrc32x2b5dOFhYUIP37LjYMammJuhwZDVQNuxmVrNXbgHKaOUys0BKtdLSGFM0Vam8iBymKPhto8lu0P3uJ08DK_u69A/s400/DSCN1340.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604827544063575458" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Grow on for the good or evil,</div></div><div style="text-align: center;">Sunshine streamed or evil hurled;</div><div style="text-align: center;">For the hand that rocks the cradle</div><div><div style="text-align: center;">Is the hand that rules the world.</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCGC3IomzyavSAWaRnBTFL-0UJFgEvPnKaVh0wvl2Dw8FA5BGGBSlK-1P5c0xr03WKe0ksdPDcF8cM13HUuI_DOk31mpjAVqG9dljqFVSbkNdBzM_fz8CA-VrN0epzInn1Iz7xbGlM3JY/s1600/DSCN0991.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCGC3IomzyavSAWaRnBTFL-0UJFgEvPnKaVh0wvl2Dw8FA5BGGBSlK-1P5c0xr03WKe0ksdPDcF8cM13HUuI_DOk31mpjAVqG9dljqFVSbkNdBzM_fz8CA-VrN0epzInn1Iz7xbGlM3JY/s400/DSCN0991.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604827170106308722" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Woman, how divine your mission</div></div><div style="text-align: center;">Here upon our natal sod!</div><div style="text-align: center;">Keep, oh, keep the young heart open</div><div><div style="text-align: center;">Always to the breath of God!</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMc12Pm2dRLF-hgaQjAYg3hAo9Xo04ER6x2yly-rqrMfdyFPK3_E1KYWyRJIcidrnDaktnxv_pmQVVqcIcqoo_ILubktg-Km_-PXMnxYvxiIjM2xWKaBIkZcXEeeSvYyJEYGwS1zSPkQs/s1600/DSC07004.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMc12Pm2dRLF-hgaQjAYg3hAo9Xo04ER6x2yly-rqrMfdyFPK3_E1KYWyRJIcidrnDaktnxv_pmQVVqcIcqoo_ILubktg-Km_-PXMnxYvxiIjM2xWKaBIkZcXEeeSvYyJEYGwS1zSPkQs/s400/DSC07004.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604826692169301346" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">All true trophies of the ages</div></div><div style="text-align: center;">Are from mother-love impearled;</div><div style="text-align: center;">For the hand that rocks the cradle</div><div><div style="text-align: center;">Is the hand that rules the world.</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivwhuNX0myQFWoSda3OLeY_plQpOIKjcU6c6WlAcweGr-UUFpz45WCEZ-AixCaxIHwQDPKhaqZNcYspTtLdz-JpxkFOdzp7e0By0A3YmRQ_XgWF5JxWOI01ySOuRez2mOQlrg7UC7gaE0/s1600/Taylor+Family-3.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivwhuNX0myQFWoSda3OLeY_plQpOIKjcU6c6WlAcweGr-UUFpz45WCEZ-AixCaxIHwQDPKhaqZNcYspTtLdz-JpxkFOdzp7e0By0A3YmRQ_XgWF5JxWOI01ySOuRez2mOQlrg7UC7gaE0/s400/Taylor+Family-3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604826433108984978" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Blessings on the hand of women!</div></div><div style="text-align: center;">Fathers, sons, and daughters cry,</div><div style="text-align: center;">And the sacred song is mingled</div><div><div style="text-align: center;">With worship in the sky--</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmoEepcG05fe8gbb6j-zsbq6qwKOC0wn5hwsSZAX87suoY7h7FjZCIokqAWAlUHDE3ZzRiSeKNFS_UF5LeXVlmjNfaZOfd7gcTG7jP72j4kurg8DUdDtKLlhmTZLozTTWcr5GiF4BS03Y/s1600/DSCN1412.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmoEepcG05fe8gbb6j-zsbq6qwKOC0wn5hwsSZAX87suoY7h7FjZCIokqAWAlUHDE3ZzRiSeKNFS_UF5LeXVlmjNfaZOfd7gcTG7jP72j4kurg8DUdDtKLlhmTZLozTTWcr5GiF4BS03Y/s400/DSCN1412.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604826118690016386" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Mingles where no tempest darkens,</div></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">Rainbows evermore are hurled;</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL4-cE2LLgbV4_mCG4kwyNOehT09uVYMUd0Cndm5EpB9wnxAf7EmiqHmmEHusjui5ElmF0gR4u6XsbjuGXxqNI1XXVH0X0ynp4K2rCOFPfZFAIaUsAxIHfsi_01NpJIRZ0FfjwksWl37E/s1600/DSCN1341.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL4-cE2LLgbV4_mCG4kwyNOehT09uVYMUd0Cndm5EpB9wnxAf7EmiqHmmEHusjui5ElmF0gR4u6XsbjuGXxqNI1XXVH0X0ynp4K2rCOFPfZFAIaUsAxIHfsi_01NpJIRZ0FfjwksWl37E/s400/DSCN1341.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604825930041683698" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">For the hand that rocks the cradle</div></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">Is the hand that rules the world.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0dArlrQLK2kTrBBNRKAgzG73fRJHQQhEDubqZS5ZRWTzSKLpjKFqGms9-oQKbLemCvte5gbcUEhvxfNMHw07RGXD3JPoa0WW9GPW_EJXEksKrKsImhHvGNevwBauqmxvwRmwGN0U97OQ/s1600/DSCN1488.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0dArlrQLK2kTrBBNRKAgzG73fRJHQQhEDubqZS5ZRWTzSKLpjKFqGms9-oQKbLemCvte5gbcUEhvxfNMHw07RGXD3JPoa0WW9GPW_EJXEksKrKsImhHvGNevwBauqmxvwRmwGN0U97OQ/s400/DSCN1488.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5604825451018511522" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="http://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif" alt="Add Image" border="0" class="gl_photo" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div>Shilo Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07112722572934509091noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4826338008550786247.post-73923514247374548022011-05-04T18:49:00.000-07:002011-05-07T11:11:12.145-07:00All in a Day's Play<div>I recently read a blog that listed ways we stifle our children's creativity. It's true. We are a generation of parents who easily succumb to immediate gratification, keeping our kids quiet with TV, video games, or "learning" toys. We have beautiful homes on tiny lots and we have been taught to hover: instructing our kids to not climb so high, not to walk to the neighbors independently, having over-supervised play dates. </div><div><br /></div><div>How irritated I would get as a child when I told my mom "I'm bored" and her response was, "Oh good! I have plenty for you to do." I was irritated then but as I say the same irritating words to my own kids- I'm thankful she did it. With a mom who required some personal responsibility, who didn't hand us entertainment in our listlessness, and a house full of siblings, we managed to get creative in our play. My own kids are blessed to have the same opportunities and even in a ridiculously wet Northwest spring, are finding inventive ways to play.</div><div><br /></div><div>Spontaneously one morning Darla set to work on masks. Her cousins were going to be coming by and she thought if they were going to be Belle, Tinkerbell, and Silvermist- they should look the parts. She found paper plates and set to work. No one fed her a single idea, I simply tied a string on the back when the masks were completed. (I missed the picture of the boys' batman and spiderman masks.)</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtAnm-FRa3eaVa4KNvzPYOuiECmdcKVj_9467WnC9XY2k1y1ECkZsEg9cohsuzXny8mIaLMYq3TINu3m3Mi_ySq3odcKCTAUxq9x9blIHgHhZjx8k2MomL7WwBsHiKinmuyVrbn9Mnsf4/s1600/DSCN1310.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtAnm-FRa3eaVa4KNvzPYOuiECmdcKVj_9467WnC9XY2k1y1ECkZsEg9cohsuzXny8mIaLMYq3TINu3m3Mi_ySq3odcKCTAUxq9x9blIHgHhZjx8k2MomL7WwBsHiKinmuyVrbn9Mnsf4/s400/DSCN1310.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603045477587616674" /></a>The next day Hudson had a wooden spoon and bowl out, pretending to cook for us. I went to feed Little Girly and put laundry away, amazed at how happy and quiet the other three were for an extended time. Upon entering the kitchen I was overwhelmed with the smell of cinnamon. Apparently invisible food didn't cut it so they created "Cinnamon Shake" (ingredients: water, cinnamon, sprinkles). I came in as the milk was being poured... into wine glasses. Our house smelled of cinnamon goodness for two days and I discovered in the back of the fridge that they saved some in a glass jar. Mmm mmm.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvlZw2YlTf18azru33MNSuFphw-Qcu-xgJVUuRsL_UtqNx2hq6cgeP1LsIO0dwNXKFbGNbgdrAjxiPCcoscSbmCVJqQ4H8hOQyiLT4guCs2iobvVqcGc4bOKDOXfWFC8y4T3xALWiNYaA/s1600/DSCN1320.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvlZw2YlTf18azru33MNSuFphw-Qcu-xgJVUuRsL_UtqNx2hq6cgeP1LsIO0dwNXKFbGNbgdrAjxiPCcoscSbmCVJqQ4H8hOQyiLT4guCs2iobvVqcGc4bOKDOXfWFC8y4T3xALWiNYaA/s400/DSCN1320.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603045324651926178" /></a>As they were cleaning up the kitchen mess, they found the paper plates and cups again. They immediately set to work making "phone systems". I was impressed that they thought to use the hole punch and string...and even more impressed that they knew what a rotary phone is.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQGTnubt7i0YWCspAI-W1CgynLHGcrb9IlCLaA4amE28WGq9h7QlQrxAk40uvieJIgxTsdSAwgMvMK_JNigLIqbqwuRtOwxvDvEeduJOlOxnkCx5CC-qWfs5FqyXgE7XFGvpqs8kI0pXo/s1600/DSCN1331.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQGTnubt7i0YWCspAI-W1CgynLHGcrb9IlCLaA4amE28WGq9h7QlQrxAk40uvieJIgxTsdSAwgMvMK_JNigLIqbqwuRtOwxvDvEeduJOlOxnkCx5CC-qWfs5FqyXgE7XFGvpqs8kI0pXo/s400/DSCN1331.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603045177101627586" /></a>(Yes, that is left over cinnamon still on Everett's face.)<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ97ej53l8XG4U2QDgghKsYgEdJnnBTTtIa6cQSV13EcgjussCia9IzPKBIxGNnhj-VlsjUZFg-untxT-O7ucj4bQybB1TEhitBj4ft3J2LdiHLzduCZOCPHefkR9-4m6YLTi2uk_vpkk/s1600/DSCN1334.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ97ej53l8XG4U2QDgghKsYgEdJnnBTTtIa6cQSV13EcgjussCia9IzPKBIxGNnhj-VlsjUZFg-untxT-O7ucj4bQybB1TEhitBj4ft3J2LdiHLzduCZOCPHefkR9-4m6YLTi2uk_vpkk/s400/DSCN1334.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603045066765185842" /></a>One of the things on the list of creative children was to let children use furniture and toys for things other than their intended purpose. They accomplished that later in the afternoon when they tipped all our kitchen chairs on their backs to create a train (at least the steering wheel was a <i>plastic</i> plate). Kids and stuffed animals alike choo-chooed down the hall. <div><br /><div>There is still cut up cardboard in my kitchen because they thought a great idea would be to make a sign to hang from our suburban's antennae that reads, "Taylor Car". </div><div><br /></div><div>I thought that was enough for a day but when I was making dinner Darla came in the door with folded papers. "I've been asking the neighbors for help and money."</div><div><i>"WHAT?!</i>"</div><div>"For our zoo."</div><div>"Our <i>what</i>?"</div><div>"We want to make a zoo in our yard. We might borrow some people's animals. For sure we'll have Taryn (5 yr. old neighbor boy) get bugs. He's practically a bug scientist."</div><div>"What is it you'll need money for?"</div><div>"Um....um... huh. I guess we don't. I guess I'll just give these invitations to the neighbors so they can come to the zoo."</div><div>"Sounds great. But it's dinner time so let's wait on the zoo."</div><div>Phew.</div><div><br /></div><div>The highlight of creativity came at the end of the week. Our neighborhood has an annual clean up day. Our kids decided with the neighbor kids that as a "reward" for everyone who cleans up, they would have a play to conclude the day. They found all the chairs they could and lined them on our sport court.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcJT9yBG0RCq_xNboiCdydeBn3h-WVSn8mOCPZ8lx-6vcjbrEYgsgn421cedJVfCVMLzm9ptXz2CF48OZqgptxwsm5oXOogREQEqVdLgSelq8LJANowCpPMpUuCAEbvJR8UZPFc8tL9n0/s1600/DSCN1450.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcJT9yBG0RCq_xNboiCdydeBn3h-WVSn8mOCPZ8lx-6vcjbrEYgsgn421cedJVfCVMLzm9ptXz2CF48OZqgptxwsm5oXOogREQEqVdLgSelq8LJANowCpPMpUuCAEbvJR8UZPFc8tL9n0/s400/DSCN1450.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603044865332024370" /></a>They enlisted the help of an older neighbor girl to build a 'fort' out of branches, which then became the castle.</div><div>Quite unfortunately, in their role casting and set design, they neglected to bother with lines, plot, a narrator, or anything else that might help the play be...well, a play. We watched them "play" for some time and they were proud of their performance.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh05jyCFp66dOAkFPl5owctjAImyDjdq3JgBSxBfKKYW1Q3e5xipYBNaiulv9Bs8-0t7lehyMbgxQaEVsiStEhLn1Nh_OjFAQdGlZJXV4_-P1T5xB5y8UklzRAkUX3MqBxZVyc9lql37Y/s1600/DSCN1461.