tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69959838800516856322024-03-12T18:18:43.388-07:00The Gingerbread HouseMommy Gallowayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08821851623381680369noreply@blogger.comBlogger166125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995983880051685632.post-26169676442127439652020-04-15T06:56:00.000-07:002020-04-15T06:56:34.114-07:00NaPoWriMo.... Days 3-5<img alt="See the source image" height="240" src="https://images.pexels.com/photos/433370/pexels-photo-433370.jpeg?cs=srgb&dl=coffee-coffee-shop-cup-433370.jpg&fm=jpg" width="320" /><br />
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Day 3 - Isolation (burlesque)<br />
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Sitting in front of the TV<br />
I don't know how much more<br />
I can watch<br />
Reruns and Originals<br />
Movies and such<br />
<br />
Sitting in front of the fridge<br />
I think I have<br />
eaten every thing<br />
What I scrounged up at the store<br />
What every delivery person would bring<br />
<br />
Sitting in front of the window<br />
I wish I could just go<br />
out there and see<br />
Someone to walk with and talk to<br />
Someone other than me<br />
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Sitting in front of my dog<br />
My dog simply can't understand<br />
why I am home all day<br />
I think he has played<br />
all the fetch he cares to play<br />
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Day 4 - Just (found poetry - Tweet from @realdonaldjtrump 4/13/2020)<br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="background-color: black;">For the purpose of creating </span>conflict and confusion, <span style="background-color: black;">some in the Fake News Media are </span>saying that <span style="background-color: black;">it is the Governors decision to open up the states,</span> not <span style="background-color: black;">that of the President of the United States & the Federal Government. Let it be</span> fully understood <span style="background-color: black;">that this</span> is incorrect....</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">....It is <span style="background-color: black;">the decision of the President, and for many good reasons. With that</span> being said, <span style="background-color: black;">the Administration and I are working closely with the Governors, and</span> this will continue<span style="background-color: black;">. A decision by me, in conjunction</span> with <span style="background-color: black;">the Governors and</span> input from others <span style="background-color: black;">will be </span>made <span style="background-color: black;">shortly!</span></span></div>
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Day 5 - Covid-19 (haiku)</div>
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<br />Mommy Gallowayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08821851623381680369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995983880051685632.post-28895543927476051192020-04-10T10:34:00.002-07:002020-04-15T06:58:50.566-07:00NaPoWriMo...<br />
Another challenge. Another 30 (or so) days of madness on my keyboard. This year I add to NaPoWriMo a house full of kids who are the stir-crazy victims of the Corona Virus lock-in, a shortage of toilet paper, flour and canned soup, way too much stuff I have to get done around the house and a list of projects I yearn to complete.<br />
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Today is April 10th. I talked about NaPoWriMo last month with a dear girlfriend who pushes me to the limits of my creativity and then quietly, my computer stayed dormant for a few weeks and the first THIRD of the challenge passed right on by. Nonetheless (which is actually one of my favorite compound words and may become the focal point of my first poem), I start today, doubling up for the first ten days to get 30 of 30 completed before the end of the month.<br />
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<img alt="Image result for SUNSET" src="https://th.bing.com/th/id/OIP.-HbRdyHgojHAzuJxlKkW1QHaE6?w=264&h=174&c=7&o=5&dpr=2&pid=1.7" /><br />
DAY 1. NONETHELESS (Acrostic)<br />
<br />
Nightly, as the sun would set<br />
Our vision on the horizon<br />
Neither blinked. These moments<br />
Etched eternally in our minds.<br />
Two strangers,<br />
He and I.<br />
Efortless<br />
Lovers. Spending time together<br />
Even though each moment was<br />
Separate. Patiently waiting to<br />
See the sunset together.<br />
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<img alt="Image result for outside" src="https://th.bing.com/th/id/OIP.WunxCfYRXfB59dRjcz5n2gHaFj?w=234&h=174&c=7&o=5&dpr=2&pid=1.7" /><br />
DAY 2. OUTSIDE (Pastoral)<br />
<br />
From the window in the front room<br />
I dream of the days when<br />
the world will be open and<br />
available. Sparrows singing in treetops<br />
above our heads. A song of<br />
freedom in their voices. I yearn for<br />
the grasses long and flowing and<br />
freshly cut blades where the scent of them<br />
rises into a spring breeze. I've nearly<br />
forgotten what it's like to rake fallen<br />
leaves and delight at a butterfly's chaotic<br />
dance. Garden boxes have become tombs<br />
for last year's final fruits. I am wanton for poppy<br />
covered hillsides and melting snowcaps. Will<br />
you be there to welcome the outside<br />
with me? Bared feet against the cool earth,<br />
roses smiling at us from overgrown<br />
bushes wild like the beard that<br />
has taken over your face. I like<br />
the look: rustic and manly. But we can not<br />
lie inside each other's embrace. I yearn<br />
for the touch of the sun on pale cheeks<br />
and sun-shy eyes. Until then, I sit near the<br />
window longing to be outside.Mommy Gallowayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08821851623381680369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995983880051685632.post-15051911527427594932017-08-02T22:50:00.001-07:002017-08-02T22:50:12.903-07:00The Escape : Just a little fiction for fun! It was 2:15. In fifteen minutes her life would be changed forever. Handing a twenty to the driver and slipping her bag over her shoulder she stepped out of the cab into the heat of the day. Blinking, she shadowed her eyes with her palm. Beverly eyed a small bistro on the patio of the coffee shop and slung her tote onto the chair closest to the wall. The shop was quaint. It was the perfect spot to connect. The wind rustled the leaves on the elm that canopied the patio. A cool breeze caused bumps to rise up on her back where sweat pooled and her shirt clung.<br />
A man and woman sat across from her. She watched his eyes as he glanced from the woman's lips to her chest. She wondered how the man and the woman might be connected. The woman's purse, she noted, was pushed tightly against her stomach by the edge of the table and the woman sat rigid. She was poised as if ready to run. She wore a red skirt and white blouse. Her hair was twisted in a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Her makeup was simple. Their voices were barely above a whisper. When the man looked up and saw they were being watched he blew a kiss in Beverly's direction and refocused his attention on his date. Beverly recoiled in disgust as she caught the forlorn glance of the woman. Then, in one deft movement the woman swung her hand across the man's face, her ring catching his lip causing a steady stream of blood to drip onto his white shirt.<br />
Beverly covered her mouth with a napkin to stifle her laugh as the seat across the bistro became occupied. "What's funny?"<br />
"Nothing," she lied.<br />
"Have you been waiting long?" Beverly watched his mouth move and remembered that was what had caught her attention the day they met. His lips were perfect as if they had been drawn on his face. It was alluring. "I'm sorry I'm late."<br />
She glanced at her watch. She hadn't noticed the time. "Thank you for meeting me here. The office makes me nervous." <br />
He smiled and placed his hand on top of hers and shook his head, "I understand. Have you thought about what we talked over?"<br />
