tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-39526020419758398692024-02-07T10:26:58.549-08:00Ardith's QuestJoin me in my search for meaning, for worthwhile pursuits, for discovery.
"Be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you." --1 Peter 3:15Ardith Hawshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04444013839810468453noreply@blogger.comBlogger411125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3952602041975839869.post-25383257443475378042024-01-09T11:37:00.000-08:002024-01-09T12:16:49.878-08:00Get Your Head ExaminedThe most severe insult on the playground? "You need to get your head examined!"
What does one do when that is precisely what has been recommended?
I guess one goes in and has her head examined.
One allows herself to get hooked up to a variety of wires and instruments all used to measure the functions of one's brain.
Talk about a Wake-Up Call.
Welcome to my world. I am facing the reality that although my physical body seems to be aging adequately for most of what I am called upon to do. On the other hand, my brain is not. I find myself struggling to keep track of the day in and day out "normal" requirements of life.
Oh bother....as Winnie The Pooh would say.
I suppose this is the perfect time to count my blessings instead of counting my challenges.
1) I chose very well when I was looking for a spouse. Brian is the most caring man I have ever known. He is patient, and loving, and generous. He is a spiritual giant, knowing from where our blessings come. He knows how to encourage me, comfort me, and care for me.
2) The Lord sent four of the most amazing human beings to be in my care as their mother. They now are taking turns encouraging and caring for me.
3) In my world, JOY is spelled: G-R-A-N-D-C-H-I-L-D-R-E-N.
4) My mother is still an important part of my life. I thank the Lord everyday that she remains an anchor of strength, love, and support.
I guess that is a pretty good beginning.
I hope I can learn how to do all the brain exercises I have been assigned to do. It is a little daunting. I used to think I was coordinated.
Thank you for listening. God is so good. He has His eye upon the sparrow, and He has them upon me as well.
Ardith Hawshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04444013839810468453noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3952602041975839869.post-31338781531127832052014-08-10T16:17:00.000-07:002016-06-06T11:20:16.725-07:00Searching for Words and PicturesPerhaps it was made for a general audience. But I don't think so. Perhaps it was intended with that narrower appeal of independent films, for those that needn't be hit over the head with blood and guts and explosives and zombies. One could say it was made for the thinkers. But that would be wrong. This movie was made for the "feelers"; those of us that hear words and are moved; those that see pictures and our hearts skip a beat; for those of us who hear music and our own heart-songs find a voice.<br />
<br />
I believe it was made for me.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyHzwM5JU8GEBI8OWsFe4jlKjmYcsa5Kej6-3cOCYxAOjQ1G5Nu-XJj5ZmRfhOqfb180VwBRuMUkPjJJ-sizURoSM_eMGvg72_eFqQ5YFh7aWZGQKUUIbsvVYl1oACn1d-ae9XS4K6Y5Fr/s1600/55e99ea5d86dff8a734b9e6aaabb38b7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyHzwM5JU8GEBI8OWsFe4jlKjmYcsa5Kej6-3cOCYxAOjQ1G5Nu-XJj5ZmRfhOqfb180VwBRuMUkPjJJ-sizURoSM_eMGvg72_eFqQ5YFh7aWZGQKUUIbsvVYl1oACn1d-ae9XS4K6Y5Fr/s1600/55e99ea5d86dff8a734b9e6aaabb38b7.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
What is it? It is <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2380331/?ref_=ttawd_awd_tt" target="_blank">Words and Pictures</a>. A subtle, understated film packing some star power with Clive Owens and Juliette Binoche, who are unapologetic about getting older. Rather than trying to disguise their years, they celebrate that age brings with it depth of experience if not always depth of wisdom. These are flawed characters. These are relatable people. They are ones that we root for despite their lapses in judgment.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.imdb.com/media/rm2070726912/tt2380331?ref_=ttmd_md_nxt"></a>The conflict arises in their pursuit to prove to the other, along with their students at a prep high school, which is more powerful, words or pictures. Taking direct affront to the idea that as a picture is often touted as worth a thousand words, the English teacher seeks to show that carefully chosen words can be just as stimulating as a masterpiece on canvas, if not more so.<br />
<br />
So what do you think? Can a picture speak to us the whole story? Is carefully crafted prose or poetry equally able to articulate what is left between the lines?<br />
<br />
Or perhaps we can concede that both, Words and Pictures, can fill us with wonder, with anguish, with joy, with love.Ardith Hawshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04444013839810468453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3952602041975839869.post-85742046686440034402013-09-17T16:35:00.000-07:002013-09-18T11:15:57.737-07:00Just For Today, We Are Here!Opportunity. What a brilliant word. It is filled with such promise.<br />
<br />
I read a quote this morning that has since stayed with me. It reverberates in my mind. I hear its echo throughout my day, taunting me, nudging me, reminding me. It is this:<br />
<br />
<span class="userContent"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">"Just for today, we are here. We are alive. And with that aliveness comes a profound responsibility to do what we can. To make meaning and beauty out of what is."</span> ― Dani Shapiro<br /> </span><br />
<span class="userContent">It may not mean that tomorrow we are someplace else, or that we are not alive. </span><br />
<span class="userContent"></span><br />
<span class="userContent">But it may.</span><br />
<span class="userContent"></span><br />
<span class="userContent">Who ever really knows what is around the corner?</span><br />
<span class="userContent"></span><br />
<span class="userContent">Then all the more reason to drink in the moment. Take advantage of where we are, and whom we're with, and what is on our plate.</span><br />
<span class="userContent"></span><br />
<span class="userContent">Perhaps its significance is more haunting because of the hints of change. Can you deny that change isn't prevalent in all of our lives in one way or another? Our lives are constantly affected by for sale signs, doctors' diagnoses, graduations, job changes, births. And deaths.</span><br />
<span class="userContent"></span><br />
<span class="userContent">The challenge then lies in making meaning and beauty out of whatever state we are in. The challenge lies in living large, and drinking in the fresh sea air, and snapping a million pictures of an ever changing ocean because opportunities that are here today may be gone tomorrow.</span><br />
<span class="userContent"></span><br />
<span class="userContent">And when our circumstances change, we embrace the newness with whatever courage is called for.</span><br />
<span class="userContent"></span><br />
<span class="userContent">Again.</span><br />
<span class="userContent"></span><br />
<span class="userContent">And again. </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span class="userContent"></span><br />
<span class="userContent"></span><br />
<span class="userContent"></span><br />
<span class="userContent"></span><br />Ardith Hawshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04444013839810468453noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3952602041975839869.post-63111246385462667172013-08-23T14:06:00.002-07:002013-08-23T15:44:56.398-07:00What the Sunflower Lacks in Elegance<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Sometime ago I was given one of my most treasured gifts. It was simple. It was elegant. What it lacked in worldly value, it more than made up for in spiritual and emotional wealth, and was poetry to my ears. It was, in fact a poem, written by my daughter Miranda, who has a way of seeing beyond the obvious and in the lovely way of a poet, imbues the common with sublimity; adding layers of meaning to what may be dismissed as ordinary. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">In her poem, my four children become the hallmarks of a garden, each represented by a distinctive flower that graces my life with unique attributes. All so different from one another, yet all blessing my life with beauty and grace.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikGX2w1MiuHh9wmEpS4RTJ9JURdwfXCotxYswbxNnZfimoU5VC3rrTTjZ9zxxxhLGc8s6TkHY9udIQBx9CVVkzvSYP3QKrQgcxf-mySbN1AYiB7IGl7vwmIXi705KpR4p3HSon8HutFEMt/s1600/DSCN1203.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikGX2w1MiuHh9wmEpS4RTJ9JURdwfXCotxYswbxNnZfimoU5VC3rrTTjZ9zxxxhLGc8s6TkHY9udIQBx9CVVkzvSYP3QKrQgcxf-mySbN1AYiB7IGl7vwmIXi705KpR4p3HSon8HutFEMt/s320/DSCN1203.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I have been thinking a lot about my Sunflower lately, the fourth addition to my garden of beauties, and have felt to pay tribute to her with my latest creation of glass fusion. It is easy to see her golden hair. It is easy to see her big brown eyes. But most importantly, "What a sunflower lacks in elegance is made up in the soul, </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">For only when they give all things is when they're really whole."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">She has chosen to sacrifice her time and all her talents to her Savior, Jesus Christ, serving Him as a full-time missionary. Putting aside the distractions of a busy, silly, crass and crude world, she walks with God, looking for opportunities to serve His children, to teach them the Gospel of Christ and bring them into the fold of the Good Shepherd.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">A sunflower keeps its face toward the sun, knowing that is from where it draws its strength. My prayers are with Miranda every day as she has chosen to be in the world, yet not of the world, keeping her face directed toward the Source of all Light.</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">Four little beds filled to the brim<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">Each bright in blazing color<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">Planted in their youth by a loving
hand<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">In the Garden of My Mother<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">One is lush with Poppies<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">In a drowsy and dreamy red<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">Smooth to the touch, daring the eye<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">And stubborn in the head<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">The Poppy will stand vibrant<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">And have its way, still<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">But will honor those who need their