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh05jyCFp66dOAkFPl5owctjAImyDjdq3JgBSxBfKKYW1Q3e5xipYBNaiulv9Bs8-0t7lehyMbgxQaEVsiStEhLn1Nh_OjFAQdGlZJXV4_-P1T5xB5y8UklzRAkUX3MqBxZVyc9lql37Y/s400/DSCN1461.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603044693913962818" /></a>Here is neighbor boy "King Kierian" with sword in what could loosely be described as an action scene:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTytZFn6idaL1rj93i8DH-smb99ZG77sKxvBGSbpnR1xecsorWkJBQotCQeLL-mmyr2OPQFx8hM0MIc1mN6gkDqTxT1pNArigNtooJz1fAeeW8Y7o9YYoabAjSVxsgluDhpgdiARQvqsE/s1600/DSCN1465.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTytZFn6idaL1rj93i8DH-smb99ZG77sKxvBGSbpnR1xecsorWkJBQotCQeLL-mmyr2OPQFx8hM0MIc1mN6gkDqTxT1pNArigNtooJz1fAeeW8Y7o9YYoabAjSVxsgluDhpgdiARQvqsE/s400/DSCN1465.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603044506342696466" /></a>Later Darla and I learned about narrators, plot conflict, and the essential aspect of letting your audience know what they are watching. She is excited to write the next script and let S. be narrator (so she can still play the leading lady role, naturally).<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixMoGoXQa1nlPln5mlCA5mRFpsTedAjh0HyAkdgXw9C6UsrTKBj4HiwGra5wH7EvsCHTzT5UIDIOky9b4WFrt5OsqCyBEYWtG75bjZKhnGvfNKO10Tfkjt2OUnBfxsXW60HZ6uiF6EZIc/s1600/DSCN1487.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixMoGoXQa1nlPln5mlCA5mRFpsTedAjh0HyAkdgXw9C6UsrTKBj4HiwGra5wH7EvsCHTzT5UIDIOky9b4WFrt5OsqCyBEYWtG75bjZKhnGvfNKO10Tfkjt2OUnBfxsXW60HZ6uiF6EZIc/s400/DSCN1487.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603044336195233202" /></a>Our house is listed to sell and everything in me wants to keep it spotless so when we get last minute calls to show it, I can retain my sanity. When cinnamon fills the air, when paints and crayons and slivers of paper cover the floor, when I realize my lilac bush is naked because "the wild bunnies needed salad", I am tempted to hand over the video games. Ah, but there is more to learn than what a spotless house and clean children can teach... (I said with a nervous laugh.)<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></div>Shilo Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07112722572934509091noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4826338008550786247.post-44985597952778700082011-04-21T14:49:00.000-07:002011-04-25T21:22:49.643-07:00A Thirsty Soul<div style="text-align: left;"><i>"O God you are my God; early will I seek You; my soul thirsts for You; my flesh longs for You in a dry and thirsty land where there is no water." Psalm63:1</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I have had nearly the same conversation three times with three people this past week. Whenever that happens I start to think I should blog about it...so here I am.</div><div><br /></div><div>A couple years ago I made an observation. Most of the time when asking a follower of Christ, "What is God teaching you?" Or "What is God speaking to you about?" the person pauses.</div><div>Then, the answer almost always along the lines of "I need to have more quiet time." "I'm not reading the Bible enough." "Um... I missed a couple days of devotions because my kids were sick..."</div><div><br /></div><div>At first I thought people were saying, "I'm not slowing down enough to hear the voice of God." But then I noticed something else. It seemed to be that<i> guilt</i> was blocking any ability to hear the voice of God. </div><div>I noticed even friends who are involved in Bible Studies, know Scripture, and do have time with God (to some extent) answer the same way- with guilt and obligation. I've noticed a tendency to put God on a list along with "workout, wash windows, pick up prescription". We put in our chapter of Bible reading a day to alleviate our conscience until the next requirement pops up.</div><div><br /></div><div>In having this discussion with a group of women, I felt heartbroken for us and for God that we reduce our relationship with Him in this way. I believe it's a trap to think of time with Jesus like I think of other to-dos in my day, or to think that the Creator could be restricted to half an hour in the morning.</div><div><br /></div><div>I suppose the closest thing I could liken it to (flawed as it is) is marriage. It would not be constructive to S. and my relationship if I looked at my to-do list, sighed, and thought, "Well...I <i>guess </i>I should spend half an hour with my husband. I am married, after all. Hard as it is, I better put my time in."</div><div><br /></div><div>No way! I can't wait for S. to get home from work so we can share about our days. I love breakfast together in the morning, taking our little family for a walk after dinner, road tripping, planning our future. And I'm not even talking about a perfect, all-knowing, Almighty God...I'm talking about my well-intentioned husband (who every once in a great while might fall a little short of "completing" me).</div><div>When S. and I are busy and aren't connecting, we miss each other. Not because we are obligated to, but because our relationship is life giving and we <i>lik</i><i>e</i> each other. We might not be spending focused time together but we call each other to tell a quick story, we stay up later than we should so we can be uninterrupted, I send suggestive (er...I mean... loving...) e mails to remind him I'm his.</div><div>Then when we do have focused time or a weekend away- I soak it up. I don't spend the whole time feeling guilty that it doesn't happen every weekend. I don't worry that he will be angry when I have a day where we aren't talking as frequently.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>How quickly we forget that Jesus died, rose, and forgives us so that we have a <i>relationship </i>with Him. I have yet to hear a pastor say "Surrender to Jesus so you can add Him to your checklist."</div><div>How much more in my relationship with Jesus should I be squeezing in every moment of intimacy? If I do this with S. then certainly wouldn't I do this with the Lord who won't fail me, knows me more deeply, who is faithful and holds all the answers? </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>As I've been reflecting I asked the Lord why (in His grace) I have escaped the mentality of checking Him off the list. Some days I hear His voice loudly and constantly. Other days my quiet time is interrupted by busy children; my down time filled with tasks. I resort to worship music while we clean, a Bible story from the Children's Bible after dinner, and distracted prayers as I fall to sleep. I know His love for me isn't based on my day, and regardless of my schedule...I crave Him.</div><div><br /></div><div>I then realized that I haven't had the leisure of keeping God a small part of my life. By His grace He has allowed circumstances in my life that have stretched me, broken me, caused me to continually land on my face before Him. I don't spend time with Him because I know I should. I don't read my Bible to alleviate my conscience. I have a relationship with Christ because I <i>need </i>Him. </div><div>I talk to Him constantly because there is no other way for me to get from minute one to minute two without it. Without His voice I am inspiration-less, lifeless, irrational, and truthfully- a boring person. Without His Word I am rudderless, shallow, and in a constant state of confusion. Without His Spirit I lack boldness, direction, and discernment.</div><div><br /></div><div>There is no compartmentalizing possible for me. I am unable to leave Jesus at my quiet time chair. He speaks to me in the shower (and I will continue to use that excuse for my ridiculously long showers). Today I silently cried out to Him as I sat with my oldest son waiting for him to correct a lie with truth. He goes before me as I take a deep breath and sit down to pay bills. He is in every conversation I have (even with the checker at Target when Darla wants to share about buying baby things for the orphanage in Honduras). There is nothing in my life separate from Him. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><i>"I will meditate on Your precepts, and contemplate your ways. I will delight myself in Your statutes; I will not forget your word." Psalm 119:15-16</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br /></i></div><div>I love how excited David gets about God's Word in the Psalms. It's beautiful that he found so much life in God's law and promises...and this was before God made the ultimate sacrifice of His Son! David was pumped about God even when he didn't understand the extent of God's grace, goodness, and love to the degree that we can read about <i>every single day.</i></div><div>I should be so grateful!</div><div><br /></div><div><i>"Oh how I love your law! It is my meditation all the day." Psalm 119:97</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>"Trust in Him at all times, you people; pour out your heart </i><i>befo</i><i>re Him; God is a refuge for us." Psalm 62:8</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>Don't get me wrong. Sometimes (like David) I don't want to hear what God has to say. Whether it is my guilt, selfishness, or fear, I have at times cowered and not wanted to come before the Lord. But...I do. Thankfully He continues to compel me, in spite of myself, to come back to Him.</div><div><br /></div><div><div><i>"He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High shall a</i><i>bide under the shadow of the Almighty." Psalm 91:1</i></div></div><div>Ahhh...what a place to rest. Free of condemnation, misunderstandings, insecurities, and fear.</div><div><br /></div><div>In this season of life I am thankful that I can delight in the Lord with my messy, inconsistent life. (Here a picture of the messiness that occurs when I'm in the next room enjoying "quiet":) </div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf3p0W4Y7kVTM4-g9PL_B5inQJei3AyXgb8faqMVbrE2BPSanupp6aj7jSOia2yjGCQhCDByRXTr8DVE3BlX1RB_BBPirGKvE6cFf4tPxjl_KQ4SG-nbnPNRN3vJZy0qCjKCKzxDjWphA/s400/DSCN1320.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599701806786876114" />In another season of life I anticipate days that look like this: </div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 231px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQK5J0OzzVQHaWVuI-MbIt60yvP_iJKsuQYtBvz_kdd0EdQwP3HJmA7x6XAQqv5b49pL1R4NDFSGBXAh1wLhGojNPIjPFpj2s1JTG2Qx6xWEIk7_up56ci8pmFOF6FrJZ6aVP9-vX0rLM/s400/Bible-and-coffee.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599687235151187170" />But for now I will enjoy that the Lord speaks to me through this: </div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6FCyF596NtTsmvym2X7grkX-NXkp_nboL4dgHaOjAju6ruRMUCBoCuYmHpA20uQ1MzDS5ovXGPdWnkL4v91m_wDxoa1n23wcJExO3Ohe3ThWbXdCLQFfUClKbgMABQJfLr4ZRUI-P6ig/s400/DSCN1373.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5599687143993078322" /></div>Shilo Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07112722572934509091noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4826338008550786247.post-3699285454825737802011-04-05T20:36:00.000-07:002011-04-06T16:17:15.256-07:00Good Grief<div style="text-align: left;">When a loved one has had a severe loss or is immersed in grief, how often are we paralyzed by our<i> own</i> insecurities? What compels us to think we need to have the right answers or should be responsible to "cheer them up"? Why are we pursuing the tidy sitcom ending and shying away from what may be messy? Why do we get so ridiculously wrapped up in our own lack of comfort that we drop the ball?</div><div><br /></div><div>I was reading in Job tonight and found myself cheering Job on for reprimanding his friends. After Job loses everything, his friends arrive to do their best at what they perceive their job to be. They guess at why God would allow tragedy, they give tips...they leave Job feeling more beat up than he was before they opened their mouths. Job's response is,</div><div><i>"I have heard many such things; miserable co</i><i>mforters are you all! Shall words of wind have an end? Or what provokes you that you answer? I also could speak as you do, if your soul were in my soul's place. I could heap up words against you, and shake my</i></div><div><i>head at you; but I would strengthen you with my mouth, and the comfort of my lips would relieve your grief." Job 16:2-5</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div>This passage resonated with me because I have a handful of people I am grieving with. It's hard.