Beverly pulled her hands back and folded them in her lap. She tried not to think at all since they last talked. It was uncomfortable. If she could, she would have forced herself to vanish and float away on the ocean breeze that lifted her bedroom curtain in a billowing farewell. "No." Her voice was sharp and she immediately regretted her tone. He was nothing more than the messenger, she reasoned. "I can't," she said more gently. "Thinking is killing me."<br />
"The window of opportunity is closing quickly. If you make no choice, there will be no choice to be made."<br />
Beverly winced. She knew he was right. She wanted to be an adult about the whole thing but she felt childish. Her concerns only magnified when she thought of the many repercussions of any choice she might make. Her nervousness shown as she pulled at the curls at the back of her neck. "Do I have to decide now?"<br />
"The door closes today, with or without you." He stood up and walked away from the table without glancing back her way.<br />
Beverly thought about her life before she arrived here. She was lonely and frustrated. She never felt like she belonged and this place made her feel purposed. Leaving would mean much more than starting over; it would mean being resolved to her old life. If she were ready for that the Keeper had made promises but what would those promises mean? What if it was too much for her, would he be obliged to return her to this status, alone in a coffee shop watching him walk away? Even with purpose would she never feel loved?<br />
She looked back at the couple. The man held a napkin to his mouth hiding his words and catching his blood. His eyes bore holes in the woman's soul. Beverly could feel the woman shudder and the heat of her fear turned her ears and nose crimson. He will try to kill her tonight. The thought made Beverly rise to her feet scraping the legs of the chair loudly against the cobblestone floor. The noise caught the attention of the couple.<br />
Even in a world where perfection was the norm she was unhappy but this new unhappiness had fatal consequences. At home she worried about nothing. The Azraat took care of needs. She came from a world without fear. Being here engulfed her in it but there was so much more involved in living that she was drawn to it despite negative reprecussions.<br />
The man stood and grabbed the woman by her arm. Beverly could feel his fingertips digging into the woman's delicate flesh. In that instant Beverly made her decision. The woman stumbled over her feet trying to keep up with the man who had begun to drag her from the coffee shop. Before they reached the door, Beverly closed her eyes and bowed her head. She made no sound as her spirit was lifted, this time with a companion into the clouds. Together they rose through the heavens, their feet gently finding their place among women, the Azraat closing the threshold behind them.<br />
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<br />Mommy Gallowayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08821851623381680369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995983880051685632.post-8560555111509019972017-04-11T08:21:00.002-07:002017-04-11T08:21:43.243-07:00The HourThe wood dragged against masonry leaving a shadow of splintered earth.<br />
The wailing was muted by his breath.<br />
Deep and long<br />
Strides in sandaled feet.<br />
Pausing to move weathered hands<br />
Blistered and cramped.<br />
Eyes never falling--<br />
Cast upward--<br />
Whispered conversations.<br />
Fathers and sons.<br />
Mothers whose breath pulled from clenched<br />
Chest.<br />
The executioner's voice looming.<br />
Fist-back drawing beads of sweat.<br />
Freezing and holding up that hand to silence the voices.<br />
The one that called his name and made prickly skin crawl.<br />
Eyes wildly dance among the crowd.<br />
Who calls he?<br />
The mallet raised and slicing through sun beam.<br />
Again the voice as the strike is blown.<br />
The deafening ring.<br />
Low groan that swells from gut to drown the sound of his name.<br />
Lightning crash and thunder roll.<br />
Fingers that curl around handle worn--<br />
Barely holding as blood pools at both men's feet.<br />
Remorse caught in the back of his throat is like bile.<br />
Lifted.<br />
Up.<br />
<br />Mommy Gallowayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08821851623381680369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995983880051685632.post-14213389116781598162016-06-25T23:21:00.000-07:002016-06-25T23:21:32.684-07:00"Mixed" Feelings<div style="text-align: center;">
I saw an ad on TV the other day for SheaMoisture. SheaMoisture is a haircare line designed (I suppose, but I'm not quite sure) for "ethnic" hair. The ad which, hopefully you can see here: </div>
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<i>(If you can't see the ad it shows the Black women confused and obviously hurt because they can't shop shoulder to shoulder with their white counterparts as they select shampoos and pomades. SheaMoisture comes to the rescue as the only one who sympathizes with the Black condition, inviting Black customers to cross the line and move over into the "white's only section (did I really write that?)." By the way, the mixed girl is with her mom on the "better" aisle.)</i></div>
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Anyway...here's where I am on this. I'm not impressed. I'm looking at the ad and I see that SM is trying to make us feel better about ourselves by making the attempt to pull me into something that they say is equal by throwing me into a sea of different and then telling me that I'm better off for it and, all this after SM told us they weren't for us in the first place. </div>
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Oh...wait, what am I talking about?</div>
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Last year Shea Moisture was in the news because they used white models as the images to </div>
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sell their products. Not just this ad either, there were several... We got mad and rose a stink about it. </div>
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What made us think a thing marked Shea Butter, or Cocoa Butter, or Coconut Oil belong to us?</div>
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And... who told us SheaMoisture was a Black Hair Care Product in the first place?</div>
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Granted, I was irritated in the '80s when I started buying my own hair care products and to my dismay, came to the disappointing realization that the products for my hair, if there were any in the store, were tucked away, not on the other side of the hair care aisle, or at the end of the aisle in its own section, but that it was on the bottom shelf under the foot powder and fungus remedies.</div>
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Flash forward to today, the section, and it still is its own section, is easy to find.</div>
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It's on the hair care aisle (where I shop) and there are 100%, maybe 150% more products than before.</div>
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I'm not mad about it. They've made it easy for me to find what I want. (Remember the spices and the ethnic spices aren't in the same place in the store either.) If I want to find a store filled with products designed for my type of hair there are indoor swap meets full of them. Certainly I can shop at a beauty supply (the one in my "white neighborhood is a topic for another time).</div>
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But, if I wanted SheaMoisture, where do you suppose </div>
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I would find them in the neighborhood store? </div>
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Would I feel better about shopping for them?</div>
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Would I feel... included? </div>
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Would shopping for SheaMoisture make me feel better about myself?</div>