rest <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">And serve them with a will<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">Next, the Birds of Paradise<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">That stand up straight and proud<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">Showing off their sprays of light<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">With wise heads humbly bowed<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">The Proficient Paradise gives promise<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">Of strength, beauty and charm<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">Standing tall in stormy weather<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">And finds home where it is warm<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">Third in line, the Orchid<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">Glowing in elegance<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">But beneath those pearly petals<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">Beats a heart of amethysts<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">The Orchid is all loveliness<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">With an inner glow of fun<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">Light and grace, vibrant joy<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">In its soul unite as one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">Last of all a humble patch<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">The Sunflowers nod away<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">In Morning face toward the sun<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">And contemplate the day<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">What the Sunflower lacks in elegance<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">Is made up in the soul<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">For only when they give all things<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">Is when they’re really whole<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">Four little boxes tenderly kept<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">By their gardener expertly<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">This gardener who loved them<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">Though they all grew differently<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">Four little boxes surround a tree<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">Growth from a seed of faith<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">That bears the fruit and creates the
light<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">In which they daily bathe<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">And from my Mother’s tree of Life<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">That stands unfailingly<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">New vines still grow and intertwine<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">And blossom verdantly<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">In my Mother’s Garden<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">There still is much to grow<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">But come and see, the Faith and Family
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: "American Typewriter";">Are quite enough to show.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />
<!--EndFragment-->Ardith Hawshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04444013839810468453noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3952602041975839869.post-51535142393962831782013-08-02T12:48:00.001-07:002013-08-02T12:48:29.883-07:00The Miracle of It AllSome days are life changers. Today is one of those days. I am waiting this morning for a fellow to come and put a For Sale sign in front of our home. As we have anticipated this big change, I have felt very anxious, but as the day is finally here, I am surprised that the anxiety has subsided to a large degree. I feel remarkably at peace as I note the closing of a chapter.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkCEKnTbTVeuuOV1MkLjZJfd-VnwJKIrcXLgPTLMGZ0BbiGigPUsG7YfqPrx2-Z8VEDU6jw3wNocjxch2_I2jFqpX5a8au3O0slT2OEE5jX_9SO5p9A5efhRKG47uFeAae6-h9438lS1bW/s1600/DSCN1112.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkCEKnTbTVeuuOV1MkLjZJfd-VnwJKIrcXLgPTLMGZ0BbiGigPUsG7YfqPrx2-Z8VEDU6jw3wNocjxch2_I2jFqpX5a8au3O0slT2OEE5jX_9SO5p9A5efhRKG47uFeAae6-h9438lS1bW/s400/DSCN1112.JPG" width="400" /></a>That's ALL it is! What an epiphany. It truly is merely the closing of a chapter in a book filled with joy and wonder. And the expectation for the next chapter is joyful and purposeful--no excuses, no regrets, no hesitation. It is, in fact, a great blessing that we have the opportunity to build a new home. And it's going to be a wonderful home--built with the objective of being a gathering place to draw together our growing family. Our children and grandchildren will comfortably be able to come home as often as they desire. My job will be to make certain they desire that OFTEN.<br />
<br />
I can do this! I feel the Lord's blessings everyday as I press forward with this project. And He is filling me with His Peace at a time that I had worried so much about.<br />
<br />
It's ALL Good. It really is. Why am I such a worrier? Has life never managed to turn out for my good in some way? It does. It always manages to teach me something and have my peace restored eventually. I do not understand all the mysteries of God, but I KNOW that He loves me! Of this I am certain. He manifests His love in so many ways. And today, He has filled me with peace.<br />
<br />
And THAT is a miracle.<br />
<br />Ardith Hawshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04444013839810468453noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3952602041975839869.post-1095078456131514052013-07-22T08:08:00.000-07:002013-07-22T08:08:41.199-07:00Die With Memories, Not DreamsI was startled by this quote the other day: "Die with memories, not dreams."It caused, as great quotes do, some introspection. I asked myself, what memories do I have tucked away as the treasure of my life? And which are in danger of existing merely as dreams, never to be fully realized and converted into memories?<br />
<br />
I dream of a place to gather my growing family. I thought the BeachHouse was to be that place. After some experimentation I have come to believe that that was shortsighted. Once every seven weeks is not reliable nor flexible enough. We need a place that is available 365 days a year; 24/7; for better or for worse; in sickness and in health. Not to mention in quickly encroaching old age.<br />
<br />
We <i>need</i> our home to be that place.<br />
<br />
Much conventional wisdom would lead the empty nester to believe that down sizing is the answer. For many it may be. For one who dreams of a gathering place, that would seem to be shortsighted too. Why would I move to a home which is devoid of memories, and is also insufficiently sized to create new ones? My present home has been the growing up place for my children, as well as the growing up place for my own immaturity and weakness and foolishness. My children have come out on the other side of their childhoods with confidence, assurance, and courage to face lives as adults, and hopefully many happy memories of time spent together as a family in our beloved home of the past seventeen years.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeS5AuS6Eu24B40nzIVG49hmZnvOkX19qRXP5UnqqxTmp6PwAtLZ8cX4aHPC7tq81ZAhCDaRYqtzYwXSwKWPqtu1IL7paYRLlHo_-waCnUViOZU-kER5LtFsjY5IP4FflZjomnq61QSiM-/s1600/DSCN0817.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeS5AuS6Eu24B40nzIVG49hmZnvOkX19qRXP5UnqqxTmp6PwAtLZ8cX4aHPC7tq81ZAhCDaRYqtzYwXSwKWPqtu1IL7paYRLlHo_-waCnUViOZU-kER5LtFsjY5IP4FflZjomnq61QSiM-/s400/DSCN0817.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
I believe that I too have come away from my time spent here with experience, with lessons learned, with faith in a still-bright future, with hope for many more years of family gatherings and one-on-one time with grandchildren and hobbies to be pursued and wisdom to be harvested and things to be beautified.<br />
<br />
So it's time for movin' on my friend.......<br />
<br />
No. Really.<br />
<br />
It is actually time for moving on. We have worked very hard to polish and shine our beloved old homestead, which will soon bear one of those dreaded "For Sale"signs. Family pictures have been removed. Our characters have been erased with neutral walls and neutral floors and neutral decor. It is very lovely. But the rooms, for the most part, don't feel the same anymore. And that is intentional. Staging a home for sale is purposefully about inviting the lookers to be able to imagine it with their own things and their own families, not being distracted by our distinct stamp of ownership.<br />
<br />
Our memories have been carefully tucked away, but not to remain in boxes forever. Plans are already in the works to build that gathering place of which we dream. It will include minimal stairs, because let's face it, this will be our last home and we're not getting younger. How about a glass studio with sufficient power outlets to fire up a kiln? Undeniably.<br />
<br />
We are taking with us the important things of a home, things which will never be as prosaic as rooms and painted walls and gardens. We are taking the people that we love, and we are taking our treasured memories of the sweetest childhoods that ever were.<br />
<br />
And any other dreams acquired along the way? Certain to be resolutely converted into long lasting memories.<br />
<br />
<div style="background-color: white; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Ardith Hawshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04444013839810468453noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3952602041975839869.post-82164899041151692042013-05-31T22:39:00.001-07:002013-05-31T22:40:49.258-07:00This Is My QuestFunny how life imitates art.<br />
<br />