</div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdzvVoVTPJ9kdXJiyJLEXpxQ-rnEbTaSs-NndUi3EWCT64j1PamLRKiWgcIcr-4QzBWDWdxxV0UcieOP0W6_XMwsgLlU9CQA0w4IixV1OUk2u5WHItRTMqunIRmSqRVFovI6bz5RWmslc/s400/Sean+Taylor-1007.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592609671095625538" /></div><div>I am thankful to my parents who taught me something about getting down into a mud puddle with a loved one. When I was in fifth grade my little brother's friend was killed by a bus. Within hours my parents packed us all up to go over and hug the family. I felt insecure, ridiculous, at a loss. What do I say? How do I handle the tears and chaos? I didn't have a thing to offer. But it wasn't up to me so off we went...just to hug, share some tears, and go back home.</div><div>It wasn't the only time I was drug along to uncomfortable situations. As hard as it was, it taught me that the most empathetic thing I can do is pull up a patch of mud and join the puddle. Not to drag out misery- but to acknowledge the loss and then bring a friend to the feet of Jesus. When you are entrenched in tragedy, you don't know how to pray for yourself and it is essential to have friends to intercede on your behalf.</div><div><br /></div><div>In the book A Grace Disguised by Jerry Sittser, Dr. Sittser talks about entering grief after his mother, wife, and daughter were all killed in a car accident. He explains the temptation to run toward the sun as it is setting in the west, to avoid being overcome by darkness. But in actuality, we need to turn to the east <i>into</i> the darkness with the Hope and expectation that there the sun will rise. If we endlessly run west we will never truly rest and we will never watch the sun rise in our circumstance. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I thought of Dr. Sittser's illustration twice this week; once when talking with someone about dealing with and surrendering years of marital hurts, another when e mailing a close friend who recently lost a child. </div><div>It is sometimes tempting to encourage the ones we love to run fruitlessly west. It is scary to watch someone plunge into a pool of grief. We worry they might not cling to Christ, we worry that things will never be the same. (Which they won't. I'm learning that that's okay.) We selfishly think of our own comfort and how it might be awkward to have relationship with a muddy person in process. </div><div>So we resort to well meaning words that minimize the loss. We think it will help if we supply endless small talk without addressing the elephant in the room. We offer answers.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>When Isaiah speaks of Christ he says, <i>"He is despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief." Isaiah 53:3a</i></div><div>Jesus knew the outcome. He knew that He wins. He knew the purpose, He knew His Father, He knew that everything He did was good and would be redeemed. Yet <i>he was acquainted with grief. </i>Even with eternal perspective, Jesus still deeply felt His losses.</div><div><br /></div><div>Being spiritual does not mean that we skip over grief. It doesn't mean we say, "You'll see your baby in heaven and I'm sure you'll have more." We don't smile and answer tritely, "Well, I'm sure it will all work out." We don't talk someone out of going to God with their questions and pain because <i>our </i>theology feels threatened. We can understand God's sovereignty and still have a good cry.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Jesus, as one acquainted with grief, is also the one who came to <i>"give them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they may be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, that </i><i>He may be glorified." Isaiah 61:3</i></div><div> </div><div><br /></div><div>In the midst of grieving with friends and family right now; over lost babies, tumultuous marriages, depression, loss of ideals and dreams... I am still confident that Jesus is in the business of redemption...of our souls and our circumstances. I believe it's a privilege as a friend to walk the highs and lows, to pray on my knees for them...</div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPWF7PXPKGRWkZ2QHsafUfcg9IzIhc6WSTcWgOUsGqIrt30e1U4u5GoYSBkxla_f-VQ8kuwJJ_KaALC4-yHe6g5EmLwfYUZgPDnUJMCsLu-C6y6UDNuLZwgKebdMM4ol5h5wj75oPAfaA/s400/sunrise-3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5592609216712080722" /></div><div>and to sit with them when the sun rises again.</div>Shilo Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07112722572934509091noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4826338008550786247.post-33881119628211028962011-03-26T20:31:00.000-07:002011-03-26T21:03:14.227-07:00March Madness<div>I just glanced at the calendar on my way through the kitchen and realized that we still have a few days before the end of March. At first I thought, "I can't believe it's nearly April." Then I thought, "How have we fit <i>so</i> much into March?!"</div><div><br /></div><div>It has been three and a half weeks since we got Little Girly home. This was obviously the biggest life change and we are all still wiggling around in our new roles to try to make them more comfortable.</div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTQb9GbUC9bHmCalWULvZvVrEfWkxFsk1LP63eUkv-mIlvSXfe3WjN2uV_e2QFaBkpE0ZvRB49IgUI3g0j0gliyWKn7heIt27nF0hYfsRPLAbg1HOSN4JXV_cTZ1CWk-qTvlY8WPNe4p4/s1600/DSCN1114.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTQb9GbUC9bHmCalWULvZvVrEfWkxFsk1LP63eUkv-mIlvSXfe3WjN2uV_e2QFaBkpE0ZvRB49IgUI3g0j0gliyWKn7heIt27nF0hYfsRPLAbg1HOSN4JXV_cTZ1CWk-qTvlY8WPNe4p4/s400/DSCN1114.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588598966985687586" /></a>Because it happened so fast, we have been fully immersed in getting to know Little Girly while also doing 'life as usual'. Darla finished up a season doing dance/cheer, which she loved. We tried a little homeschooling in the cracks but for the most part March has been a bit of extended Spring Break.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFfSXfO_O3xIB2JSPgeJhjCujxYNZTDEw3JJukAtN0ndUUKhUwlbWfBWDPJ0PMXgZWIKQB1odDTUl2Ti42AousS60ZIxZ8jR2XlD7Hb1_6mUEUs47stA_bW_rrXqS61Lx_cCvUL48guSc/s1600/DSCN1094.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFfSXfO_O3xIB2JSPgeJhjCujxYNZTDEw3JJukAtN0ndUUKhUwlbWfBWDPJ0PMXgZWIKQB1odDTUl2Ti42AousS60ZIxZ8jR2XlD7Hb1_6mUEUs47stA_bW_rrXqS61Lx_cCvUL48guSc/s400/DSCN1094.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588598681809306898" /></a>We got to go down to Mount Vernon to celebrate with my brother, Elijah, a long awaited cd release of his band, Into Light.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgculhqg42wM3K4j9N-qU8LdtU5gqx-2qWYwAhz9xV2gFlrtaRDST0v5V5kXjeuu3ufdKorxvcfU2bwcxwMdy1xiugVPlcDJ45cEeXSgP_oMpAYhqu01MAYP1eFhmTr7U0wNM1LCpQArHI/s1600/DSCN1129.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgculhqg42wM3K4j9N-qU8LdtU5gqx-2qWYwAhz9xV2gFlrtaRDST0v5V5kXjeuu3ufdKorxvcfU2bwcxwMdy1xiugVPlcDJ45cEeXSgP_oMpAYhqu01MAYP1eFhmTr7U0wNM1LCpQArHI/s400/DSCN1129.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588598449454194898" /></a>At the concert, Elijah's 4 day old son Harrison Rits made his debut. That's right- once again in less than a month the Tadema family added more than one baby. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKsVHnMb0XjfV7qXNU0zELRGPPGjMlx0Igub4JXohVRUgQjg_cFYFNalmwg9wOeLCQrC3BvjVNDtqZTEBl_-82Tc5BGPO6uqiFTw0pXa-FTxWV-EbRUpGQ7iJK7SePMhOs2uQqBKLbRs4/s1600/DSCN1133.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKsVHnMb0XjfV7qXNU0zELRGPPGjMlx0Igub4JXohVRUgQjg_cFYFNalmwg9wOeLCQrC3BvjVNDtqZTEBl_-82Tc5BGPO6uqiFTw0pXa-FTxWV-EbRUpGQ7iJK7SePMhOs2uQqBKLbRs4/s400/DSCN1133.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588598316028902434" /></a>My nephew Gage got to experience his first birthday at the age of five. It was a huge celebration with all the cousins.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSev76zlnR3wIYy-jSN1w1l8uH4SM26kfK0yOGDz0RhUwpx-V6jb6CS0EByaEOxn8tDxFW3u9_DKb3UI7fz0KlT52iQW1hMQTE7UYTd6MQMjQmmeFb77UvobSR_s1qi5Q7ErJVG62OxxI/s1600/DSCN1161.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSev76zlnR3wIYy-jSN1w1l8uH4SM26kfK0yOGDz0RhUwpx-V6jb6CS0EByaEOxn8tDxFW3u9_DKb3UI7fz0KlT52iQW1hMQTE7UYTd6MQMjQmmeFb77UvobSR_s1qi5Q7ErJVG62OxxI/s400/DSCN1161.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588598152888955122" /></a>Of all the Taylors, Everett has had the most 'adjustment'- as anticipated. He has displayed this by <i>completely </i>reverting in potty training. All our work in the past year has temporarily gone out the window.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUlpIXPaXBUc2G8EbAZymhadI2Xogb_Kq7Qz6_eqAhAFQk8cOmOK3oF0SAfeycUj_6QwRuAIoCz96SmrLGCMOTJslk_EGylkX5BZAIIceki0fNGVNfDHcMV0d23LUVxyy6tKy1mLbylYE/s1600/DSCN1170.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUlpIXPaXBUc2G8EbAZymhadI2Xogb_Kq7Qz6_eqAhAFQk8cOmOK3oF0SAfeycUj_6QwRuAIoCz96SmrLGCMOTJslk_EGylkX5BZAIIceki0fNGVNfDHcMV0d23LUVxyy6tKy1mLbylYE/s400/DSCN1170.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588598016618739010" /></a>In case you needed a visual... the cousin count is now at 14 children ages 6 and under:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjEtKfL9CfApolxMRQdCyqOa7YE699F8WefnOajqwj8R4GZIOR6o2rxpdRvv4VhStIgXmYRxzs10shq1iTw_urIhhsHV_3I5k4qgWqwmKNxvKm1ON4ScpVywGAUIUtDyyGbZTU6nUPi8I/s1600/DSCN1188.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjEtKfL9CfApolxMRQdCyqOa7YE699F8WefnOajqwj8R4GZIOR6o2rxpdRvv4VhStIgXmYRxzs10shq1iTw_urIhhsHV_3I5k4qgWqwmKNxvKm1ON4ScpVywGAUIUtDyyGbZTU6nUPi8I/s400/DSCN1188.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588597874076881906" /></a>We got to visit with long-time friend Steve when he came up to support Elijah's cd release. (This is us attempting a sing-a-long with 14 children underfoot. Fail.)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFQm56yJK75fEe3ffSTF6lbV3QZMq9TM3z3eLUn6_mLl8V24YhaC-Zy2uyGFE6nZtAoJczQLJ4UQhECuzbNYiGbQWDhWUFQ7Z4oEQwKm5PIghKES-ZqGHt-0nqd62vbPnovAb7HtG6YTQ/s1600/DSCN1201.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFQm56yJK75fEe3ffSTF6lbV3QZMq9TM3z3eLUn6_mLl8V24YhaC-Zy2uyGFE6nZtAoJczQLJ4UQhECuzbNYiGbQWDhWUFQ7Z4oEQwKm5PIghKES-ZqGHt-0nqd62vbPnovAb7HtG6YTQ/s400/DSCN1201.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5588597735751661858" /></a>As though a new baby, getting the hang of the foster care responsibilities, backward potty-training, regular life, and special events weren't enough...our family came down with the stomach flu last week. (I'll spare you a picture- although S.'s face while stripping beds and using an<i> entire </i>bottle of carpet Spot Shot was thoroughly amusing...if I hadn't been gagging.) <div> <div>Thankfully, we got healthy the day before Hudson went in for surgery. He had ear tubes re-inserted and his adenoids removed. As our most resilient child, he toughed it out and we all had a beautiful family day filled with popsicles, ice cream, smoothies, and a middle of the day movie. Surgery in style.</div><div>The next day S. packed up to go speak at a middle school weekend retreat, where he will be until tomorrow. (We joked about who would get more sleep- the one with 4 small children or the one with 100 middle schoolers.)</div><div><br /></div><div>So here I am with one baby hiccuping beside me, one toddler going through many pairs of underwear, one pre-schooler who hears well and is adenoid free, and one kindergartener (oh, shoot! Kindergarten! Back to that on Monday.) </div><div><br /></div><div>With a twinkle in his eye, S. has been reminding me of my favorite quote by William Ross Wallace,<i> "The hand that rocks the cradle rules the world." </i></div><div>Look out...we are out for some serious world dominance, people. </div><div><br /></div></div>Shilo Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07112722572934509091noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4826338008550786247.post-44492719926703687992011-03-22T14:57:00.000-07:002011-03-26T20:10:35.226-07:00Percentage ChanceMy dad is a visionary. He likes to dream big and his favorite conversations are about what could be. Growing up it was sometimes hard to gauge if the things we discussed around the dinner table were probable, likely, or just fun to dream about. <div>I discovered a way to determine what type of intentions were behind our dreaming by asking, "What's the percentage chance, Dad?"