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Well, I was in the store and looked today. Yay! SheaMoisture, for the breakthrough. Aside from being very difficult to locate in the sea of products I found you here:</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU7Y4RWpVVgVVjssbLihdhqBVK-EK9ToToYVGVeZS_roIBdG36TVTezHtmkBYr3BYkJKtCk7uGyRAWrml8AO5QpC65zLLmSjA8GcdsAgfsdIphFBdZ8xJ6eZmB7_5_Jzjgl99Z8LKu-lY/s1600/20160625_194635.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU7Y4RWpVVgVVjssbLihdhqBVK-EK9ToToYVGVeZS_roIBdG36TVTezHtmkBYr3BYkJKtCk7uGyRAWrml8AO5QpC65zLLmSjA8GcdsAgfsdIphFBdZ8xJ6eZmB7_5_Jzjgl99Z8LKu-lY/s640/20160625_194635.jpeg" width="640" /></a><br />Yep, that's them... down there near the floor... ahem...<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_BhnXfQZWeKWK_NJZPEnh9z6RjGqOJzR1r0PsV-j_04qU_KKeRyWz6bLiL_apHeH2bB4N0EwlWbMmGiBvLwt1V0xvjmoZPKpNpmTHSa0lbOgyLb7eveFFpjCAQpxFgnBhSv6bqVqbc6o/s1600/20160625_194649.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_BhnXfQZWeKWK_NJZPEnh9z6RjGqOJzR1r0PsV-j_04qU_KKeRyWz6bLiL_apHeH2bB4N0EwlWbMmGiBvLwt1V0xvjmoZPKpNpmTHSa0lbOgyLb7eveFFpjCAQpxFgnBhSv6bqVqbc6o/s640/20160625_194649.jpeg" width="640" /></a><br />...with the anti-theft stickers on them.<br /></td></tr>
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I think I'm feeling some kind of way about the whole thing.</div>
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I think I'll just go to the section where I can find what I need or better yet, </div>
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I'll buy my products hand-to-hand or online from small businesses who</div>
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truly have my interests in mind.</div>
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<br />Mommy Gallowayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08821851623381680369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995983880051685632.post-21286896478399977852016-04-23T21:31:00.000-07:002016-04-23T21:31:18.813-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPvyifNXAn4aJpKD8LQVZxaMCZdzrUSU25ZJzcm3YSHL9QH04BESnZyXA6g0YbjsEZuwve8bjiW8YMbwQrd1BCTlGEyWjbcSkRybWpK2INKz8NKCf2H0a0ale5PKPIT9r5ZUNoGiHAGT4/s1600/fitnessjog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPvyifNXAn4aJpKD8LQVZxaMCZdzrUSU25ZJzcm3YSHL9QH04BESnZyXA6g0YbjsEZuwve8bjiW8YMbwQrd1BCTlGEyWjbcSkRybWpK2INKz8NKCf2H0a0ale5PKPIT9r5ZUNoGiHAGT4/s320/fitnessjog.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Worked on breathing today!</h2>
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February 14, 1997 I started the Sheriff's academy in San Diego. I was never an athletic person. I mean, I like dance and step and zumba class but I was...in the band. I was a nerd. I was a fat kid. I played growing up, but nothing like the academy. But I was determined that the academy physical training wouldn't beat me! The first day we had to jog. It was probably only about one mile and we jogged pretty slowly. They drove a van behind us and told <span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">us we could get on it if we gave up. I watched some get on the van. I refused and pushed through. I finished that first day and really had to consider if it was worth it to do this every day for the next 11 weeks. Again, I told myself I would not let them beat me! Everyday when it was time for PT I would start having anxiety. My heart would start pounding, I would sweat and pant. Jogging was the hardest thing I had ever done. I graduated from the academy eleven weeks later. I was #1 academically, but the greater success was that I was able to meet all the PT requirements.</span></div>
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Fast forward to 2010. I started a school at my church and in accordance with our vision to incorporate mental, spiritual, and physical fitness our pastor started a boot camp for the staff and students. We worked out 6 days a week for an hour each day for 3 years straight. After the first few months, guess what he added to the training? Yep! Jogging... ugh! But it wasn't that bad. With pastor leading the pack he would call out "Lean back, throw your legs out in front of you and breathe!" Well, the school had to close after 3 years for lack of funding and with it went the boot camp.</div>
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It has been three years since we closed our doors. I still work out at the gym, I take the classes (Zumba, RIPPED, SPINN, U-Jam, Kickboxing), I take karate classes, and I still jog. Last week I went out to jog a couple of miles and at the 3/4 mile marker I was DONE. My body was good but I had not been able to control my breathing and I was pretty much hyperventilating! I'm overweight but I'm in pretty good shape. This wasn't about being able to do it or even about my anxiety any more, it was about BREATHING! So I looked it up online for advice and pointers. This is what I learned: Start slow and concentrate. Walk and breathe. Deep breaths. Then walk faster still concentrating on the breathing. Count the number of paces for each breath. Then a slow jog. The breathing should be easier to control. Then step it up to your goal pace. Today I jogged an ALMOST effortless 3 miles!</div>
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But this LONG post is about more than that, isn't it? It's about not giving up. It's about focussing on what sustains us and what gives us the power and strength to do what we set our minds to do. It's about overcoming obstacles, looking (asking) for help when we need it and never giving up. If you've read this far, I hope you are encouraged. Don't let struggles in life get to you. Don't let anxiety stop you. You may just need to work on your breathing!</div>
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Mommy Gallowayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08821851623381680369noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995983880051685632.post-37882505895963763242016-04-11T06:45:00.001-07:002016-04-11T06:46:46.736-07:00What I Learned This Week: I QUIT!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Dear sirs,</div>
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It is with no regrets that I write this letter. I was at one time very grateful for the opportunities with which I had been presented during my stint in your service. I have, however, come to the understanding, observation, and recognition that you mean nothing but harm for me in everything that I put my hands and my heart to. You made me believe I was doing well but with every job review I was getting worse. I worked many overtime hours without pay or recognition. Each of the tasks you gave me I took on wholeheartedly, each one taking a piece of that same heart. I will no longer spend my days doing mundane tasks. I will no longer serve ill will. I will no longer smear lives with hatred. I will no longer maintain an attitude of despair and defeat. I will no longer give the worst of me to highlight the best of you. In my time under your supervision I have killed many dreams and lost many opportunities and you made me think I was my own supervisor. I slammed doors closed and locked them before I realized I had no keys. </div>
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Your promises, when I came on the job, were all lies. There were no lifelong benefits; my health has suffered and there is no WELLNESS plan; my finances have suffered and there is no SAVING plan; my family has suffered and there is no LOVE plan; my soul has suffered and there is no SALVATION plan! Even the meals you served in the lunchroom were unfulfilling and lacked nutrition. You commissioned me to do your dirty work, to steal from the poor and ignore the brokenhearted, to kill and destroy, to maim and mar. I won’t do it any more. The final straw was when I realized you were charging me to work for you. The cost was too much. Much more than I can afford to pay. It was costing me everything that I AM. </div>
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Therefore, this letter is to serve as my resignation, effective immediately. I will not be returning to your service. I will not be applying for unemployment benefits and require nothing of you. I have been approached by another job. I have accepted another position, one with EVERLASTING benefits. The pay is more than I can carry. The potential for growth is astronomical. I’ve already been given a RAISE! I am turning in my badge, on my new job I carry a different kind of SHIELD. I am turning in my uniform for on my new job I will wear a WHITE ROBE. The nametag you assigned me is of no use, because MY NAME HAS BEEN CHANGED! </div>
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Thankfully His,</div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><i>Child of God</i></span></div>