I have always wondered why the familiar quote wasn't the other way around. Doesn't the artist draw inspiration from life, then twist it, bend it, soften it, refine it and produce something elevated from the mundane, coarse, and common? Oscar Wilde, however, claims that <span style="font-size: x-small;">"</span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Life imitates Art far more than Art imitates Life".</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I am becoming a believer.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Recently I have watched as the influence of a song lyric has woven itself into my psyche; it has touched my heart, leaving me at random times with inexplicable tears. How could the merest suggestion of lyric and melody ring with such truth? It is just a song and yet it expresses a universal longing. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibe1-KI130mQf2V88_DSojKWWon6g-bf7m8c4s2aqR8T4Ke73FlrSQjXvVPLze2xy-BdNo9CR6ERZrnGZJ5l5hqxal5_ZSYf15SMBYjBjAcYrH-LGJxrtuRWlRVPgxlvFUDjV4VhqaNUdP/s1600/DSCN0591.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibe1-KI130mQf2V88_DSojKWWon6g-bf7m8c4s2aqR8T4Ke73FlrSQjXvVPLze2xy-BdNo9CR6ERZrnGZJ5l5hqxal5_ZSYf15SMBYjBjAcYrH-LGJxrtuRWlRVPgxlvFUDjV4VhqaNUdP/s400/DSCN0591.JPG" width="400" /></a><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Last Christmas I was given a unique gift. It wasn't the extravagance of the gift that provoked my wonder; it was the complete and utter confidence in me, which it showed, that I have found to be the most profound. My husband believed in my talent enough to buy me a glass fusion kiln. Through this gesture he has shown </span>his love for me<span style="font-family: inherit;"> as well as his license to continue forward in adding this new skill to my wheelhouse.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In anticipation of firing up my new toy, I have prepared a beautiful studio. I have purchased furnishings and supplies which would enable me to create to my heart's content. There is even plenty of workspace to have others join me in playing with glass.</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">With everything in place, just short of being able to plug in the kiln, I completed the initial stages of my first project. I was inspired by an image that symbolizes the haunting melody which I have recently found so inspiring. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Little did I realize that the final task of actually plugging the kiln in would become fraught with roadblocks. At every turn there have been delays, setbacks, obstacles, and even what seems an insurmountable impossibility. With patience I will press forward, certain that anything worthwhile comes at a greater price. Truly the impossible just takes a little longer.</span></span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 19px;">Therefore, it is a strange paradox that my unfired project is a windmill.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD-e8hoXv6u8j3v8SeIdx4Htihib6N0-i3ofMLjIqckcBvzjuMYQ15vyFB2K7teKfpWjm3EJEZvvwbUOmz8_rluyJj4s0ZfQqdwMXmnYmZ5_1JOcuckM23PAhhTBUl52i9sNzaRgt2Oymq/s1600/DSCN0587.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD-e8hoXv6u8j3v8SeIdx4Htihib6N0-i3ofMLjIqckcBvzjuMYQ15vyFB2K7teKfpWjm3EJEZvvwbUOmz8_rluyJj4s0ZfQqdwMXmnYmZ5_1JOcuckM23PAhhTBUl52i9sNzaRgt2Oymq/s400/DSCN0587.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="line-height: 19px;">For those familiar with Don Quixote, the windmill is symbolic of a wanderer's impossible quest, something tauntingly just out of reach. In the musical Man of La Mancha, that quest of Don Quixote is described musically with the stirring passion of unfulfilled dreams, and the strength that comes through the search, the patience, the dedication to a quest.</span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 19px;">I haven't given up. Someday soon I will be able to access enough voltage to be able to plug the silly thing in. I'm not sure exactly what hoops I will have to jump through to do it. Nor how many windmills I must challenge before I am finally triumphant.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 19px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #474747; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;">To dream the impossible dream </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #474747; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;">To fight the unbeatable foe </span><br />
<span style="color: #474747; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;">To bear with unbearable sorrow </span><br />
<span style="color: #474747; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;">To run where the brave dare not go </span><br />
<br style="color: #474747; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 23px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;" />
<span style="color: #474747; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;">To right the unrightable wrong </span><br />
<span style="color: #474747; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;">To love pure and chaste from afar </span><br />
<span style="color: #474747; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;">To try when your arms are too weary </span><br />
<span style="color: #474747; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;">To reach the unreachable star </span><br />
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<span style="color: #474747; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;">This is my quest </span><br />
<span style="color: #474747; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;">To follow that star </span><br />
<span style="color: #474747; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;">No matter how hopeless </span><br />
<span style="color: #474747; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;">No matter how far </span><br />
<span style="color: #474747; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;">To fight for the right without question or pause </span><br />
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<span style="color: #474747; font-family: Times New Roman, Times, serif;"><span style="font-size: 15px; line-height: 23px;">To be willing to march into Hell for an Heavenly cause</span></span></div>
<span style="color: #474747; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;">And I know if I'll only be true </span><br />
<span style="color: #474747; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;">To this glorious quest </span><br />
<span style="color: #474747; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;">That my heart will lie peaceful and calm </span><br />
<span style="color: #474747; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;">When I'm laid to my rest </span><br />
<br style="color: #474747; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 23px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;" />
<span style="color: #474747; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;">And the world will be better for this </span><br />
<span style="color: #474747; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;">That one man scorned and covered with scars </span><br />
<span style="color: #474747; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;">Still strove with his last ounce of courage </span><br />
<span style="color: #474747; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 23px; text-align: left;">To reach the unreachable star </span>Ardith Hawshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04444013839810468453noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3952602041975839869.post-54512484811018202762012-10-30T09:56:00.000-07:002012-10-30T09:56:48.086-07:00Too Much Jane Eyre<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGGXZLgdfi2_ReFnNZZ7YPK-yClm5ZhFqaNup610C2Yqf5NgxvEhOpRp5pjOSHQSFe2BX5hLUwei8zzDuxFZvqriD3lIiujkeJlZE0oKyOioytemZQ3gRLeEr01OYzeLS-DlXTE8mWH7rM/s1600/Woman+Reading+Alexander+Deineka.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGGXZLgdfi2_ReFnNZZ7YPK-yClm5ZhFqaNup610C2Yqf5NgxvEhOpRp5pjOSHQSFe2BX5hLUwei8zzDuxFZvqriD3lIiujkeJlZE0oKyOioytemZQ3gRLeEr01OYzeLS-DlXTE8mWH7rM/s1600/Woman+Reading+Alexander+Deineka.jpg" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875); font-family: 'American Typewriter'; font-size: 20px;">Chick flicks? Why are they so popular? Why are we such dyed in the wool romantics that we continually gravitate toward fairy tales, novels, movies, anything that stirs our hearts and reminds us we were young once and were viable candidates for the starring role in our own once upon a time?</span><br />
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Our bodies may be old but our hearts are still beating. Is it possible to turn off the romantic spigot that still churns out the desire for palpitations caused by a sideward glance, a too-long gaze, a daydream, a song lyric, a love note?</div>
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Must our fairy tale only happen once, then fade away and turn to something predictable and careworn? Is this why marriages are set aside and families abandoned? Is this why people walk away, searching for a renewal of the dream? This screams travesty and yet the pining seems strong and real enough that sense often is pushed aside in favor of chasing those long lost palpitations.</div>
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What is the answer then? Are movies a good idea to replace the longing? Or are they part of the problem? Are novels an escape, or a too-potent reminder of feelings, delights, drama that are never to play in one's heart again?</div>
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Maybe books and movies paint an unrealistic picture of the dream of true love. Did music really swell in the soundtrack of my own great romance? It seemed to. Did my prince charming really spring onto the scene with heart stopping, breathtaking heroics? That is how the memories play out in my head.</div>
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Then why could I ever hope to have them replaced with something new? How could anything new be better than the reality that was?</div>
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The problem is my heart still thinks it is young.....</div>
</span><br />Ardith Hawshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04444013839810468453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3952602041975839869.post-36899204576758967132012-10-27T07:25:00.003-07:002012-10-27T08:02:40.602-07:00What I Feel, What I Think, What I LearnAwhile back I overheard a conversation about blogs. With a bit of disdain, a comment was made that blogs are generally: "too sappy, too self-serving, and too preachy." Naturally it caused a bit of introspection, as well as outward 'spection of my blogposts. Yup. Very often sappy. Very often about me. Very often about what I have learned.<br />
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In pondering this indirect comeuppance and fighting the urge to put my tail between my legs and slink away, I stopped short and exclaimed: 'What the heck?'<br />
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I considered the definition of a blog, which in literal terms is the shortened slang of "web log," which merely implies a log, or journal, of one's life that is kept on the world wide web for others, as they choose, to peek inside and read what I feel, what I think, and what I learn.<br />
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I often feel emotional about things. We that choose to feel lead heightened lives of joy and sorrow. Our emotions are those things which set us aside from the animal kingdom in general. My highs and lows and in-betweens are the things which will endear me to my posterity, displaying my all-too-human side. By choice, I<strong> will</strong> include in my journal the things I feel. You may or may not choose to feel with me.<br />