</div><div>He would laugh and then throw out a percentage that would give me a slight indication. When I asked the percentage chance we'd move into the house that looked like a castle in Redding, CA and he said, "25%" I knew I should get comfortable where I was. When we first toured Lynden, WA in 1997 I asked, "What's the percentage chance we'll move there?" he replied, "87%". I knew it was safe to start imagining. Then in following weeks when it changed to "93%" I knew it was time to break out the moving boxes. </div><div><br /></div><div>My need to know the percentage chance has become a family joke. My dad thinks he's quite clever to turn the tables...when I was choosing colleges, when we were debating about moving to Mount Vernon, whenever a big decision is on the horizon he gets a gleam in his eye and has to ask. </div><div><br /></div><div>Last month when we were praying for Little Girly, working on some potential projects for BIG OAK, weighing options for our house...I got antsy. S. was cleaning breakfast dishes and I was hovering- asking every question as though he held the answers.</div><div><br /></div><div>"What do you <i>think </i>about how this is playing out with Little Girly? Do you have a feeling either way about it? Do you think it's going to happen? I mean...when you pray...do you feel like you know <i>anything</i>?" On and on I processed.</div><div><br /></div><div>Teasingly, S. said, "Are you looking for a percentage chance here?"</div><div>"I guess. Yes! A percentage chance of <i>SOMETHING</i>!"</div><div><br /></div><div>Then quite seriously he said, "Every time I pray about any of our current circumstances I feel like the Lord points me to Moses wandering the desert with the Israelites. He's shown me that in that season, all they were required to do was to be obedient daily." It wasn't for them to set goals as to when they would enter the Promised Land. It wasn't for them to store up manna or anything else that the Lord provided. Each day with the dawn came provision, a call to obedience, and God building a relationship with His people. S. pointed out to me that "every time the Israelites got caught up in their percentage chances, or lost the focus of being obedient and present in that day alone- they were swept up into idolatry, immorality, and self indulgence."</div><div><br /></div><div>I frowned and cringed. It didn't solve that antsy feeling but I knew by the level at which his words resonated that it is true. I would love to store up manna, would love to set goals and move in a direction that I confidently feel God's blessing over. Ah, but it doesn't seem to be an option for us right now. </div><div><br /></div><div>Perhaps a day will come where foresight is more than by the hour, but what a reminder <i>right now</i> is to the way the Lord calls me to live. Perhaps not as contentedly as my husband, but I am fully present in what today is. </div><div>I don't know if Little Girly will be ours forever. I don't know how many days I have with any of my kids, for that matter. Two of my dear friends lost babies this week- one in the first trimester and one at 23 weeks. I was reminded that no matter what we think we know, what we try to control, these things are not really in our hands even to begin with. </div><div><br /></div><div>We are moving forward with selling our house...percentage chance that it will sell before foreclosure? Percentage chance that our income will meet our monthly "goals" for ourselves on a regular basis? Percentage that Little Girly will become a Taylor?</div><div><br /></div><div>No idea. </div><div><br /></div><div>Percentage chance I will rest in the Lord tonight? Getting close to 100%. </div><div>Percentage chance that all four children will be tucked in and quiet by 9pm tonight? Significantly less than 100%.</div><div><br /></div>Shilo Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07112722572934509091noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4826338008550786247.post-67526619287296024032011-03-16T14:43:00.000-07:002011-03-16T19:02:15.787-07:00My Not-So-Quiet Time Chair<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">This morning in my "quiet time" chair, I got the giggles. I got the giggles because sitting in my chair was anything but quiet.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Our Little Girly is adjusting to our family beautifully. Darla summed up how we all feel when she said, "Mom- I don't feel like things are really that different with her here. But if she has to leave..</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">.that</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"> would feel really different. I wouldn't like that at ALL." </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">During nap times, Darla has Little Girly in the crib in he</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman'; ">r room. She takes great pride in being the one to get Little Girly to sleep for her afternoon nap. Darla stands by the crib giving a pacifier, singing, and talking until eyes are heavy and both girls settle in for a rest. Their beds are no more than three feet apart, but even that feels too far for Darla. So instead of napping in her own bed, she sets up blankets on the floor and lays against the crib- as close to Little Girly as possible.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">The sweet moments are many and my mind is quickly trying to snapshot it all and file it away. Which is why I chose to laugh this morning in my quiet time chair instead of letting exasperation sneak in. As it is when adding any new member to the family, adjustments are made. As I expected, Everett takes the brunt of the adjus</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman'; ">ting. It is so good for him to not be the youngest. With a strong will and a natural inclination to feel entitled, it is a blessing for him to have someone to protect and nurture. It's also good for me to have no time to give in to a power struggle!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">As I did with my other kids, I make an effort to include Everett and affirm his new role as big brother and I also make sure we have some time to read while I give Little Girly a bottle, or to rock before naps while Hudson plays with Little Girly. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">I'm finding that Everett isn't extra clingy or whiny... but his mischievousness is at work when I am preoccupied. This morning while I was sitting in the quiet time chair feeding Little Girly, Everett barreled in. Somehow he managed to narrowly miss my coffee on the end table but with his elbow caught a potted plant and sent it flyin</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman'; ">g. He picked up what he could and I assured him I'd help him take care of the rest when I was done. Darla and Hudson were running in and out and getting ready for the day. As they ran back down the hall, Everett decided to peek-a-boo behind my chair. Instead, he knocked into a floor lamp and broke the lightbulb. Then as he popped back out, managed to pop Little Girly on the head with his own head sending her to tears.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">After "Sorry baby! Sorry baby!" I suggested he find something to do with Hudson. They were quiet for a couple minutes and then emerged re</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">ady to fix my lightbulb. They were wearing hard hats, working goggles, and a utility belt. In their arms were </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">all the lightbulbs</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"> from the hall closet. Mercy! Hudson's idea was that Little Girly and I scoot forward on the chair so he could stand on the back to reach the lamp.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">At this point I laughed my way to the bathroom where S. was getting ready. After explaining the situation to him, he good naturedly joined the boys and after a group effort (how many Taylor men does it take....) they changed the light bulb.</span></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnGZF7Q5hTIQEGAIo1WLR0M63X-8d-NHGa4cY7x9mxHF6dgfCOwDYUZ0-iHkThsTvZMT2ft8dfCEPI-pzcMWLmm9Xtq9_z-AQAsyGyoTf-DJ0xqKNxDuLYg-1Gh-i_l9aYNn0OL9wE6Ys/s400/DSCN1122.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584861789876297826" /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">This is a fifteen minute snippet into what my days are currently like. This morning was a drastic improvement from yesterday when I took Everett to the doctor for allergies and swollen glands only to have him fully throw up in the doctor's waiting room. He has never thrown up in his life and thankfully was fine afterwards. (I spent a nervous few hours mapping out how I would handle the stomach flu with four little ones.) Throw up in public was a parenting first for me.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Every time the chaos bubbles over and I'm up to my ears, I grab my phone. You see- when I had just turned six, my siblings were four and two, and my parents adopted a baby. Ironically, my children are the exact same ages. My mom understands like no one else and has a beautiful perspective now that all four of her children have stopped (for the most part) keeping her up at night. So we laugh, commiserate, and strategize. Then I hang up ready for what the next fifteen minutes might hold. </span></div>Shilo Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07112722572934509091noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4826338008550786247.post-33619654062828328622011-03-11T14:42:00.000-08:002011-03-11T15:11:25.756-08:00A Most Productive Un-Productive Week<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzhRmSegAxUHE4UdmTur-5JNkprH3C1F41-mGhf_lV9xlsXRZdVrWqhZHw062MVIhi1JvZXiQ-8lIikrqFieJRV_MGdB2AO4GdqSDgpMifct66eqW61peR9OSSnvoIRelG8rfkDry3228/s1600/DSCN1118.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzhRmSegAxUHE4UdmTur-5JNkprH3C1F41-mGhf_lV9xlsXRZdVrWqhZHw062MVIhi1JvZXiQ-8lIikrqFieJRV_MGdB2AO4GdqSDgpMifct66eqW61peR9OSSnvoIRelG8rfkDry3228/s400/DSCN1118.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582956538939508674" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Oh yes, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">now</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"> I remember what it's like to have a baby. I remember what it's like after a string of interruptions to say, "What was I just going to do? Oh yeah, I had to go to the bathroom... was that really an hour ago?" I remember what it's like to wake up at 5am and realize, "Hooray! She's sleeping through the night!" and then be too excited to go back to sleep. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Each day I have my list of to-dos and each night my jaw drops at how little I was able to accomplish. In fact, one morning this week S. was about to shower when he realized he didn't even have one pair of clean underwear. Never in 10 years have I let that happen! </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">It has taken immense discipline for me to slow down, block out the messes, unanswered e mails, and lists to focus in on our new Little Girly. It is quite different than having my other three kids as infants because Little Girly came with an empty love tank. I have determined to comfort her often. I'm pretty sure the only way she was comforted was with a bottle so it's taking much effort to teach her to be comforted by touch, singing, and cuddling- not to mention the resulting eating habits that need correcting. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Our CPS social worker came over to check on Little Girly and find out how our first week went. When the social worker began speaking to her, Little Girly grinned and cooed back. The social worker in surprise told me, "The foster family who had her the night before I brought her here said they couldn't get a smile or much eye contact from her. I found the same thing the day I had her."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">After a few more minutes of debriefing, she shook her head and said, "I can't believe the difference a week has already made in her."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">This morning when I walked in the room Little Girly gave me an enthusiastic reception complete with grins and leg kicks. Just a few days ago I would have to say her name repeatedly to get her to focus in on me. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">S. came in while I was giving her a bath and I pointed out how she doesn't seem scared of the bath anymore- she actually got a few splashes in! </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">As he walked out of the bathroom he said, "See? Look at what a hugely productive week you've had."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">I'm so glad he feels that way...because I'm not sure how much clean underwear is left.</span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Shilo Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07112722572934509091noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4826338008550786247.post-25332270450526365112011-03-07T14:26:00.000-08:002011-03-07T21:02:24.975-08:00Yes- this picture is a repeat but it works so well here, too.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdfvp7fgEwFInp2U-BvHvjEGQHt3rFSEVjeFuvhC9lAYH91PIjk3j-PNDvryT53-DawyYeLFhIYy9MnT7OwbuCkc83HILyDJkWFsjFZ3_t8ecOBGSAQenPNXNOpVQLoaE64m4cujgJERI/s1600/DSCN1037.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdfvp7fgEwFInp2U-BvHvjEGQHt3rFSEVjeFuvhC9lAYH91PIjk3j-PNDvryT53-DawyYeLFhIYy9MnT7OwbuCkc83HILyDJkWFsjFZ3_t8ecOBGSAQenPNXNOpVQLoaE64m4cujgJERI/s400/DSCN1037.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581479005222371858" /></a><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">"Oh, I could never be a foster parent. I couldn't handle the heartbreak of getting attached to a child and then have them taken away."</span></i><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">How many times I have heard someone say that in my lifetime. In fact, at one time I said that myself. Initially when we decided to adopt, I resisted the option to foster-to-adopt for that very reason. Oh, the risk! The potential to be hurt! </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Then the Lord began showing me that His will isn't for me to insulate myself from heartbreak. His will isn't that I build up safeguards around me so that I ensure a risk-free life. He began showing me people who pour out their lives for others...even as their own hearts are vulnerable. I don't think Mother Teresa began serving the poor because she could handle it or "it doesn't really affect me. I don't get attached so I'm the one for the job."</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">On the contrary, I believe she was the one for the job because she was compelled by Christ to love, to the point of her own discomfort (and even depression).</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">"For the love of Christ compels us, because we judge thus; that if One died for all, then all died; and He died for all, that those who live should live no longer for themselves, but for Him who died for them and rose again." 2 Corinthians 5:14,15</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">If Christ is my example then it is quite clear that remaining detached and safe is not the game plan. The intensity of His love, the rejection and heartbreak He experienced, the physical pain, the whole "coming down and becoming human" part... there is not another example of One who never holds loved ones at arms length. He has decided it is </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">always </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">worth the fight. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">I don't believe everyone is called to foster care but I do believe if we profess Christ as our Savior, we are then to trust </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Him</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"> with our heart- not our own judgment. I have had my heart broken in various ways and as much as I wish I would never again experience that trampled on feeling, I know that the Lord is near to those who have broken hearts. I know He has a beautiful way to redeem the pain eternally and it causes me to be a deeper, more empathetic person in the meantime. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">All that being said- I have to remind myself </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">hourly</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"> of these beliefs I hold. Every time I scoop up our Little Girly, every time I'm trying to get her to drink a bottle but she's too busy cooing at me- I realize that if I don't get to be her Mom forever I might break. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">I suppose I should be holding all of my kids this way: realizing their lives are in the hand of God and not my own, believing that His best is better than my best, and loving them with everything in me for the days that I do have them. Oh...but it's much more real when waiting to hear from CPS if we will get to move forward with adopting. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Regardless of how many days we get to love on Little Girly, I am already amazed at how God has orchestrated her arrival. For months Darla has been drawing pictures of our family and including "the sister we adopt". One picture had a name written above it. I remarked that it was a cute name for a little sister and remembered it because it was the only time Darla put a name on the mysterious "adopted sister". She had read it from a book or something.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">When the placement coordinator first called a month ago and described the situation and Little Girly, I told her we would like to have her placed with us.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">As I was ready to hang up, the placement coordinator said, "By the way- her name is ___." I hung up feeling miffed and somewhat delighted. It was the same name Darla put on her picture weeks before. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">We prayed for her without ceasing, as a family, for the past month. When I took Little Girly to the doctor on Friday he marveled at how well she is doing. He was quite surprised that this was the same Girly that came out of such an unhealthy situation because there are no indicators of her previous situation. It has built our faith knowing how miraculously the Lord protected her.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Speaking of miracles...she just had the best nap yet but is now telling me expressively that it is time to eat! </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div>Shilo Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07112722572934509091noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4826338008550786247.post-21710483583508825152011-03-03T19:58:00.000-08:002011-03-03T20:15:41.382-08:00A Midnight Gift<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnP_mZKXJtjaET_ldPl31bLXRD2TGno9vFBezgkdirBCs6HIndvTn8Or_S0QYsECOOmX1PcyGVFg2IwSn8X1bmpnrsT-apMrmshvZilJ9QJN7wfee7jzzSX6wQedsMMfz9ANwV9HVktw8/s1600/DSCN1037.JPG"><br /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnP_mZKXJtjaET_ldPl31bLXRD2TGno9vFBezgkdirBCs6HIndvTn8Or_S0QYsECOOmX1PcyGVFg2IwSn8X1bmpnrsT-apMrmshvZilJ9QJN7wfee7jzzSX6wQedsMMfz9ANwV9HVktw8/s400/DSCN1037.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580069318881108706" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">At 1am this morning we got to see how God answered our prayers for the little one we've had on our hearts for a month now. In fact, this little girly has been smothered with kisses, held, rocked, had six hands fighting over who gets to hold the bottle...all day today.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">I would love to pour out the miracles; beautiful moments orchestrated by God that we are seeing. At the same time, foster care has heavy responsibilities in confidentiality and privacy during this stage. So many stories yet to come.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">We probably won't know for awhile if we'll get to adopt Little Girly but I can tell you it took all of one minute to decide that we'd like to! At this stage her social worker will be exploring what the best permanent solution for her will be. We would love for you to join us in praying for God's best. There seems to be quite a battle going on and we believe that God has a beautiful redemptive story to write with her life. Please pray that nothing would hinder the best and that she would be protected in her body and soul. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">I was hoping to share more but I have four kiddos to tuck in to bed so it will have to wait- thank you for all your prayers and sharing in our giddiness!</span></div>Shilo Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07112722572934509091noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4826338008550786247.post-43944580408574631532011-02-22T14:23:00.000-08:002011-02-22T15:38:46.271-08:00The new thing<div style="text-align: left;">Marrying someone with big vision can feel like that moment a plane takes off when you close your eyes for a moment, take a deep, calming breath, and work hard to not leave fingernail marks on the armrests.</div><div><br /></div><div>I have had a few people ask about S.'s ventures with<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#990000;"> </span><a href="http://mycuprunnethallover.blogspot.com/2010/10/growing-that-acorn.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#990000;">Big Oa</span></a><a href="http://mycuprunnethallover.blogspot.com/2010/10/growing-that-acorn.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#990000;">k</span></a> and I see their concern. I know they think after eight years of crazy paced youth ministry it's probably not wise to jump into starting a new business. We've had some ask how his anxiety must be now with the financial pressures and other strains of building a new ministry.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>To that I must say...it's the strangest thing. It's strange that in the season that should be the most stressful, we've experienced the most peace. I recently told someone, "I don't know how this is going to turn out for us financially. Some months it seems doable and others it's completely overwhelming. But I do know that if at some point it all comes down, if we have to walk away from it because we can't make it work, we're going to be just fine. It wouldn't devastate us because for the first time our marriage is healthy, we have the same vision and are excited about moving in the same direction, our kids are healthy and thriving... and we are on our knees in prayer and focused on the Lord <i>every day</i>."</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I wouldn't have been able to say that about our little family previously. Honestly, if I had my way I would have had some recoup time of stability, a nest egg, and other practical measures before venturing out into a vast unknown. But no matter how we tried, the Lord kept bringing us back around to this.</div><div><br /></div><div>I told my sister last week, "it's amazing to me that every time I feel doubtful and discouraged- S. has a surge of faith and confidence in what God is doing. Then the days he's ready to throw in the towel, I'm determined that we are where we are supposed to be." That's something.