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Child of God</div>
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(Previously known as Sinner)</div>
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Mommy Gallowayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08821851623381680369noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995983880051685632.post-16727700492400156912016-02-05T09:00:00.000-08:002016-02-05T09:00:23.754-08:00What I Learned This Week: I Am Part of the RevolutionI guess, when I look at the history of the United States I have to admit that I am heartbroken. There is so much that is so wrong with this country, its history and its people. The death and destruction, but most of all, the hatred. The fear that has been born and fed from misunderstanding and self-righteousness. We take what we want, we give little, and demand more. Who does that?<br />
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So, reflecting on my own life, I have discovered, declared and decided that I am part of the revolution. I lift my voice on paper with pen and I say what needs to be said to the people that need to hear it. I speak words of encouragement and I take up arms in your defense. I want to walk blocks with a paper pinned to me that lets everyone know that I am woman, I am mother, I am wife, I am Black...I am African American....whose ancestors were not given a choice but simply a place and we continue to accept that place as our own as if that were the only place that we have.<br />
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We hold on to religion as if the only real hope that we have is in death and that our lives are simply the result of a sinful nature which we are hopeless to control. And, brothers and sisters, that is a lie.<br />
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I have decided to be a change. Even if it is for the sake of no one but those who share a roof with me. But it won't. It will be for the man who hates me before he knows my name. It is for him and her who decide my fate based on the way my hair doesn't lie flat against my scalp and despises me because I allow it, in all its glory to wind upon itself and stand at attention. It will be for the children who, in awe, reach out to my skin to see if, in fact it is a permanent state of being and whose mothers have insisted that they stay away from it lest they become a victim of the disease it carries. It will be for the old woman I listen to as she rambles on about her past and the one Black friend that she had growing up. How that little girl shaped all of Black America for her and in her mind, we are all made up of that one. A culture bound in limits.<br />
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As I type on computer keyboards and watch words come to life, I realize that I have become part of a renaissance that has lasted and tested time. A symbolic shift from an era of masters to masterpieces of me and you bound together. An artistic rambling of thought and temperament. Pen and ink, paint and keys, colors that rise to the surface like hot grease voices singing negro spirituals turned jazz sonatas with a blues back. This is the place where I dig my heels in and reminisce on times past and make promises to myself that the past will not be the future for my sons, or the sons of my sons and my daughters will not cry out in the dark of nights for the souls of forgotten boys.<br />
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A shot cries out as I throw away plastic guns. My sons will not be the victims of fear and hatred and so I teach them a lesson in the revolution. We must arm ourselves with knowledge and power. We must not be afraid to be who we were created to be and own our place on this planet. None can make you less, son. None can make you less. No one can make you anything unless you decide in your mind that the revolution is over and take the place that is thrown toward you.<br />
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Today, I have decided with the determination that my fingers pound on these keys that every breath that I take and every word that I write and every thought that goes through my mind must be for the building up. As I take my place on the battle line and the marching line, locking my arms with those who stand united with me. No longer will the shade of coffee in a cup divide and separate me from who I love. No longer will I stand idly by and watch the shift in the atmosphere as if I have no control over my own airspace.<br />
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I am part of the revolution. My job in it, is to impact your mind.Mommy Gallowayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08821851623381680369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995983880051685632.post-59960917731601337462016-02-05T07:01:00.000-08:002016-02-05T08:58:15.721-08:00The Coffee DateStanding in her living room I was oddly uncomfortable. The room was clean. Tidy, and reminiscent of the way model homes were decorated and eerily uninhabited. Those homes that possessed no soul. No rhythm or heartbeat. Without the echo of footsteps on wooden floors and the parade of laughing children on staircases.<br />
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She invited me to sit. I lowered my body in unison with my purse onto the brocade tapestry. And then, thinking twice about setting my purse on the sofa pulled it back into my lap. I glanced at my shoes near the front door, a longing in the eyelets peering at me. I wiggled my toes in stockinged feet grateful that I had the fore-notion to cover peeling polish and crooked knuckles.<br />
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Balancing the tiniest cup of coffee on a china saucer I watched a cube of sugar slowly dissolve. <i>Who uses sugar cubes any more?</i> She laughed and talked about nothing. My eyes dancing back and forth from her lips, moving up and down, a silly pucker and phony high-pitched baby voice, to the bare walls and coffee table. A candle that had never been lit and a vase of silk flowers.<br />
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<i>She must do chores all day.</i> I thought about my own home, stacks of books on shelves and tables and in corners. A fine layer of dust on the blinds and bits of thread and this or that screaming their existence against the dark colored carpet that I hated from the time that we moved in but had been too lazy to do anything about. My sewing machine, I remembered, had been left on the window seat in the kitchenette, out of its case, the spools of thread on their sides threatening to fall and unravel on the linoleum. My heavy ceramic coffee mug, on the table, a ring of sugary sweet caffeine drying inside, a line of it down the outside of the cup lending itself to a unique ellipse on a white paper napkin next to a novel, its pages dog eared and stained from reading and rereading pages that pulsed with their own life.<br />
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This home, with its dainty scent of rose petals and pine cleaners did not echo the open arms of her mistress. But she was proper. Far from the wild haired, open mouthed stare of my front room, not used for sitting in delicate conversation, loud music blaring, booty shaking and off-key singing, door slamming cadence. Frying bacon and dirty diapers and smokey burning the second time from the bottom of the stove where the berry pie boiled over. Dirty dishes left for later, when living stopped waiting for something brilliant to happen. Birds that ruffle feathers and dogs that shake loose hairs into the air as they lay in panels of light from curtain-less windows, proof of life when humans, doing human things are absent.<br />
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Interrupting her chatter, I asked, because I longed to see and hear the passion in her voice. I wanted to see her heart, raw and naked in the room. Spilling over in color-filled words onto the area rug. If she could just let her hair spill over her shoulders and dance with carefree abandon. Awakening sleeping beasts. Allowing her hands to touch and feel textures and temperatures as they explode in sparkling flashes of light. But she just kept on talking, everything in its place. Everything just so. Proper and in order.<br />