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Sappy? check<br />
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I often think. It is one of my best qualities. It is how I approach life and the things that happen to me. I process events by thinking about them, analyzing them, comparing them. And I prefer to think about the things that happen to me rather than analyzing and comparing the things that happen to you. I find it is much healthier than spending too much energy on studying someone else's life.<br />
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Self-serving? check<br />
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As I spend a life of feeling and thinking, it invariably leads me to learning something. Halleleujah! Life has a purpose then! I also find that the best conduit for me to learn is to write. That is when inspiration comes. That is when the pieces begin to fit together. That is when the "aha! moments" come. For me, there is not a better place for me to taste the things I am learning than as I sit down and write about my life. The things I am learning are not intended to be crammed down any potential readers' throats. They are for my benefit, and for the benefit of my posterity that will hopefully read Grandma's blog.<br />
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Preachy? Sure. <br />
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I have been amazed and gratified to find that others' occasionally check in to see what Ardith is thinking about today. But consider this a disclaimer: It will probably be sappy, most certainly about my life, and hopefully will show that I am learning something. Proceed with caution.<br />
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Ardith Hawshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04444013839810468453noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3952602041975839869.post-46354207345933950512012-09-26T21:27:00.000-07:002012-09-26T21:27:34.352-07:00Playing with Glass: Breaking Through ParametersWith any new endeavor comes the trial period. We ask ourselves, what is possible? What are the limitations? What has been done? What hasn't been done? For years I have explored the possibilities of papercrafting, surprising even myself at the wide range of paper's potential. I love when others marvel at what can be unexpectedly created with "just paper."<br />
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I have begun exploring another medium, called Glass Fusion. It is the art of combining random pieces of colored glass which will then be fused together in a high-temperature kiln to become a functional, decorative piece. This, too, appears rather limiting; but as I play with the possibilities I am finding that one is really only bound by the preconceived ideas of what those parameters are. The sky is beginning to seem like the only limit. When one isn't afraid to imagine more, then more becomes possible.<br />
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I fear that, too often, we put restrictive parameters on ourselves in other facets of our lives. We imagine preset boundaries that we convince ourselves are unyielding.<br />
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"I can't do this because . . ."<br />
"I'll never become . . ." what?<br />
"I haven't the talent to . . ."<br />
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Hogwash. Where are these restrictions coming from? Most likely from our own fear, hesitation, lack of vison and imagination.<br />
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My friends at <a href="http://www.morart.net/index.html">Mor-Art in Lincoln City</a> are so helpful and encouraging. They have convinced me that anything is possible and willingly offer suggestions on how to make my ideas and visions become a reality.</div>
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<span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">Where paper may seem too weak and two-dimensional, and glass may seem too rigid and unmaleable--incredible things can be created, stretching the limits of the expected. And that is very gratifying.</span></div>
Ardith Hawshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04444013839810468453noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3952602041975839869.post-79053100554390006452012-09-12T20:08:00.000-07:002012-10-27T07:35:03.725-07:00Not So ObviousSome film and television stars are obvious casting choices. They may have a casual elegance, swarthy ruggedness, carry themselves with grace, or possess chiseled features that easily cast a spell and invite viewers to tune in regularly and come back wanting more.<br />
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And then there is Doc Martin.<br />
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Sorry, Martin. Handsome, you are not. Elegant? No. Swarthy? Uh-uh. Charming? Not really. Funny and quick witted? Nope.<br />
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Engaging in any possible way? Well, actually, Yes. I cannot explain it. I don't fully understand what keeps me going back for seconds and thirds of this unique television show, imported from Britain and shown on PBS.<br />
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Here is a cast of eccentrics, filmed in an enchanting Cornwall village by the sea, and I can't get enough of it. Playing catch up, we have been watching episodes from the first and second Seasons on Netflix and anticipate the deliciousness of overdosing on all that remain.<br />
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What does Doc Martin do and why does his ambivalent charm compell us so? I believe he reminds us that we all have something very special to offer, even if the package we present is a bit lacking in, well, obvious charms! His special gifts and skills almost excuse his rudeness, his brusqueness, his repellent personality. He has no time to waste on trivialities, silliness, foolishness, or any of the accepted norms of regular society.<br />
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Perhaps it is like a hunt for hidden treasure. Perhaps the outside of a person may be lackluster and easily overlooked, but with a little coaxing, a little tenacity, a little patience and kindness we can uncover a multi-faceted gem that continues to surprise us. Just like Martin.<br />
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If you haven't looked into this surprising treasure, I suggest you give it a try. Be prepared to pay your dues though. Its charms may not be obvious right away, but as you come to know Martin, you will discover someone you can sympathize with, admire, and relate to in all of his awkward sincerity.<br />
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He may even remind you of real people that you might actually know. <br />
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And on television, that can be refreshing.Ardith Hawshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04444013839810468453noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3952602041975839869.post-13644498447122961112012-09-02T17:23:00.000-07:002012-09-02T17:23:17.000-07:00A Fair is a Veritable Smorgasbord<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
The more things change, thankfully some things manage to stay the same. Our lives seem to be rolling forward with graduations and weddings and babies and jobs and mortgages. Our children are grown and thriving and it is difficult sometimes to catch glimpses of the way things used to be, when they were young and needed us so much. The State Fair seems to be the place that brings to our remembrance the simpler, gentler times when four delightful little people clamored daily for our attention. </div>
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We love going to the Fair. Perhaps the best part is the remembering.Ardith Hawshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04444013839810468453noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3952602041975839869.post-67626643223942931612012-08-29T16:11:00.000-07:002012-08-29T16:37:31.282-07:00That's What It's All About<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSt-rePzMbIj_tdm_EL_c95bW7Pc0JZ7Vvk_5hzsD5kKqU0gyNHSExNMEhuMsB707tiyMnUuXztgfEA2OE9RU-8ZorDXZ_lCEMaQg3slg3k5-ofnZ0iGyuB8hYc0CRyZTkTch7r9WJ-IR8/s1600/yoga+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgctHU_yPRH85znJjm6GAvMndGu1zNcnzEbR6typKH4Bp8PmUEVn_bB-aWZqFD5j1lZifRcbnurDbm1nwHpZn2pn_k_vNZhPAMvg1uACfGa4lDdscV-phjChqBes3H9NRNxlMP_nthIZouw/s1600/yoga+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" fea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgctHU_yPRH85znJjm6GAvMndGu1zNcnzEbR6typKH4Bp8PmUEVn_bB-aWZqFD5j1lZifRcbnurDbm1nwHpZn2pn_k_vNZhPAMvg1uACfGa4lDdscV-phjChqBes3H9NRNxlMP_nthIZouw/s1600/yoga+1.jpg" /></a>I grew up in the seventies. I remember hearing about this new craze that seemed to be drawing the free-spirited, incense-burning, in-tune-with-the-universe type to dimly lit rooms with mats and twisted poses. I didn't understand what it really was. I think I believed it was more about meditation than fitness; more about the spiritual than the physical; more about the hippie generation than about down-to-earth health seekers.</div>
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I didn't understand Yoga at all.</div>
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Yoga is delightful and deserves a place in everyone's life. It is about becoming in tune with your body and creating a dialogue between one's physical and spiritual beings, creating awareness and unity.<br />
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Yoga is about becoming strong without having to lift a single bar bell, using one's own body as very adequate resistence. It is about achieving overall fitness in a peaceful, tranquil environment. No grunting, sweaty men strutting around, flexing their muscles and dropping weights. No plastic barbie dolls in lycra drawing attention to themselves.<br />
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This is fitness for the introspective. This is a regimen for those seeking true health; striving for well-rounded wellness of body, of mind, of spirit.<br />
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And I like it.<br />
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Not only do we isolate groups of muscles to strengthen them, but built into every workout is improved breath control, oxygenating the body, sufficient stretching and toning to reduce post-workout pain and stiffness. Each session also ends with a relaxation and wind-down portion. This allows one to catch their breath, remember why they are there, and rejoice in a renewed frame of mind and an invigorated body.<br />
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This is about wholeness.</div>