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>December & January were full of encouragement and financial support. February has been hard (it's not over yet!). For those dear worriers who wonder how I hold up under it all- I don't always (hold up) but I do have to say that the <i>only</i> thing I don't like about my husband's job is the not-knowing finances. I <b>love</b> every other aspect.</div><div><br /></div><div>There have been some amazing developments with creating software that can put our devotional material on mobile devices for students. The details would take a separate blog to describe (and truthfully I'm not smart about how it all works...I'm the nerd that wrote the whole devotional with a pen and college ruled paper. I know- I'm old school.) </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>S. is partnering with a local church who sent their youth pastor on a few month sabbatical. The youth pastor had a similar crash & burn experience to S. a few years ago. Now S. has an opportunity not only to walk with his pastor friend, but also partner with the church in leader training, vision casting, and mentoring while his friend takes a needed rest.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>We've had camp opportunities in abundance. One well known local camp has hired S. not only for speaking but asked Big Oak to give the camp a boost with marketing and networking. </div><div>It's also looking like Big Oak will put on a camp next fall for leaders and students in the area from multiple churches. The details are awesome (and as usual- slightly unconventional) but will also wait for a future blog.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>This past weekend S. spoke at a camp at Mt. Baker. 3 nights of building relationships with a few youth pastors from WA, speaking 6 times to a group of 100 high school students, and a day of skiing...seriously?! This is work?! The kids, my sister-in-law Megan, and I went up on Sunday during free time to sled, drink hot chocolate, and meet some students and leaders.</div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirLFjpc8-s8O1faE3Wr3NY0mIkspdnvs0VzREIlkOQc1reQIHM0c3pBgihXqioGCc9UKtbVMzP9SycwclihbjgKCwHBwRHIoxfwOaGTtNBwV25lEB_I-1vxJaW-k7TzkTPYXGAKZoUSuI/s400/DSCN0961.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576655128822246978" /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ9HE_t6T9_VwYy62eGydTE525NV1aP7XHSvmstPBWWAan-8O4TbrEa1zD4yj6g_KixD9bz_48BdrDVxibRszkM5u0JZbkfCTAb-yl9tpvT39OlnZ2VdEC8C1_kb-YhTsN_sX7z4CW9t8/s400/DSCN0960.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576655023255908114" /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN0nJFsA54ZMTD7liKlm4hMJ8Ti1l9JqZn6Lk0uh6FLinT69ukvhxyQzlnfi2qFrIQQkH41-hDpTJEBpfHTDCYzWormhBFh7Cre-0CpOs6Q2WuFYr4Cd0L07wfweRxPMNMbn_C-HWIJpI/s400/DSCN0965.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576654953049056002" /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihB1XsC90iBC3ddB4CDsgIZ_fu2kN37boDgpaUnC9KY675JI_qouVc5KdjX8QHfaOSVjvFvhWQTDvRKFDD9uH5RIfLrvBBqZNGAEfjDhc2WJsaS0H2EimrKa46a4nB0zFFisTnW5WpUXo/s400/DSCN0968.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576654829711339042" /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHkk9zvlPlpVv_SrvorRoQE0Ifx4SfHYy_9IdUUqg8_CLvzOuduiJKq6EFSv1ncQFUllAe6z63ShlynAQ7f_1vCSO6Ymt5YSqZdfEds6FRVIKVH06HysMVblQLsKHXWSH29ILKSeQFSDg/s400/DSCN0983.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576654665195894098" /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXfK-MQLzwGoxmP2JMYqPiIZ2aH8MkEBGiqGby6I8KM-zd4hC26615uUjIrzZ-dMWZ1CT4Jtxe-26-5aaJ0YayzlRVzcbWKvY5gBupLqfsOj2N_mIymokZ3LSrd_TpwxD8WHewuiCLel8/s400/DSCN0991.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576654557373992978" /><div>By God's grace we are doing all of this and yet living a maintainable pace, taking time to play and rest, having time to bless others and eat meals together. We all work hard but we also turn it off and get to apply those great ideals of "margin" and "boundaries". </div><div><br /></div><div>The verse this week that speaks to me on so many levels is Isaiah 43:18,19 <i>"Do not remember the former things, nor consider the things of old. Behold, I will do a new thing, now it shall spring forth; shall you not know it? I will even make a road in the wilderness and rivers in the desert."</i></div>Shilo Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07112722572934509091noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4826338008550786247.post-44629425488605001242011-02-17T15:28:00.000-08:002011-02-17T19:27:20.102-08:00Love, Love<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">When I met S. I was anti-Valentine's Day. Maybe it was the non-conformist in me, maybe it was the overt commercialism, maybe it was the feeling of forced affection or the combination of pink and red. Regardless, I informed S. that I wasn't a fan of the love fest that is February 14.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">He responded by an over-the-top romantic dinner, flowers, sparkling cider (with a custom label he made and glued on), a menu he designed with inside jokes incorporated, and lots of pink and red. He did this all on February 13 and called it an "Un-Valentine" celebration. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">So...I lost that battle. As I've so </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">obviously</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"> matured I do enjoy Valentine's but wanted to make it a family celebration instead of just a romantic night for S. and me. Last year a dear friend surprised Darla and me by sending a Valentine package- everything we needed to throw a party for the five of us. It began a fun tradition for the five of us. This year we were again surprised by a Valentine kit in the mail and set to work decorating. </span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkI1eP77U1FU8bWYpuDsqhkEWaTiJd02St_sCd9e_Jz47eD1QwPnXSHVW48rct8ORiFYSvC6NrNSsfp7Lta34PagXu-Mepi93ls3QcYXSqLmfK7ziTlNWl8OZpMKO_icPgL97ctYR0rvQ/s1600/DSCN0820.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkI1eP77U1FU8bWYpuDsqhkEWaTiJd02St_sCd9e_Jz47eD1QwPnXSHVW48rct8ORiFYSvC6NrNSsfp7Lta34PagXu-Mepi93ls3QcYXSqLmfK7ziTlNWl8OZpMKO_icPgL97ctYR0rvQ/s400/DSCN0820.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574806972283308178" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2jyf6pJqkeEvREEUWYQibefZMiml6MrztYM9YqU2v6ZUBYHUlzB3z6a4gOzJagw-f2ulhpRuUfcvydlHmjO2_FmqyC7Rb7ARBf6NGvhNw2eCtu0p08bMrBnr4qNR1PWi15tcvl-V3mp8/s1600/DSCN0817.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2jyf6pJqkeEvREEUWYQibefZMiml6MrztYM9YqU2v6ZUBYHUlzB3z6a4gOzJagw-f2ulhpRuUfcvydlHmjO2_FmqyC7Rb7ARBf6NGvhNw2eCtu0p08bMrBnr4qNR1PWi15tcvl-V3mp8/s400/DSCN0817.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574806858843178866" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2hl9qhH7jnC-GLAvgBqCtaRImAlLSTrjxsEr8JyvBRwBQP9FrGHUXv7rGpDFiul99CNcdgXsnmK1HZBRHrPkvAl-sTMeuNAK7YV381SDjn1k1lgy4TsA5Yoqcbk2HHFplnJip9G_OQQU/s1600/DSCN0821.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2hl9qhH7jnC-GLAvgBqCtaRImAlLSTrjxsEr8JyvBRwBQP9FrGHUXv7rGpDFiul99CNcdgXsnmK1HZBRHrPkvAl-sTMeuNAK7YV381SDjn1k1lgy4TsA5Yoqcbk2HHFplnJip9G_OQQU/s400/DSCN0821.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574806542155560994" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Darla adores Valentine's. She loves the decorating, the creativity, the getting "fanced up" as she calls it, and mostly...the ice cream sundaes.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihAn3n0CDR7-biqTUye5kTcdOpcr-02V0ZtiFotFlLuliUH1i1bpFcwJHO7uICY8TsQUFHnH93C4thI8AMRy0JTBo2-UEW_mMsMuz6qduQYFxaGT5_5BcVggiVLGF9YypURy4KlNeC31Y/s1600/DSCN0846.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihAn3n0CDR7-biqTUye5kTcdOpcr-02V0ZtiFotFlLuliUH1i1bpFcwJHO7uICY8TsQUFHnH93C4thI8AMRy0JTBo2-UEW_mMsMuz6qduQYFxaGT5_5BcVggiVLGF9YypURy4KlNeC31Y/s400/DSCN0846.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574806351458230562" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Loving on their valentine.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1gi5j9IfpytZ-ZBQ0cOS5q2H8giFJlyo1ZTmeWklpB3wJv3j-qmO3d0s64hkJHOgMir_baZYjmlpCM0zESntzNsEe9_LO-B2z-sMRQwDCMvft93yOXGEPBQA4EOHOTsF9Jil0Xr3oEFE/s1600/DSCN0828.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1gi5j9IfpytZ-ZBQ0cOS5q2H8giFJlyo1ZTmeWklpB3wJv3j-qmO3d0s64hkJHOgMir_baZYjmlpCM0zESntzNsEe9_LO-B2z-sMRQwDCMvft93yOXGEPBQA4EOHOTsF9Jil0Xr3oEFE/s400/DSCN0828.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574806230980567266" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0g0PZ0R3qNC1z8CqyHz-hdn2ffpFczlHZvjLoUx1RUM172Dod-EIP4HSeLoMjVKcZve1GNVOaWuKoy0QHHoqWDm0UZ875beopjv8ZTNt0qIwO-FzjkqO9CxowRTM_PuvAgcm5kf_osOU/s1600/DSCN0837.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0g0PZ0R3qNC1z8CqyHz-hdn2ffpFczlHZvjLoUx1RUM172Dod-EIP4HSeLoMjVKcZve1GNVOaWuKoy0QHHoqWDm0UZ875beopjv8ZTNt0qIwO-FzjkqO9CxowRTM_PuvAgcm5kf_osOU/s400/DSCN0837.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574806090829056002" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh24lIxjhxEfEAXITadw3NFQGr7wwr6KQqTrzgPgR4AN3GxKrNjX_RKvXIVXuWTcak6z0UdTGXjb4wXglapUpQmFHI6KqHmXzR44MkRqGZOedM-adBFVm-qQIiAoRBlItS2v4kQHBSL09s/s1600/DSCN0835.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh24lIxjhxEfEAXITadw3NFQGr7wwr6KQqTrzgPgR4AN3GxKrNjX_RKvXIVXuWTcak6z0UdTGXjb4wXglapUpQmFHI6KqHmXzR44MkRqGZOedM-adBFVm-qQIiAoRBlItS2v4kQHBSL09s/s400/DSCN0835.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574805992087475426" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Notice that we managed one shot with nice smiles... except for S. looking tough...<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG6-vGhD3A5U3e5nBGu851VaT6SZUDnwGBTeay17oo0X3I_Q08-jLGLlzBwHtp_5OKOsCoheXhmucGR9qT4s1fMgjzyqqUhExH9ViGBsgehQH4bJqR1B3zk15hUNUB_9iFsjsDKoP_NEs/s1600/DSCN0848.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG6-vGhD3A5U3e5nBGu851VaT6SZUDnwGBTeay17oo0X3I_Q08-jLGLlzBwHtp_5OKOsCoheXhmucGR9qT4s1fMgjzyqqUhExH9ViGBsgehQH4bJqR1B3zk15hUNUB_9iFsjsDKoP_NEs/s400/DSCN0848.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574805843123880482" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">When we say "smile for the camera" my kids think it means "pull a funny face and try to make everyone laugh"... which they apparently get from their father.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWc8jAoYB5rkSNoaziDBAOixW8aaG67vUKxnaaIr5DihE-7VEn3ChjG_VR77wEh0uJdCqYP4UVBXore8vnHFIXqtfEJwXSnfkmGjw5Vn5f6a35B4vaTmby33fCGIqw1Hz_E7OwUiPDiQU/s1600/DSCN0853.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWc8jAoYB5rkSNoaziDBAOixW8aaG67vUKxnaaIr5DihE-7VEn3ChjG_VR77wEh0uJdCqYP4UVBXore8vnHFIXqtfEJwXSnfkmGjw5Vn5f6a35B4vaTmby33fCGIqw1Hz_E7OwUiPDiQU/s400/DSCN0853.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574805748193854946" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">And of course- my valentine.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWT5SmXOw2ba8lsu-uC6pZCbGCmZYgpPqCjlh2JIM-9K3KjQskN1cSZRVqpOC4AqnhMEj5Fho2sLEz0xBLKWSi5B2ExZ7tabiO4Us0E9YNV5_Rs14mfn-Dlnf9cgq_KlV64I8NoqJo9Yg/s1600/DSCN0859.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWT5SmXOw2ba8lsu-uC6pZCbGCmZYgpPqCjlh2JIM-9K3KjQskN1cSZRVqpOC4AqnhMEj5Fho2sLEz0xBLKWSi5B2ExZ7tabiO4Us0E9YNV5_Rs14mfn-Dlnf9cgq_KlV64I8NoqJo9Yg/s400/DSCN0859.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574805467765392418" /></a>Shilo Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07112722572934509091noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4826338008550786247.post-22645674547085385722011-02-14T14:40:00.000-08:002011-02-15T14:44:36.668-08:00Surrendered passions<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">It seems to me that when the Lord plants a passion in a person, there isn't much way around it. All the rationalizing, predicting, and philosophizing doesn't matter.