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Mommy Gallowayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08821851623381680369noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995983880051685632.post-4489128641156072022015-12-28T08:40:00.000-08:002015-12-28T10:53:41.436-08:00Writing in the Desert<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Droughts come and seem absolutely desperate for the writer. It feels like the rains will never come. You look to the heavens and... nothing. Not even a cloud of inspiration. Sitting in front of a computer screen looking at a blank document makes you feel like a dehydrated lump. Soon you're fighting the urge to give up and surf the web or check out what everyone else is doing on social media.</div>
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We've all been there. If it was a school assignment, a letter to a friend, a job assignment or that freelance article facing a deadline, we have all felt like the words would never come. It is a place where we feel so utterly inadequate. When dry seasons come it seems like creativity crumbles in our hands. It causes us undue concern and we use the dry season as the indicator of our ability to write. But is it, really?</div>
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I've had the opportunity on occasion to talk to aspiring writers who want to know how I overcome writer's block. How do I find water in the arid season? The simple answer is: I don't.</div>
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Did you know that there is life, even in the desert? Things can and do grow in the most unlikely places. Instead of looking to the sky for rain, the place to find life might be right under foot.</div>
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Here are three steps I take that might be helpful to you in your times of drought:</div>
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<b>1. TAKE A BREAK</b> from the task at hand. Whatever it is that your mind can't seem to connect to can be its own dead-lock. Start writing something else; a letter to a friend, a grocery list, a poem, a journal entry. Once you've oiled the gears you may discover a new found inspiration to write!</div>
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<b>2. READ</b> something that you enjoy. Pull that book or magazine that you've been wanting time to read off the shelf or pull out some of your old stuff and start reading your own writing. Relax your mind and give yourself something else to focus on. When your creativity is piqued, put the book down and start writing!</div>
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<b>3. CHANGE YOUR SURROUNDINGS</b> and go outside or to another room. Close your computer and grab a tablet and a pen and take a walk around the block. When inspiration takes hold start writing!</div>
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No matter what, don't panic! Droughts are for a season. Soon the storm clouds will cover the sky. In the meantime, find the blossoms in the sand.</div>
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Find quick information and advice on defeating writer's block here:</div>
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<a href="https://www.createspace.com/4228605" style="font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 16.8px; text-align: start;">https://www.createspace.com/4228605</a> on sale now for only $5</div>
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Mommy Gallowayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08821851623381680369noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995983880051685632.post-12490118055040835152015-09-24T07:16:00.001-07:002015-09-24T07:16:18.364-07:00What I Learned This Week: Maybe I'm Not a Writer<div style="color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGSMLBFtBqpOUNNNLe7WgqtyXGGEHBjwoNpF2BwOiwiEUUtefNSMamqQh5yqXDqqfhmYIVd1rXvZZP7l6ZYNk-ZXjO8M6XylyNan7JXYICH557An0qqGa6MBTjU0JFXqVSgCDasT9P1VA/s1600/Photo+on+2012-03-19+at+16.03.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/AVvXsEjGSMLBFtBqpOUNNNLe7WgqtyXGGEHBjwoNpF2BwOiwiEUUtefNSMamqQh5yqXDqqfhmYIVd1rXvZZP7l6ZYNk-ZXjO8M6XylyNan7JXYICH557An0qqGa6MBTjU0JFXqVSgCDasT9P1VA/s320/Photo+on+2012-03-19+at+16.03.jpg" width="320" /></a> Maybe I'm not a writer. This whole thing could just be some vision of grandeur that doesn't actually exist. Maybe I should have listened to all the nay-sayers: the ones who told me that I should have given up a long time ago, the ones who told me that my spelling is bad and my grammar is worse, the ones who declared that my books, written and unwritten, would-not-sell. </div>
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I could have listened and saved myself countless hours in front of a computer screen trying to gather words into perfect sentences to make the reader "feel" what my characters feel. I didn't have to try to make words icy to the touch and a breeze blow from between pages making an audience tighten their own collars. I could have concentrated on complicated math problems, I could have worked on my customer service skills, I could have ignored the advice that good writers are good readers and I could have thrown that love of literature away with all the pens and pencils, notebooks and binders full of words that I should have never used. </div>
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Maybe I'm not a writer and my life could be much simpler; only one life to live in my head. Stories could have stayed dreams and dissipated with morning sunbeams. I could have long ago stopped paying attention to the way that people move their hips in an individual quirky rhythm when they walk or the way they tighten their eyes when they wrestle inside with the words they speak and what they actually think. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE_8ccOmkoFCyGtxjO3BosF-qjLXy48yUM7ZIBJDyOlZp-TeJfhiIOmr-aDRKsijiBT_4BKPIJDb7vbDF62f2AAgZCgU0hmwRcUTFXdeRHmOrGPwd_J-gWMZ6hqVllMyBSZGq_IXRcQPA/s1600/Photo+on+2012-03-19+at+15.59.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE_8ccOmkoFCyGtxjO3BosF-qjLXy48yUM7ZIBJDyOlZp-TeJfhiIOmr-aDRKsijiBT_4BKPIJDb7vbDF62f2AAgZCgU0hmwRcUTFXdeRHmOrGPwd_J-gWMZ6hqVllMyBSZGq_IXRcQPA/s320/Photo+on+2012-03-19+at+15.59.jpg" width="320" /></a> I could have written myself into another story. I could have become an investment banker or a microbiologist or a sheepherder. I could be doing the things that people see as actually working. Clocking in and out. I could have locked words away for something more... suitable. Who reads books anyway? Fiction, non-fiction, historical, fantastical; it has all moved aside for the sake of technology, right? Libraries full of outdated, dusty, leather-bound<br />parchment. Turning pages! E-readers morphing into tablets that tempt us into the social media trap where we read short snippets of life hastily written with words that spellchecker doesn't even bother to spell check...</div>
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Maybe, I'm just not a writer, but I can't seem to get with that. I can't seem to make my fingers and my mind comprehend and cooperate with the notion that there is no point to the direction that my heart has exploded and taken off into. My spirit is stubbornly uneasy when I am away from my word processor for too long and I search under my car seat in the grocery store parking lot for a pen that I know is there to write down the phrase that erupted out of the atmosphere and made me pull over lest I forget it. The perfect phrase that my character, the girl with the thick mahogany ponytail trapped between her back and the seat of the bus, is waiting to think, unedited and raw. I can't abandon her there. She could ride that bus eternally oblivious to the place she was going and the thing that, not yet imagined, waits for her.</div>
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If I'm not a writer. If this thing isn't for me; I am afraid. I am afraid of what isn't and what may not be -- the only thing that my knowing has ever been. Graded papers that I refused to determine my destiny. Volumes of spiral bound, handwritten stories: Notes and poems, ideas and character sketches, plot diagrams and outlines: Writer's conferences and workshops, writer's groups and poetry groups and reading groups: writer's handbooks and references, dictionaries and thesauruses...and the books-- stacks of books, Steinbeck and Angelou and Sheldon and Morrison and Butler that sing to me from their pages and where I find my own voice and breathe my own breath.</div>