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And I adore my yoga instructor. She is elegantly graceful. Her lithe limbs and gentle nature are lovely and inspiring. Her self-assured spirit invites an uplifting experience as she seductively leads her class to reach farther, gain more, do more, and try harder than they ever thought they were capable of doing. She encourages us to live more purposefully as she radiates love and motivation.<br />
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Yoga has inspired me to envision the future me in a whole, new way. I now see an able-bodied older woman with deceptive strength and flexibility who is warding off the signs of aging. I will have energy, balance, and surprising tone in my muscles and my skin, standing straight and tall as the well-adjusted, confident, graceful old woman that yoga has enabled me to become.</div>
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And That's what it's all about!</div>
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Namaste.</div>
Ardith Hawshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04444013839810468453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3952602041975839869.post-39442626379116015092012-08-24T07:56:00.000-07:002012-08-24T08:06:05.022-07:00The Lovers, The Dreamers, and MeThe world needs dreamers. We have all the efficient, capable, make-things-work kind of people that we need. We have all the nuts-and-bolts, carry-on, foundation-layers necessary to make the world continue to go around and around and around as it always has and always will.<br />
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Where we lack are the frosting-on-the-cake kind of people. These are they that infuse the beauty and the life and the new ideas into the mundane, prosaic, pedestrian, day-to-day, get-er-done world.<br />
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My husband and I watched a movie about one of these dreamers a few nights ago. This dreamer struggled to fit in. He was frustrated that others didn't see things the way he did. He couldn't understand why his efforts and contributions were astonishing to baffled, frightened, bewildered "regular" folk. Those regular folk didn't seem to see life on the same grand scale that he did, full of vibrancy and beauty. Where they seemed content with the status quo, in carrying on within the bounds set by staid and safe society, he desired to serve and give and share the passion he had for life.<br />
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He was Vincent van Gogh.<br />
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During his life he managed to give us a body of work that broke free of the formulaic and the expected. The world that he saw, full of dynamic color and energy, has been preserved in some of the greatest works of art treasured by the world today. At the time, his boldness was misunderstood. His <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lust_for_Life_(film)">"Lust for Life,"</a> as the movie was called, made others uncomfortable. They didn't know what to do with this anomaly that couldn't function on their "normal" level.<br />
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There are in our midst those capable of offering to the world something extraordinary. There are those that see possibilities in the impossible; those that carry within them genius and brilliance; they think deeper, feel stronger, love truer. <br />
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And yet.<br />
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Maybe they struggle to be understood. Maybe they don't hear the cadence of the masses, the driving beat of normalcy. Perhaps they have their own sense of timing. Tried and true isn't good enough. Why must things be done the way they always have? <br />
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Perhaps these unique individuals run on a different time table, often starting well after the masses have already taken off. Perhaps they run best alone, allowing time for introspection and solitude and creativity. <br />
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Whose to say that outside of humanity's rat race, a special set aren't enjoying the scenery and serenity of a creative life, while the doers are struggling to keep pace with the real madness of a chaotic world?<br />
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The greatest travesty would be to try and chisel off their corners to make them fit in the round hole of normalcy. Let us rejoice in the dreamers in our lives, celebrating them for the sweetness they add to life. There is a place for the doers. Let's also make a place for the dreamers.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"> <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sunflowers_(Van_Gogh_series)">Sunflowers</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Starry_Night">Starry Night</a></span></div>
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"I could have told you, Vincent, this world was never meant for one as beautiful as you."</div>
<br />Ardith Hawshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04444013839810468453noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3952602041975839869.post-48413226628994532812012-08-18T08:40:00.000-07:002012-08-18T08:40:30.365-07:00A Personal Inventory: Taking StockIt would seem easier to just drift along, letting the current of life take us wherever it will.<br />
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<i> Row, row, row your boat gently down the stream.... </i><br />
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Life is pleasant enough.<br />
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<i>Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, life is but a dream.</i><br />
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But somewhere along the way, I have become convinced that life has purpose; that our decisions and actions matter; that it becomes necessary to submit to a little self-examination from time to time. And what better time to take stock of one's life than, each year, annually, as we open gifts and eat cake.<br />
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It becomes more and more difficult to see pictures of myself. I cringe as I observe the changes that my mind doesn't perceive. I still feel like I can do anything. But my stamina suffers; my memory suffers; my flabby muscles, flawed complexion, fading color, present a much different picture than the one in my head.<br />
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So when did it happen? When did I get old? And has age brought with it any perquisites? I cannot deny that I am settling into the role of matriarch, which brings with it a cloak of honor that I hesitate to claim. As my family gathers around me, eyes filled with love and a desire to celebrate and toast me, I feel a little like a fraud. Who am I to be esteemed so highly, when I merely feel like a peer who doesn't really have all the answers yet either.<br />
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My days are different now. No longer am I scrambling to keep up with active children. No longer is my schedule automatically filled with others' agendas. I admit I enjoy this new freedom of choice. My "must-do" list isn't really all that long; quite manageable, actually.<br />
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I do find myself benefitting from these four outstanding young adults in my life, especially as they bring lovely companions to the table with them. My children are no longer children. They are comrades-in-arms; they are thriving, productive, talented, active, hard-working members of society. They are my best friends. They share with me their wisdom, their joys, their frustrations, their unique abilities.<br />
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I feel very blessed. <br />
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I am blessed with a personal massage therapist, whose loving hands coax away the worry and stress and aches and pains. I just wished she lived closer.<br />
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I am blessed with a son who will always be in a position to take care of his old mother; who has had a role-model, in his father, who has showed him how to honor, care for, and love one's dear mama. He calls me regularly and lets me feel apart of his life. We visit as the old friends that we are. How gratifying to know that he will always make room for me.<br />
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I am blessed with my own personal yoga instructor, who gently encourages as she desires to see me regain the strength that time has threatened. What a lovely dear friend, who has now become a lovely dear neighbor. What greater gift than to share her family's life on a day-to-day basis?<br />
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I am blessed with a personal poet laureate. I am blessed with someone that shares my love of great literature, who thrills with me at the discovery of new and old things to love. Who knew that the best friends come in the form of daughters who view the world from the same eyes?<br />
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I have been filled with an overwhelming desire to explore the world, to travel, to see its wonders. But my greatest desire is to have a traveling companion by my side to share these things with; someone to thrill with me, to ooh and aah with me, to marvel and ponder with me. I pray always that my beloved husband will accompany me. I choose him.<br />
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This has become more than a blogpost. The casual reader has my permission to withdraw due to its lengthy nature. <br />
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I daily ponder my purpose. I consider the blessings which have been poured out upon me and struggle to find their best use. Great books and ideas have filled my head with so much to think about. What is my role in building the Lord's Kingdom? I have determined that my joy is full as I serve as a teacher. I love the impetus to study diligently. I love finding new ways to explore thought, to build upon a foundation of faith, to expand and enlarge my understanding, and to ponder the mysteries of God. These are the things that fill my days.<br />
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I have many challenges, most of them inward. I fight to overcome anxieties. I find strength in my Savior. He doesn't always take away the struggles, but He never leaves me alone to deal with them.<br />
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I find peace in beauty. I try to surround myself with order. I try to distance myself from the frivolities of the world.<br />
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I am weak in so many ways but I look with confidence forward, always forward. It may mean adjusting to the new pictures of a woman I hardly recognize, but she means well. She knows love and feels it daily.<br />