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">I think of my Beppe who had a passion for Africa. There were many more reasons to </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">not</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"> go but it still wasn't enough to keep her here. She packed her three small blonde daughters out to remote Nigeria to then birth two boys while there. In spite of near death experiences, language barriers, and malaria- she has such sweet memories fro</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman'; ">m her time there.</span></div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">When S. fell in love with youth ministry, there were many reasons to find something more professional in his projected field of speech communications. Reasons like- you should stop pulling all nighters when you get to a certain age, the money is typically not there, who really wants to get panicked middle of the night calls from teenagers who </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">aren't yours</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">?, no group of people think they know so much and really know so little... and the list goes on. The list doesn't matter to S. He may have battled anxiety, never had a normal weekend, spent nights away from home counseling students and days counseling their </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">parents, but the thought of youth ministry still brings an excited grin and a stream of creative ideas. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">For me it's adoption. I was six when my brother was adopted so it must have started some time after that, but it feels like it was always there. Of the 45 of us cousins on my Dad's side, nearly half are adopted. I never tired of hearing the details of each story. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">When I was in high school, my best friend's parents did foster care. I loved spending time at their house watching his impassioned mom love on kids and ultimately adopt a handful of them.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">I've watched numerous challenges arise from families adopting but no matter what I see and hear, I can't make it deter me. It's too ingrained to be severed with reasoning. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Over a year and a half ago S. and I decided to act on it and pursue adoption. For the first time we were both on the same page (at the same time) and excited to see where the journey would lead. Then we moved, then we were pulled a thousand directions, then we moved again, changed jobs, and for much of our year had nothing to call a 'job'. At different times we stopped and started the process to get our foster license with the ultimate goal of adopting. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">For most of my life I assumed </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">of course</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"> God wants me to adopt. He tells us to care for orphans, I've seen Him work some amazing stories for so many children...surely we'll have our own story. Yet as God has given me this passion, surrounded me w</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman'; ">ith an amazing church body adopting children left and right, with my own sister adopting, with resources, and a degree in education- He has also been teaching me to hold my hands open. I am understanding that even the dreams He has given me need to be surrendered to Him.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">An interesting way He has been leading has been through children who we anticipate having in our home. In the course of our marriage, 4 times we have thought "maybe </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">that's</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"> the child we'll have in our home!" Each time we have known the child's name, his or her story, and prayed fervently for God's best in their life. We've come to a place- each time- of being willing to swing the door open and add to our family. Each time we think we are swinging the door open... it swings shut instead. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">In January I was able to hear an update on one of the little </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman'; ">boys we had thought we might adopt. I learned he was adopted by a couple who loves the Lord and are unable to have biological children. Hearing about how events transpired allowed me to release all my questions about the situation. I had a great peace knowing God had called me for a season to intercede for this little guy until he could get home.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman'; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">I had needed the encouragement because in September we were told we were getting a baby girl. I waited to get things ready because I know how these things go in foster care. The social worker called and said she'd have her to us within a couple hours... but then other events transpired. I tucked the car seat back into storage and trusted that for whatever reason I was again called to pray for a little one I'll never meet.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">A week and a half ago we got a call. Again. We were guarded yet knew we were called to pray. Again we were told "you'll have her later today". Still not ready to get hopes up, we waited. When the social worker called and said, "I'll be on my way within the hour" I finally pulled out some blankets and pajamas to wash.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">Half an hour later we found out "not tonight- hopefully tom</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'times new roman'; ">orrow". More events transpired and it's not looking probable that she will be a Taylor either.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">I don't pretend to comprehend the roller coaster of a journey we are on. I don't even pretend to know which way is up. I do know that the Lord doesn't waste these experiences. Our prayers for these kids do not go unheard. I know that even without adopting ourselves, the Lord is using our family to pray on the front lines. Listening to my kids pray for the last little girl brought me to the brink of tears multiple times last week. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">We have been required (by the grace of God) to hold everything with open hands and I trust that even if our hands are never filled up the way we anticipate- our passions will still not go to waste.</span></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqAR3LyvTcTAdjZhM6YGi0ULReXYt64oT03xJ8z-XfH180kNUvzShis_hyXvrhzV8MbZfNlUW7HisbOIdS2k10Ug3wEDWYsUD8Qab2J5EfwVNl5d7n_qAhlUKTU_5zHdP6Jt6MwPEpnak/s400/DSCN0824.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574049194162500802" /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';">In the meantime, I am thoroughly enjoying this little trio. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><br /></span><div><br /></div></div></div>Shilo Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07112722572934509091noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4826338008550786247.post-33666899496319423852011-02-01T14:46:00.001-08:002011-02-01T15:12:30.758-08:00Superheroes and Snow Leopards<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwudB7coa0c0Zu5ZftHJ9p4CVJmbat85L28DVFMsgvf-tiIShOhTta5VxxG2qPutq7eVUFM0gahhQrv4OLuvSQMQKcqeeMTvwdF78xjbbODqln1EC1f_wyk9zZ-zVTnm0mq_6vvihAWEY/s1600/DSCN0659.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwudB7coa0c0Zu5ZftHJ9p4CVJmbat85L28DVFMsgvf-tiIShOhTta5VxxG2qPutq7eVUFM0gahhQrv4OLuvSQMQKcqeeMTvwdF78xjbbODqln1EC1f_wyk9zZ-zVTnm0mq_6vvihAWEY/s400/DSCN0659.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568856451276814210" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_2MuAr2yJ0A5H7ThFf_N5JfF4CoepHQBEfTz8JT93Y6yyRlelgHtVbZ0kBA4CabOvjbxOtsWtSQfr7HYdD7JiWxrruMj8FLoGlSqxVPBAJxrHJ8_NUyzIx7OQOrru9LqmLtjSD4WK8Zg/s1600/DSCN0652.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_2MuAr2yJ0A5H7ThFf_N5JfF4CoepHQBEfTz8JT93Y6yyRlelgHtVbZ0kBA4CabOvjbxOtsWtSQfr7HYdD7JiWxrruMj8FLoGlSqxVPBAJxrHJ8_NUyzIx7OQOrru9LqmLtjSD4WK8Zg/s400/DSCN0652.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568856352815602850" /></a>Last night my boys dressed up as Spiderman and Batman. I heard Hudson (Batman) say, "Everett- say, 'send out your best soldier'"! <div>Everett (Spiderman) complied. </div><div>Batman responded with "I come at you in the NAME OF THE LORD!"<div>I came around the corner to find Batman and Spiderman facing off...with punching gloves on.</div><div>"Were you guys just quoting David and Goliath?"</div><div>Batman the plagiarizer looked up sheepishly. "Yeah, David said that. But I'm Batman."</div><div>Oh. Clearly.</div><div><br /></div><div>This morning the superheroes were back at it. Darla was feeling left out and sulking accordingly. I suggested that she use her own dress up to be a princess superhero. Eagerly, she put on her Christmas dress. </div><div>"Mom, I kinda look like a snow leopard with the spots on my dress. Huh. I think I'll be Queen of the Snow Leopards. I'll live in the Arctic. When it gets too cold and dark then I'll migrate to the rainforest." (Can you tell what she's been learning about?)</div><div><br /></div><div>So... running up and down the hall, up and across my bed, 3 very unique superheroes saved some snow leopards and subsequently ruled over them. </div><div><br /></div><div>There you have it. Today's plot, courtesy of the Taylors.</div><div><br /></div></div>Shilo Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07112722572934509091noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4826338008550786247.post-66599130167384968382011-01-24T14:09:00.001-08:002011-01-25T09:20:28.144-08:00Thoroughly & Completely<div style="text-align: left;">Whenever the rain comes down hard enough to start bouncing on the pavement, I remember what it felt like to live in a flood zone; holding my breath that the pummeling rain wouldn't turn into a cresting river.</div><div><br /><div>This morning as the rain poured out the side of our gutters creating a waterfall feature, I was realizing again how many life lessons and analogies I have from my time in a bizarre old farmhouse. (If you want to read more about the events of 911 Hampton Rd.<a href="http://mycuprunnethallover.blogspot.com/2010/01/911-hampton.html">..read here.</a>) One of the lessons I learned was how God thoroughly and completely answers prayer. We had prayed for Him to provide a way for us to remodel our 1936 farmhouse. He did. <b>Thoroughly and completely. </b> He didn't just "send a check in the mail" so we could have our dream. He used a Ford Explorer crashing through the kitchen, a flood, and fantastic insurance. He used our remodel to teach us to trust Him as our True foundation. We learned to run to Him with our fears, that our earthly dreams can be broken in a moment and only things built in Christ will last. Ultimately the things we learned in process were more valuable than if we</div><div>had been handed the keys to an end product.</div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSlZkc-YS5hMaG4a0VDrYmiYA8DkHGFCrM8dAe2JRNdWUwGDvbGwjzUkhcBsZRU9ro1KrIsifeYjLlOQK9XB2QUte5x-BziwjPQW54eei0xR9JlTJNy7tPLUfT25P389uDmS-_6JJ809c/s400/DSC05665.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566172699894106066" />But oh, it hurt! My favorite teacup shattered along with our computer and a favorite desk in the 'hit'. All the sheetrock we worked so hard on had to be ripped down along with my freshly painted rooms. For months I cringed when I heard a car driving fast next to<i> any</i> house. Clean up after the flood was so overwhelming that we procrastinated for months. The cost was high, but our remodel was thorough and complete. Done any other way would have only scraped the surface.<img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjImhB0lSS6PGUneTAQk42Th0W2vjJDW4yNpB_SVHc15woe34cnbc5eCx2uJ2wqQu46jaYEDqo7Snwn4EBSD_YO7iRPl94NnDNO-Bk4UVR6jtX0Xuj1FGuB1D2cmIO5ki0TxYYngKRnqEU/s400/DSCN0633.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566172546154809698" /><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7gtLCmSRTvYDrzRgQuPOxzDjaz4KqUJotnJQJVrTOcLYvy0yM0n2yy_0HCJ-SLnCebOrlw8iTU7AtcR7WqEtiwk8rAQbjOHx1gEU83Bd1l4cB9kKAwLk9IVvp81Zv18uUAx8Y_4IHEqs/s400/DSCN0634.