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Is it cliché to say that maybe I'm not a writer...but I think there is a writer in me?Mommy Gallowayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08821851623381680369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995983880051685632.post-44172499845392632192015-08-16T08:02:00.000-07:002015-08-16T08:19:03.007-07:00What I Learned This Week: Beyond the Stop Sign<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When we were kids we played on our grandmother's street. We rode bikes and roller skates and skate boards, we had foot races and played chasing games. The only restriction to the scope of our play was the stop sign at the end of the street. Grandma said that we were not allowed to go beyond the stop sign. We played content within the confines of the block, the signs at either end being the imagined forcefield that kept us safe.</div>
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The other day I climbed onto my bicycle to take a ride. I was by myself. I packed my cell phone, a speaker, a bottle of water and a towel in the basket on the front of my bike and started to ride. As I neared the end of the block I looked up at the stop sign and remembered Grandma's street. I remembered how it felt to be held by the red and white octagon. Secure.</div>
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Several miles down the road I thought about that sign again. What was it protecting me from? </div>
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The symbolism in that sign and my ability to ride past it became more and more evident with every pump of pedal and brush of wind against my face. There was a training ground inside those signs. It was a place where I would learn to look out for cars, the safety of the sidewalk. In that space of one block I explored who I was and how I fit in the world. I wasn't old enough to explore beyond that space. Grandma knew that. She knew that confining me to the amount of freedom that I could handle would later prepare me for the blocks beyond, the new stop signs, the yields and the no-parkings.</div>
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As I slipped past five miles I started to pick up speed. I started breathing deep. In those freeing moments I began to look around at the world beyond the stop sign. I started to see the different people smiling and waving as I rode by. I started to notice the flowers on the side of the road and the way the trees built a canopy overhead. I stood on the pedals and used my strength to climb, something I hadn't had to do on the block in front of Grandma's house. Pulling the bike on the will of my own strength.</div>
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The eight mile marker was at the top of a hill. I slowed my feet as the bike took off on it's own in the pull of gravity. My shirt pressed against my body and I breathed in the cool air as it pulled loose hair behind my head into the breeze. I was floating. The wind brushed against my arms like feathers. I couldn't help but to smile. This was an incredible freeing experience. There was nothing holding me. There were no stop signs as I glided down the hill. This was the place where I wanted to be. It was what I had been preparing for. </div>
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Leveling off and dropping into a steady rhythm of push and pull I pedaled my bike. The ride wasn't over but I had a new understanding and appreciation for the stop sign. It wasn't the thing that held me back, it was the thing that, when I was ready, would release me. I don't begrudge the training; the world is beyond the stop sign. </div>
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Join me and other writers at the Temecula Valley Indie Christian Writers Conference</div>
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March 18-20, 2016</div>
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Register here: <b style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Geneva, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8000001907349px;">http://tinyurl.com/inknkeys</b></div>
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Mommy Gallowayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08821851623381680369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995983880051685632.post-2460071605566469792015-07-20T17:45:00.000-07:002015-07-20T17:45:22.038-07:00What I Learned This Week: Something About Tolerance<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It is a crazy change of character. It's a morphing of who I was into a wiser version of myself; someone who has a longer fuse and takes the time to ponder before speaking. Not that I have become less "assertive" but I have learned to add the dimension of strategic thought process to my assertiveness. I measure things now with a large, clear measuring cup. It has a handle so that my hands don't get in the way of the numbers. I look through the glass and gauge the level. Sometimes I pour into the glass with myself already occupying the space, watching the addition of any other substance spilling over the sides. Other times I pour freely from a large pitcher until I reach the top, holding steady, as not to spill even a drop. I believe this has been interpreted to be tolerance. Tight lipped I don't speak right away giving people pause to believe that I am in agreement with whatever silly nonsense has been breathed into the atmosphere. Nothing could be farther from the truth. My reality is that this "tolerance" is actually the time that I take, and the resulting less-reactive me.<br />
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There are so many things that, once I stopped running my mouth, with both fists in the air, and anti-whatever shirt on my back, I realized are better dealt with, with all the facts in tact. It is only then that I am able to surmise those things that are truly worth the rise in blood pressure and the impending migraine. It is then that I can form words and sentences that matter, encourage thought and provoke change and that I can keep my focus on what's truly important without the distraction of my own breathing.<br />
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I do know, however, that there is some danger in the assumptions about my tolerance. The silence you want to share with me invites you to come close where you might find that I whisper things to myself and my thoughts are loud. It is the place where my opinions dwell and my beliefs wriggle between my fingers and toes. When you come close you may find that I'm much more opinionated than you imagined. You will also learn that you are much more important to me than the tolerance that you think I exhibit.Mommy Gallowayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08821851623381680369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995983880051685632.post-45700359071286856432015-07-11T22:56:00.001-07:002015-07-11T23:10:08.137-07:00What I Learned This Week: Something About The God in My KidsI learned that VBS is fun for my kids no matter how many times they go and that my children are learning much more from God than seems evident most of the time.<br />
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This week I packed the kids in the car at 8:30 every morning to take them to a local church for their Vacation Bible School program. Even though it wasn't our church and even though they walked into the sanctuary on Monday knowing no one but each other, they had fun. On Friday, we pulled out of the parking lot, children waving from every open window in the car screaming at newfound friends and VBS leaders that they may not see until next July.<br />
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Chattering from the time I picked them up at noon until we arrived back home, lunches eaten and bicycles pulled out of the garage they told me every single detail even rattling off scriptures and new songs. Then, as if the entirety of this scene weren't enough when the house was quiet and I thought that the lessons from the week had started to wane one or the other started humming a song about the Jesus who saves and restores.<br />