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She tries to live worthy of those that arise up and call her blessed.Ardith Hawshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04444013839810468453noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3952602041975839869.post-1095039835551914432012-08-14T07:49:00.000-07:002012-08-14T11:43:05.687-07:00Ten Minutes!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It still resounds in my ears. My mother's voice, kind and yet firm: Ten Minutes! Nothing more needed to be said. I understood, loud and clear. Whenever I would get a phone call from a boy, it would always be accompanied by this undeniable directive. Ten Minutes!<br />
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It wasn't that one shouldn't talk to a boy longer than ten minutes (maybe). It was about courtesy to the rest of the family. This was back in the day before "caller waiting"; This was back in the day of the busy signal. And I completely understood that one shouldn't tie up the only phone line in the house.<br />
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Remember when the whole family relied upon just one phone line, which was perhaps tied to just one phone? And we couldn't even comprehend the idea of cordless. Are you kidding me? I remember the days of stretching that cord as far as it would go so that I could take a personal call.<br />
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And imagine trying to talk to someone whose family had to share a "Party line" with several of their neighbors. Believe me. NO party!<br />
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At the risk of dating myself with this disclosure, I think it brings up a viable conversation about phones today, and particularly, phones in the hands of young people. I wouldn't have known what to do if I had had my own phone. I couldn't have imagined talking (or texting!) endlessly. I learned what it was like to "miss" someone, to not be able to communicate with the boy I liked at all hours of the day and night. When we went on family trips, there was absolutely NO communication. I had to be "present" with those that I was with.<br />
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I am thankful that the era of personal phones in everyone's hands with unlimited minutes and unlimited texting came <strong>after</strong> my own children were teenagers. I cannot imagine the difficulty that parents have today in regulating and having any control over these abused devices. <br />
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I am the first to admit the peace of mind that comes in having direct communication with a child. Gone are the days of wondering where they are and what time they will be home and who they are with. Are they having car trouble, are they lost, have they run out of gas? <br />
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I am also the first to admit that I frequently used the phone longer than my allotted ten minutes. But as the time was brief, and such a rare and sweet treat, sometimes it was difficult to say goodbye and hang up.<br />
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"You say it first."<br />
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"No. I'm not going to say it."<br />
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"Okay, then let's say it together."<br />
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Repeat.<br />
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Repeat again.Ardith Hawshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04444013839810468453noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3952602041975839869.post-50098933047662987302012-08-11T09:29:00.000-07:002012-08-11T09:29:14.801-07:00Finding FingerprintsThey are easy to miss. When we live our lives thinking that we, alone, are in control of the outcome, it becomes easy to miss the fingerprints.<br />
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The fingerprints are everywhere. The evidences of God's hand in our lives are noticeable, but only as we allow ourselves the time, the meditation, the stillness, the humility necessary to discern them. It also becomes critical to relinquish a little control, to be willing to be guided by One much wiser than ourselves.<br />
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The past month has been unique for me, filled with monumental moments, pivotal once-in-a-lifetime experiences; and thankfully, God's fingerprints were very evident throughout the whole journey. In our moments of sorrow, He was there. In our moments of joy, He also had a hand in our lives. He brought strength, comfort, peace, insight, stamina, reassurance, and hope. I am certain that these were all direct blessings from a loving Heavenly Father and His Son.<br />
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Thank you.Ardith Hawshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04444013839810468453noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3952602041975839869.post-7945892559450887272012-07-30T07:13:00.000-07:002012-07-30T07:26:47.061-07:00Just Can't Talk About It YetSo much has happened since I wrote my last blogpost.<br />
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But I just can't talk about it yet.<br />
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The emotions are too near the surface to write about the sweet farewell with my father.<br />
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I should record the poignant midnight visit in the ICU when my father found an untapped reservoir of strength that enabled him to sit up in a wheelchair for a meaningful stroll through the quiet corridors; that enabled him to express what was in his heart, though the words were difficult to get out; which also enabled me to tell him the things that were in my heart.<br />
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But I can't talk about it yet.<br />
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I should write about the following day when this last rush of adrenalin led us to think that Dad had hope for recovery, leading us to tour endless care centers, walking miles of hallways filled with sadness, searching to find a place where Dad wouldn't be too miserable.<br />
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I should write about the rally when Dad met the administrator of the care center which we had decided upon. I should write about the sparkle in his eyes as they talked about their common love of football which even led them to comparing their still impressive calf muscles. <br />
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But I can't talk about it yet.<br />
<br />
Because the following day, when the adrenalin had fled, my poor sweet father could only speak with his eyes as he gratefully welcomed the ice chips that I spooned into his parched lips.<br />
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I can't talk about the ride to the airport, thinking, wondering, praying, hoping that he would hold on for a few more days when I would be able to come back, feeling like I was abandoning him.<br />
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I can't talk about the scene I created at the airport gate when, just before I was supposed to board, I got a phone call that he had become unresponsive and all the indicators had severely dropped and my hope of seeing him alive again shattered.<br />
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I should talk about the beautiful funeral.<br />
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I should talk about the lovely music which filled our hearts with the hope of the Resurrection.<br />
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I should talk about the sweet reunion with dear friends and cousins and aunts and uncles who had come to honor this great man, who had blessed all of our lives with his wisdom and his strength and his unfailing support and love.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3NVXy72p916csk1eMhfUcpCU5_eA4xtotIlNdayxZRAJLnSOwaNNmquWh8C8vQcRp46W__D5B81Ok7uts67x1iy399KwT4d1KN05nTYlDfTWZVJRFpkmUc6U_5CIPOQONprakljR1a9Z6/s1600/Wakeman+Family+Pictures+480+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" eda="true" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3NVXy72p916csk1eMhfUcpCU5_eA4xtotIlNdayxZRAJLnSOwaNNmquWh8C8vQcRp46W__D5B81Ok7uts67x1iy399KwT4d1KN05nTYlDfTWZVJRFpkmUc6U_5CIPOQONprakljR1a9Z6/s320/Wakeman+Family+Pictures+480+copy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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</div>Ardith Hawshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04444013839810468453noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3952602041975839869.post-4813753338483479002012-07-11T07:53:00.000-07:002012-08-23T08:12:44.971-07:00On BelayWhen I was a kid I learned how to climb. <br />
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My natural instinct seemed to be to climb any tree that passed my simple analysis as a tree-climbing tree. It was liberating to me. When the trees were mastered, I would find ways to climb onto the roof of my home. I loved the challenge and especially the enhanced view of my little world.<br />
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But the best things to climb were mountains and my dad was an expert. <br />
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What began with simple climbs of large boulders and learning how to look for holds, soon graduated to larger challenges with ropes and pitons. I still pride myself on knowing what a caribiner was long before they became ubiquitous.<br />
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As any climber knows, the cherry on the top of a good climb is the chance to rapel down, a sort of harnessed backwards dancing which eventually brings the climber to the safety of the ground.<br />
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The key element to successful rappelling is the skill of the belayer.<br />
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A belayer is the climber's partner, who typically applies the friction at the other end of the rope whenever the climber is not moving, removing the friction whenever the climber needs more rope in order to be able to continue climbing or descending as the case may be. A belayer is the safety net between success and failure. I could not fall because my dad was literally my anchor.<br />
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I was always very secure in knowing that my dad was my belayer. He was the strongest man in the world and I knew that in his hands I was safe. No doubts. Ever. He was a mountain himself.<br />
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My belay has become unsteady.<br />
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My rock is crumbling. My security is jeopardized.<br />
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My father is ready to pass on.<br />
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I'm not ready to be off belay.<br />