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566172451604290290" /></div><div>This past year God has answered my prayers in the same fashion: unexpectedly and painfully. For example, for years I prayed that S. would take <i>wise</i> leadership in our finances.</div><div>Hooray- God has been answering! </div><div>Argh- He's done it by bringing us to nothing and then convicting S. to prudence and leadership. In the process He hasn't forgotten what<i><b> I </b></i>need to learn; dependance on Him, relinquishing control, that it won't kill us to eat cheap meat for awhile.</div><div>As I whine I am reminded, "<b>Thoroughly and completely.</b> The Lord is answering thoroughly and completely."</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Most of my prayers in the past year have been answered with a brutal "thoroughly and completely" or with a "no". I know without doubt I will look back at this season and see God's big faithful handprint on it. However, in the midst I've felt like "God's going to do what He's going to do. I don't even want to ask." Then I resort to cowering under my gold 'quiet time' chair instead of sitting, praying boldly, on it. Somewhere along the way I didn't even want to pray anymore. When I did, it was only words like "help...be gracious...mercy!" that emerged.</div><div><br /></div><div>Last week I read Isaiah 37 and 38. They are about the king of Judah, Hezekiah, and two separate requests he makes of the Lord. Specifically, the one that spoke straight into my soul was as Hezekiah was on his death bed and begged the Lord to let him live. The Lord had already told him through Isaiah that his life was ending. The Lord answers "yes" and adds fifteen years to Hezekiah's life. He then leads Hezekiah through a process of acknowledging his own sin and inability to save himself- bringing God glory and showing to the nations that the God of Judah is the God able to save. Thoroughly and completely.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Even though I already know God answers prayer and even though I've experienced these things... I had fresh eyes after cowering in exhaustion. The relief in Hezekiah's prayer: going from desperation to the amazement that God was about to restore him somehow became <i>my</i> relief. It is my relief that God does answer thoroughly and completely. It is my relief that God "has heard my prayer and seen my tears" (Isaiah 38:5). It energizes me to know that He has changed course because of the prayers of His own. </div><div><br /></div><div>I've been expectantly waiting for the Lord to bring me to this place. Foolishly I thought He would accomplish a turning in my heart by turning my circumstances. Instead, He used His Word- piercing me in a way that words, unfortunately, can't do justice. You'd think my thick head would wrap around the fact that He doesn't merely work in circumstances or skim the surface...He works thoroughly and completely.</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBrV__bGJNPOX24QNxAal-Sa0bj3yc0bjw2M8Pyw-NEcIPza7w9yg9DlnvzQMRraKUJSN-ZwAaZliGqlf4VPP9FoKErl9_JsvLhvBJM0vPN97St0KbJSE0ZE6IX6E2CGhASqJ5hwrGnVk/s400/DSCN0630.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566172352911106178" /></div>Shilo Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07112722572934509091noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4826338008550786247.post-1803327066578478362011-01-21T15:02:00.001-08:002011-01-21T15:09:37.976-08:00A Little Disturbing<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 37px; "><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">From what I know about explorer Francis Drake, I would have disagreed with him on at least 2 counts: I have nothing against Spain and I </span></span></b><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">like Catholics. However… I stumbled on a prayer he wrote as he ventured out to the west coast of South America and it resonated deeply w</span></span></b><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">ith me:</span></span></b></span></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 243px; height: 208px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYLI0wo0zT3Yg_aNJnZejSWhduQzrI_tyAge0OxTEXjJ3H_HSl15ixEopUYmHIXSWCd4218W-YpNq0SC4e0HSdN0YEuEtkXCtcqouOLOe5wTtlsGBzi3iXRUMG8R5YHcUprp4I8jeEP0k/s400/images-1.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5564779786611606418" /><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 15pt; line-height: 28pt; "><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Prayer of Francis Drake, 1577</span></span></b></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 15pt; line-height: 28pt; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; line-height: normal; border-collapse: collapse; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family:Helvetica, Arial, Gill, sans-serif;font-size:13px;"></span></span></span></i></p><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; display: inline !important; "></p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">Disturb us, Lord, when</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">We are too well pleased with ourselves,</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">When our dreams have come true</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">Because we have dreamed too little,</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">When we arrived safely</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">Because we sailed too close to the shore.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">Disturb us, Lord, when with the abundance of things we possess</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">We have lost our thirst for the waters of life;</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">Having fallen in love with life,</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">We have ceased to dream of eternity</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">And in our efforts to build a new earth,</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">We have allowed our vision Of the new Heaven to dim.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">Disturb us, Lord, to dare more boldly,</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">To venture on wider seas</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">Where storms will show your mastery;</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">Where losing sight of land,</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">We shall find the stars.</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">We ask You to push back</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">The horizons of our hopes;</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">And to push into the future</p><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; ">In strength, courage, hope, and love.</p><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; ">I have been disturbed. It is uncomfortable. It keeps me up at night, contemplating what He calls me to. It sacrifices my comfort. It involves a level of breaking, loss, and empathy that I would never choose for myself.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; ">Yet, if I were comfortable, complacent, self-satisfied, or in love with my life...well, that alternative is much, much more frightening.</span></div><p></p></span></i><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 15pt; line-height: 28pt; "><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; line-height: normal; border-collapse: collapse; -webkit-border-horizontal-spacing: 2px; -webkit-border-vertical-spacing: 2px; font-family:Helvetica, Arial, Gill, sans-serif;font-size:13px;"></span></span></span></i></p><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; display: inline !important; "><br /></p></span></i><p></p>Shilo Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07112722572934509091noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4826338008550786247.post-46639516691659665282011-01-17T13:13:00.000-08:002011-01-17T13:14:16.800-08:00Martin Luther King, Jr. Day<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIYnk1sI0gTRiI8BLd2FPGwys3KRmjaDGa8qHE1tNhK5Fus20e4D8zLOnyn88iuckL-S3Wq-cgKhs55Kdhb_Ab4vjisq2eHo_P7aoTeIrrt6m6XjzS6Zvtm1KIUKhu7MEZ-BqBRnamv_c/s1600/DSC06416.JPG"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIYnk1sI0gTRiI8BLd2FPGwys3KRmjaDGa8qHE1tNhK5Fus20e4D8zLOnyn88iuckL-S3Wq-cgKhs55Kdhb_Ab4vjisq2eHo_P7aoTeIrrt6m6XjzS6Zvtm1KIUKhu7MEZ-BqBRnamv_c/s400/DSC06416.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562927863544392370" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /></a><div style="text-align: justify; ">At the library this week I dug up three children's books pertaining to Martin Luther King, Jr. Day. One paralleled Martin Luther King Jr. with Abraham Joshua Heschel, a Jewish man who came to the United States shortly before his family was killed during Hitler's invasion of Poland. One book is the story of Rosa Parks, and I was especially glad to find an easy reader book from Ruby Bridges' point of view telling about being the first black girl in an all-white school.</div><div style="text-align: justify; "><br /></div><div>My kids have never known that some people are discriminated against. With an armful of books and new concepts... we began reading. Then we stopped reading. Repeatedly. Because they fired questions at me in bewilderment. "Hitler<i> really</i> killed people because they were Jews? Did he <i>know</i> them?" "Where is the drinking fountain for brown skin people? What do they DO if they can't use a white bathroom?" "Why did Ruby need U.S. Marshals to go to school with her? Who would hurt her?"</div><div><br /></div><div>They were appalled and confused. Later that night we began to connect it to our world- if we lived separately from people of other colors, what would that be like? They named their friends in Sunday School who have different colored skin- each time making mention that they would miss them if they couldn't share a classroom with them.</div><div><br /></div><div>"What if Gage and Jude couldn't go to McDonalds with us?" This was the closest to home example. Darla particularly couldn't imagine anyone not loving her cousins just because they have brown skin. "Don't people <i>know</i> that Ethiopians can even teach us a new language?!"</div><div><br /></div><div>I am very thankful that my kids are learning that <i>all</i> people are created by God in His image. I am thankful that it comes as a surprise that not all people believe the same. I am thankful that they are learning now that some things are worth fighting for (or...participating in peaceful activism for...) Their response sobered me. The history I shared with them is familiar to me but triggered fresh passion and 'fight' in me for those that are passed over, looked down on, or persecuted.</div><div><br /></div><div>With a completely different tone- my boys were delighted to get some toys of different color for Christmas this year. Hudson tells me this is Gage and him:</div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieTj8R42Zh0_ecrb97aos_HwZb-zqA8NXSZfu1AmsuK9CzXMsmWTpp5MTuTHLzXxD6ToCNOjSQmIbCBqySovKcy0awX-QDKnO_cuLrl6cDcb3WHdF80Las9Q-CUoscp7CGKr_aSH6MHMc/s400/DSCN0549.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562927643652174450" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " />And, if you can see the resemblance, the following is clearly Jude and Everett:<br /><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2MqNpJ65yJnwm5a7PEAgfDH3Uacua4TOndc-BF0d7Hn5ItwsZlfp3sCnRYHNv_hJ1s2-9nA3jld3Ajoi5H0X_pDv6v8xUoQ_6Ar7JWck8AbsDg3rvxkEKlBxaEx5LwvMiM6fm6g-soXU/s400/DSCN0553.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562927555050876194" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px; " /><div>I'm sure the super heros are just preparing for a peaceful protest...</div><div><br /></div></div>Shilo Taylorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07112722572934509091noreply@blogger.com1