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Days after VBS is over, as I experienced one of the many minor irritations of being an adult, one of my kids told me, "Mom, it's okay, God knows what He's doing." And that was when I had my aha moment and my eyes were opened a little wider and the fussing and fighting of everyday with them got a little quieter and I could see His face in my rearview mirror singing a song about the Fruit of the Spirit.<br />
<br />Mommy Gallowayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08821851623381680369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995983880051685632.post-13967922885184824422015-06-28T20:15:00.003-07:002015-06-28T20:16:54.590-07:00What I Learned This Week: I'm Tired of Listening to Your Hate<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This week I learned just how hateful people can be. I listened and watched as people complained and argued and wagged flags of hatred at one another. The funny thing is, even the flags that were supposed to be declaring love proclaimed in loud voices and upraised fists hate for their oppressors and a vanity in overcoming them. The flags I saw this week wore stars, bars, stripes and rainbows, silver and gold crests pinned to uniform shirts, N-words, and black leather covers. Each of the flags flies over hearts of hatred. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Inasmuch as people continue to exert their right to fly the flags of hatred, I have decided not to fly my flag at all. My flag is no better than any of the others. It displays a one sided view of what and whose I am. So instead of flying a flag of self-admiration. I have decided instead to carry an ever changing and morphing flag of you. My determination is to bare a flag of affirmations for the people around me. They are not my beliefs and ideals that I need to force into your life and into your airspace, it is my love. I chose to move under the flag of you and let it be filled with my adoration of you. I chose to operate all of my business under the flag of you and truly it doesn't even matter what you are, what you believe, what you identify with, or what you don't. This week I learned to love you in spite of our differences. I learned to love you no matter what you believe. I learned to love you no matter what you do. I may not like your actions and you may not like mine, but under the flag of you it's not about me. It's only about the love that I must have in my heart for the people around me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">The Bible says to love my neighbor as myself. So I have decided that the words that come out of my mouth and influence people will be loving words, uplifting words, empowering words. I will share words of love and compassion. Your flags are not symbols of nations, they are symbols of separation. I no longer chose to acknowledge them. We are much more than a nation under God, we are a people under Him, neither Jew nor Gentile, slave or free, male nor female, we are one under Christ (Gal. 3:28). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So when you see me, don't be surprised about the flag that I have raised high above my head and how it seems to resonate in you. It won't be a flag that you recognize but it will be oh, so familiar. </span><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: small; font-weight: normal;">1 John 4:19-20, "<span class="text 1John-4-19" id="en-NIV-30623" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 24px;"><span class="versenum" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;">19 </span>We love because he first loved us.<span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-30623B" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-30623B" title="See cross-reference B">B</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></span></span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 24px;"> </span><span class="text 1John-4-20" id="en-NIV-30624" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 24px;"><span class="versenum" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;">20 </span>Whoever claims to love God yet hates a brother or sister<span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-30624C" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-30624C" title="See cross-reference C">C</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></span> is a liar.<span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-30624D" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-30624D" title="See cross-reference D">D</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></span> For whoever does not love their brother and sister, whom they have seen,<span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-30624E" data-link="(<a href="#cen-NIV-30624E" title="See cross-reference E">E</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></span>cannot love God, whom they have not seen."</span></span></i></h3>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-weight: normal;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">1 Timothy 2:1, "First of all, then, I urge that supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thanksgivings be made for all people, </span><span class="text 1Tim-2-2" id="en-ESV-29702" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">for kings and all who are in high positions, that we may lead a peaceful and quiet life, godly and <span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-ESV-29702B" data-link="(<a href="#cen-ESV-29702B" title="See cross-reference B">B</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 0.625em; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></span>dignified in every way.</span><span style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"> </span><span class="text 1Tim-2-3" id="en-ESV-29703" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"><span class="versenum" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 12px; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;">3 </span>This is good, and <span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-ESV-29703C" data-link="(<a href="#cen-ESV-29703C" title="See cross-reference C">C</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 0.625em; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></span>it is pleasing in the sight of <span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-ESV-29703D" data-link="(<a href="#cen-ESV-29703D" title="See cross-reference D">D</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 0.625em; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></span>God our Savior,</span><span style="font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"> </span><span class="text 1Tim-2-4" id="en-ESV-29704" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;"><span class="versenum" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 12px; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;">4 </span>who desires <span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-ESV-29704E" data-link="(<a href="#cen-ESV-29704E" title="See cross-reference E">E</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 0.625em; font-size: 0.625em; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></span>all people to be saved and <span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-ESV-29704F" data-link="(<a href="#cen-ESV-29704F" title="See cross-reference F">F</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 0.625em; font-size: 0.625em; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></span>to come to <span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-ESV-29704G" data-link="(<a href="#cen-ESV-29704G" title="See cross-reference G">G</a>)" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 0.625em; font-size: 0.625em; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;"></span>the knowledge of the truth."</span></i></span></h3>
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Mommy Gallowayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08821851623381680369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995983880051685632.post-89653509476923224842015-06-13T09:47:00.000-07:002015-06-13T09:59:50.668-07:00What I Learned This Week: I Can Be What I Want to BeActually, I didn't learn that this week. I knew that I could be whatever I wanted to be. What I really learned is that I can choose not to be who I am. It is a confusing thing I may have to explain to my children one day with the hashtag #transracial.<br />