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<br />Ardith Hawshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04444013839810468453noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3952602041975839869.post-73661138992249506562012-07-10T10:07:00.000-07:002012-07-10T10:17:48.430-07:00At the End of the DayHave you ever noticed the significance of the common phrase "At the end of the day...."?<br />
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<i>'Well, at the end of the day, it all comes down to this....'</i><br />
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<i>'At the end of the day, we still have our health.'</i><br />
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<i>'At the end of the day when all is said and done, this is what I have learned.'</i><br />
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It is a neat and tidy little way to put things in perspective. It is a neat and tidy little way to draw conclusions, to wrap things up, to prioritize.<br />
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I like it. I think at the end of the day we should all ponder what we have learned, what is important, what we will be carrying with us to the next day.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaN4Q1b_drao1kSGmzQnGu1-wfzhRosAf_smmP3CH58f7XYFBbesi_7-op9K_lPDBHQ-9Dok-clxflu7w8EP6Y5wWJc80XcWCU8BEjwbFuaZxyZkHx3DMw82POK9d_TA_Zxhf4K1BfAX6G/s1600/Unknown" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaN4Q1b_drao1kSGmzQnGu1-wfzhRosAf_smmP3CH58f7XYFBbesi_7-op9K_lPDBHQ-9Dok-clxflu7w8EP6Y5wWJc80XcWCU8BEjwbFuaZxyZkHx3DMw82POK9d_TA_Zxhf4K1BfAX6G/s320/Unknown" width="200" /></a>One of the greatest musicals of all time, Les Miserables, has an 'at the end of the day' moment. And naturally it is written to music.<br />
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"At the end of the day you're another day older." A little pessimistic, but true nonetheless.<br />
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Considering the song is sung by the working class, it is permeated with frustration, hopelessness, exhaustion. And really, at the end of the day I'm tired too, and I worry about the things I have failed to accomplish.<br />
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But I would hope that most of the time I cling to another verse that begins:<br />
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"At the end of the day there's another day dawning."<br />
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We would do well to say:<i> 'perhaps I wasn't able to do all I would have liked, but tomorrow will bring new opportunities, new energy, new minutes and hours.'</i><br />
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I think 'At the end of the day' would be a wonderful theme for a journal (or a blog!). Imagine sitting down (well, you know, at the end of the day) and encapsulating all you have learned because of the day's events. I think it could be enlightening. Our days tend to drift and blend together without much to set them apart from one another. And yet, at the end of the day, each is filled with unique lessons and experiences that may only pass our way once in a lifetime.<br />
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I hope that I am taking the time to ponder what I have learned, to ponder the conversations I've had, the people I have encountered, the kindnesses shown, the love expressed.<br />
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Because at the end of the day, isn't that what really matters?<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;"></span>Ardith Hawshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04444013839810468453noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3952602041975839869.post-32303096874331387142012-07-07T08:44:00.000-07:002012-07-07T08:44:02.114-07:00Everyone Has Their Own StoryI have been reminded of a truth. It is an obvious truth, and yet I think it is nice to be reminded of it when we forget and get caught up in thinking that everyone's life runs the same course as everyone else's.<br />
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It is true that we all are born. And yet, I bet every single mother that went into labor has her own unique story of how each child's journey began and ultimately played out in birth, hopefully swaddled with love and wrapped safely in its mother's arms.<br />
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It is true that most of us are blessed to pass through the next phase of life called childhood. We learn to walk, to talk, to interact, to discover ice cream, to learn joy.<br />
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Yet my childhood couldn't possibly have been the same as yours, even though we shared many of the same experiences.<br />
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Did you find love? So did I. Yet how fun it is to hear of each person's unique pathway to discovering it.<br />
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No one's proposal story is the same.<br />
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No one's path is the same. Of the billions of people that fill the earth, each lives a unique life.<br />
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So why bring up this obvious truth?<br />
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So that we will STOP COMPARING OURSELVES TO OTHERS!<br />
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It is an invalid argument, invalid worry, invalid boast, invalid <u>anything</u> to think for one moment that our unique life can or should be compared with someone else's.<br />
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Rejoice in your life with all of its facets that shine because they are your's alone.<br />
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If your life isn't following what would seem "normal", celebrate that! Why would you want to have the same life as anyone else?<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiJmGwP1EP1BtcqYJNxPuWGTlZY_PkTn2bkj8ElsmF6TmQXwsmIu0H3zvNSREz9zJ-_qjpUN0_ga5dj7XZVuUH5xcq39rpGvroc6Um2UWicTnbC0BNbu_zhv3_O900mKSIbU0P_LMYKwEk/s1600/P1050103.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiJmGwP1EP1BtcqYJNxPuWGTlZY_PkTn2bkj8ElsmF6TmQXwsmIu0H3zvNSREz9zJ-_qjpUN0_ga5dj7XZVuUH5xcq39rpGvroc6Um2UWicTnbC0BNbu_zhv3_O900mKSIbU0P_LMYKwEk/s1600/P1050103.JPG" /></a><br />
Every person I meet has their own story, as do I.<br />
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And I would love to hear about your's.Ardith Hawshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04444013839810468453noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3952602041975839869.post-70743693526892600152012-07-05T12:28:00.000-07:002012-07-05T12:28:47.487-07:00Straining At the Bootstraps<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6HuFIB5T6C0R_nfxR9hp3HuJW2_5aIGvaEh2N9aj74K96uFCJJN6IDeaypoiulzE2ZgA7GwD_FxEIsi3JDFDzvYCTPBWDUGZT23iK5Nrf4uru98BuP7ENzyLKV_VL1y6iIhM7LPa1rSRU/s1600/boots.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" sca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6HuFIB5T6C0R_nfxR9hp3HuJW2_5aIGvaEh2N9aj74K96uFCJJN6IDeaypoiulzE2ZgA7GwD_FxEIsi3JDFDzvYCTPBWDUGZT23iK5Nrf4uru98BuP7ENzyLKV_VL1y6iIhM7LPa1rSRU/s1600/boots.jpg" /></a>Do you ever feel that if you try any harder to pull yourself up by the bootstraps, those darn straps are going to break, give way, and send you sailing across the floor?</div>
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Perhaps there is a better way. Perhaps there are other answers, not necessarily solutions, but answers that we need to hear.<br />
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I have been fascinated with the illuminating scripture in Paul's second letter to the Corinthians. He discusses the reality of a thorn in his flesh, which he has come to believe is there for a reason because although he has approached the Lord numerous times to remove it, it continues to beseige him, frustrate him, challenge him....humble him.<br />
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Ah. So maybe <em>that</em> is why we all have challenges that we struggle with. Is it possible our loving Heavenly Father thinks we may need to be humbled? Maybe we really aren't as invincible as we think we are. Maybe there are still a few things we need to learn. Maybe the Lord is saying to us, as He said to Paul: 'No, Paul, you need this weakness to remind you <em>every day</em> that you rely on me' (2 Cor. 12:7-9).<br />
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Through what I believe was divine intervention, a couple of weeks ago I came across a talk given at the 2002 BYU Women's Conference by Stephen E. Robinson. Seldom has a message been driven home on such a personal level. Maybe there are others that needed to hear this, but I truly think the Lord wanted me, alone, to hear it. Otherwise how could the words have struck such a chord with me?<br />
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He reminded me that longsuffering is a virtue. He reminded me that just as we cannot fast and pray and study to heal a broken leg, neither can we always fast or pray or study to correct very real chemical imbalances and other physical shortcomings. <br />
<br />
He reminded me that we <strong>will</strong> be able to overcome all things through Christ, but in His way and in His time. Sometimes the hurt will not be taken away immediately, even though we are desperately ready for it to be gone.<br />
<br />
The name of the address is "With Healing in His Wings," referring to the scripture in Malachi 4:2 which promises of the coming day of our Savior when "the Sun of righteousness (will) arise with healing in his wings."<br />
<br />
He reminds us that though we desire to have all our pains and fears and hardships taken away immediately, we may have to wait upon the Lord, trusting that He knows best what we need to learn. <br />
<br />
But relief will come. It really will. And perhaps when it does, we will have become stronger, more full of faith, more trusting in Him to do what remains undone, to overcome our enemies, and take us home to live with Him once again.<br />
<br />
If we are patient, our adversity and our afflictions shall be but a small moment.<br />
<br />
"And God shall wipe away all tears from (our) eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain..." (Revelation 21:4).<br />
<br />
Oh, how thankful I am to know my Savior. Oh, how thankful I am to trust in Him. May we persevere together and look forward to that glorious day when He will come again with healing in his wings.Ardith Hawshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04444013839810468453noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3952602041975839869.post-10549512811510349452012-06-22T13:42:00.000-07:002012-06-22T14:27:46.508-07:00Who I Really AmToday, I remember. <br />
<br />
Today, I have energy, enthusiasm, courage, love, joy, strength. <br />
<br />
This is who I really am. Sometimes I forget.<br />
<br />
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Sometimes I live in a very small, dismal world that would seek to confine me within its narrow parameters. Sometimes I understand those who choose to remain indoors always, unable to face the expanse of a broader world filled with fast cars, high demands, and great expectations.<br />
<br />
But that's not who I really am.<br />
<br />
I love challenges. I love projects. I love work. I love hobbies. I love people. I love the Lord.<br />
<br />
And that's who I really am.Ardith Hawshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04444013839810468453noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3952602041975839869.post-31436159845785157042012-06-15T10:16:00.000-07:002012-06-15T13:37:27.961-07:00Tennis Shoes Up On the Handle Bars<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0wScp_29gfOY7t9V9n9w7UergptJIDLLjuqGWdfyDOT5nJW-ugCaJrpIMFL1SNUHh7Z04hlvvfV4SZ7O0NDvOG-sYw71G-xLDRfXR3ZI3McXuwMUzaFi1shN0scqde88OZ8a3T1LoEtFY/s1600/IMG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0wScp_29gfOY7t9V9n9w7UergptJIDLLjuqGWdfyDOT5nJW-ugCaJrpIMFL1SNUHh7Z04hlvvfV4SZ7O0NDvOG-sYw71G-xLDRfXR3ZI3McXuwMUzaFi1shN0scqde88OZ8a3T1LoEtFY/s400/IMG.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">"I remember how it used to feel</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">Ridin' down ol' two mile hill</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">Tennis shoes up on the handlebars</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">Payin' no mind to the passin' cars</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">No doubts, no fears...."</span></i><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">Ah, nothing like a good ol' Randy Travis song to say it like it is. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">I remember those days well. There was nothing like the freedom one felt speeding along on a bide as a kid. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">Freedom. That's what I felt more than anything. I could go places quickly; I could explore the town; I could feel quite grown up and independent. Nothing was quite as liberating.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">I have often thought about those days of riding over to main street, to friends' houses, to summer band camp with a clarinet case balanced precariously on the handle bars as I steered with one hand.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">I never remember feeling like it was exercise. It was just fun. It was just freedom. It was just...well in the past!</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">How times have changed.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">Recently as an anniversary gift, my husband bought me a new bike. It is beautiful. It is fancy. It has all the bells and whistles one could want in a bike, minus an annoying bike bell. I am set.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">Hmmm. Just a minute. If I want to go to main street, I have an easier way. If I want to go to a friend's house, I can go in the air-conditioned convenience of my car. Freedom, I do not lack. Liberation, I do not need.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">So what did I think I needed a bike for.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">Oh yea. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">Exercise. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">Problem is I live in a city built on hills. My neighborhood has so many ups and downs it is impossible to even go around the block without encountering heart-pumping obstacles.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">Rats.</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWB_4yZv89G4_AqhFEKK9aRDYPCgrgh4T_6Ktvdr0C7L39bbV917kvcm3JT1dYYrDzBiZQUfTC8p-9dF0OK61fSJTX_ApJ6asuOijitF1lhcUq4uZ2i3KvH_yFEoDrtV7U4S-bVOx9MM4/s1600/100_1715+copy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWB_4yZv89G4_AqhFEKK9aRDYPCgrgh4T_6Ktvdr0C7L39bbV917kvcm3JT1dYYrDzBiZQUfTC8p-9dF0OK61fSJTX_ApJ6asuOijitF1lhcUq4uZ2i3KvH_yFEoDrtV7U4S-bVOx9MM4/s400/100_1715+copy.jpg" width="266" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">A few years ago my husband and I rented bicycles at the Santa Monica Pier and rode along the beach without a care in the world. On a perfectly flat sidewalk, I did get a glimpse of the freedom I had enjoyed as a kid. I believe I could have gone on for miles. And </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">I believe that was in the back of my mind as I anxiously picked out my new beauty of a bike.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">Imagine my embarrassment when the first time out for a ride around the neighborhood, I ended up having to walk my bike home, with my tail between my quivering, wobbly legs.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"><br /></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">So I guess I need to re-evaluate my strategy. Forty years has put me at a different place. I may be a little smarter and wiser now (that's debatable), but I certainly am carrying more of a burden than my soft muscles and shallow lungs can handle.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"><i>"Took a little time to get up to speed</i></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"><i> To find the confidence and the strength I'd need</i></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"><i>To just let go and reach for the sky</i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"><i>You know, sometimes it felt I could fly....."</i></span></div>
<div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"><i><br /></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">I guess I need to listen to <a href="http://youtu.be/6S-H1l7R2Bs">Randy Travis</a> a little more, realize that it won't happen overnight nor without loading up the bike to go find some flatlands. But I am determined not to give up. I have had just enough taste of the past to crave that freedom again.</span><br />
<div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"><i>"It doesn't take much</i></span></div>
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"> And I'm a kid again.</span></i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">I can almost feel that wind..."</span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial;">Sadly, it's all uphill from here. </span></div>
</div>
</div>Ardith Hawshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04444013839810468453noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3952602041975839869.post-80278176302252330812012-06-14T14:47:00.000-07:002012-06-22T13:55:34.354-07:00My Message in a BottleI've just spent the day reading a book from cover to cover. I rarely do that. Usually I am conscientious and responsible. Not today. My dishes are not done. My bed isn't made. I am still wearing my workout clothes from this morning's walk.<br />
<br />
But.<br />
<br />
But I am in a different place now than I was earlier today. Sometimes I am hampered by despair. Inexplicable despair. For-no-good-reason despair.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I think I can explain it, or at least partially understand where it comes from. Today I couldn't. I needed to do things and yet I was paralyzed. Not paralyzed by fear. Paralyzed with the inability to motivate myself. <br />
<br />
I wish it was just laziness. Truthfully, sometimes it is, but those days are filled with joy and the deliberate choice to play hooky and be lazy.<br />
<br />
Knowing that my day was going to be difficult, I picked up a book to hide within. Just a book that happened to be within arm's reach.<br />
<br />
I don't know what happened. Maybe it was the sun on my face coming through the window. Maybe it was reading about someone with a legitimate reason to want to run away. Maybe it was grace from a loving Heavenly Father who sent me an important message to "Live."<br />
<br />
We must choose, you know.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<em> "Just before she died, McKale asked me to promise her that I would live."</em><br />
<br />
<em> She nodded. "I think we all have to make that choice. I meet dead people every day at the diner."</em><br />
<br />
<em> "What do you mean?"</em><br />
<br />
<em> "People who have given up. That's all death requires of us, to give up living."</em><br />
<br />
<em> I wondered if I was one of them.</em><br />
<br />
<em> "The thing is, the only real sign of life is growth. And growth requires pain. So to choose life is to accept pain."</em><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I know that there are people with "real" problems that face the decision to live or give up each day. And then, of course, that makes me beat myself up for having imaginary problems. But are they really? I don't know what things you struggle with, and you don't know what I struggle with, and perhaps it is best if we keep it that way.<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSGwj6pU-lE2GbORG6fwB6E0TCwqyPGZAcU1N6AD1hjVCDmjP46lNwOYje4t2Vq-HwSZzoTEvy7m2rsbDus29fkL4vKb8hf-nS692EumBQU495C90zNq-JfbQm8StEHtSxraOu2RKq_ky6/s1600/thewalk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" pca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSGwj6pU-lE2GbORG6fwB6E0TCwqyPGZAcU1N6AD1hjVCDmjP46lNwOYje4t2Vq-HwSZzoTEvy7m2rsbDus29fkL4vKb8hf-nS692EumBQU495C90zNq-JfbQm8StEHtSxraOu2RKq_ky6/s320/thewalk.jpg" width="207" /></a>The book is called simply, <a href="http://www.richardpaulevans.com/books/the-walk">The Walk. It is by Richard Paul Evans</a> and I found it to be engaging from the first paragraph of the Prologue. It is elegant in its simplicity. It captures the universal dream of running away from it all. Admit it. You have thought about that at least once in your life, haven't you?</div>
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
<br /></div>
I love my life. I really do. I have the freedom to enjoy a variety of pursuits. I have people who really love me. They do! Who can say why, but they do. I have been blessed with good health, with a sound mind, with a profound relationship with my Savior.<br />
<br />
When life gets difficult I simply need to remember to glance upward and see that eternity is my covering, as it was with Patriarch Abraham and Mother Sarah (Abraham 2:16). They never lost hope, but pushed forward in pursuit of the great blessings they had been promised. I suspect they even had days of discouragement.<br />
<br />
Sometimes I wish I could write what I am feeling and send it off in a bottle in the sea. Then I could be pretty well-assured that no one would ever read it. It is difficult to send off a blogpost because even though it is nearly as lost in oblivion as that bottle would be, there are a handful who may actually find it and glimpse into my soul.<br />
<br />
Treat it kindly, dear reader. And perhaps take solace in discovering that others can have bad days too.<br />
<br />
May we choose to live; to drink in life to its fullest, and remember that the only real sign of life is growth.Ardith Hawshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04444013839810468453noreply@blogger.com0