<br />
For the last 22 years I have been trying to teach my children to be proud of who they are; the beautiful and talented creations that God made. I have encouraged them to reach into themselves and dream. To think the possibilities endless. I have encouraged the drawing of cartoons, the telling of stories, the bouncing of balls, the blowing against reeds, the testing of new recipes, and the bellowing of songs. What I have failed to encourage is the denial of self. I have failed to teach them to make changes to God's perfect creation. I have failed to tell them that sometimes God makes mistakes and they have every right to correct Him. I have failed to encourage them to turn their noses up against everything that they are for their own infinite knowledge and for the succession into what they feel is best.<br />
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Unfortunately, I have taught my children that their hair and their skin are beautiful. That their culture is theirs to embrace. I have taught them that we have a history embedded in a history and it is rich and dynamic and nothing to be ashamed of. I have taught them that they can unashamedly be all of who they are. I never told them to try to be anyone else.<br />
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Mommy Gallowayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08821851623381680369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995983880051685632.post-14662786229065724772015-06-07T08:13:00.001-07:002015-06-07T08:13:24.210-07:00What I Learned This Week: Something About Reaching My Destination<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9hD11zktGHHG8Q3BvGLiOKI0cEJEcfH8fNBUn9UxpjD4CPksEzLeEvIjXfmDco6FbTUZn7XcuPCncHfAzJUKq5EikulQcRMEo6m-wKzjYbU8ngKEhE50ID42yFA3zBq8TJBKwkOggd1g/s1600/row+boat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9hD11zktGHHG8Q3BvGLiOKI0cEJEcfH8fNBUn9UxpjD4CPksEzLeEvIjXfmDco6FbTUZn7XcuPCncHfAzJUKq5EikulQcRMEo6m-wKzjYbU8ngKEhE50ID42yFA3zBq8TJBKwkOggd1g/s320/row+boat.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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It isn't the determination required to get there as much as it is the destination at which you arrive. We are all going somewhere. Some faster, some slower, some with detours and some straight away. It may be with and it may be without determination, knowledge and forethought. Some travel through life going with the ebbs and flows, never paddling with purpose, but being pulled by the tide. Others stroke with ferocity, fighting every wave, pushing through.<br />
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This week, I learned that I am somewhere in the middle of the two extremes. I'm motivated to move myself along but when the current is rough I float. Feeling defeated and deflated I float along waiting for the next move of the ocean. Something that piques my interest and inspires me once again to take up oars and paddle. Moving toward an unknown mark. Feeling like Abraham; not knowing but trusting and enjoying the course.<br />
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What I learned this week, as I stepped out of the boat and into my current destination, is that no matter what the seas may seem like, no matter how deep and wide, no matter how tall the waves, I will get there. I will stand on dry land and bask in the sunshine. I will, no matter how hard the world tries to tell me different and prove me wrong, in spite of my own doubts and fears, be where I am destined to be. It is a comfortable place. It is a place that has been prepared for me. It is a place where I realize all that I have been given and I am able to bring all that I am.<br />
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I also learned to anchor my boat at the shore. This isn't my final destination. Much more and much greater landing spots are ahead.Mommy Gallowayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08821851623381680369noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995983880051685632.post-48744723459531922262015-04-26T22:43:00.001-07:002015-04-26T22:44:55.564-07:00It's Not a DietBut that's just what I keep telling people about the change I have made in our eating habits. I guess it was the lure of a meal plan that would affect me for the next 30 days. Something that I could hold on to. Something that is long enough to make me feel like I have put effort into it but still short enough to feel like I could surely make it to my next piece of chocolate...day 31.<br />
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Tonight I was encouraged to prepare a meal that mimicked the comfort food that I crave but remained true to the restrictions of the meal plan. My dinner included no sugar or sweeteners of any kind, no grain, and no chemical additive. (Sorry no pics)<br />
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My recipe served two adults and 4 kids. Everyone was full.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaphAaEoIQUe5vfcjT_3lh4Zbzf3kdRhMMqBkcACcufRooRWWZkMpatYz_q-RFMkL5oQmReAXCS7ipQoCDwYJnHv-99RuK88jdIZra3HGUowAxqqVGji8JOP2_9ShGSfDHS489mSQbFWk/s1600/fork+spoon.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaphAaEoIQUe5vfcjT_3lh4Zbzf3kdRhMMqBkcACcufRooRWWZkMpatYz_q-RFMkL5oQmReAXCS7ipQoCDwYJnHv-99RuK88jdIZra3HGUowAxqqVGji8JOP2_9ShGSfDHS489mSQbFWk/s1600/fork+spoon.png" height="320" width="291" /></a></div>
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Fried Catfish, Sweet Yams and Roasted Green Beans (serves 4-6)<br />
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Yams:<br />
1. Peel and cut two large yams into large cubes.<br />
2. Place in a pot and cover with water.<br />
3. Boil until soft.<br />
4. Drain and sprinkle with All Spice.<br />
5. Mash and serve hot.<br />
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Roasted Green Beans:<br />
1. Preheat the oven to 350° f<br />
2. Wash and snip the stem ends of about 1 pound fresh green beans.<br />
3. Place on a cookie sheet.<br />
4. Sprinkle with basil infused olive oil.<br />
5. Sprinkle lightly with salt and garlic.<br />
6. Cook until fork tender. Serve hot.<br />
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Catfish<br />
1. Heat two tablespoons of coconut oil in a heavy skillet.<br />
2. Season 2 pounds catfish nuggets with salt, pepper, garlic and paprika.<br />
3. Scramble one egg and pour over catfish.<br />
4. Coat catfish in mashed potato flakes.<br />
5. Pan fry catfish in small batches until brown and crisp. Add more oil if needed.<br />
6. Drain on paper towel. Serve hot.<br />
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<br />Mommy Gallowayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08821851623381680369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995983880051685632.post-45635791155352080262015-01-21T15:32:00.000-08:002015-07-27T20:49:58.448-07:00Making SomethingIf there were one thing that I could identify that anchors me it would be the times that my mother, my aunts and my grandmothers spent teaching and showing, encouraging and empowering me to make something with my hands. When I was a girl I was fascinated with the things that they would crochet, knit, sew, latch hook and cross stitch. I wanted to sit with them and learn. I wanted to make things.<br />
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As an adult I still look to the time that I can set aside to pull out a ball of yarn or a few yards of fabric and make something.<br />
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Today I sat down with a tablet of paper, yarn, and my hooks and decided to write a pattern. I wanted the stitches to twist around each other (not an easy feat in crochet) but I got it done!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQYaGmIYU_uyGBtktPSZKYHBJJte0vZt2xGXW5Znb_odODTzM07fir5byBBtJ0BNjVx6UddcOkDER3401jDZiv5Pmzszflwz1C_uxqELLVKMsa4p0YrMhQ1OjkudCKQ-K_WgkLGTwcCKI/s1600/IMAG3765.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQYaGmIYU_uyGBtktPSZKYHBJJte0vZt2xGXW5Znb_odODTzM07fir5byBBtJ0BNjVx6UddcOkDER3401jDZiv5Pmzszflwz1C_uxqELLVKMsa4p0YrMhQ1OjkudCKQ-K_WgkLGTwcCKI/s1600/IMAG3765.jpg" width="180" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_rfXmme8OVpfAXAEHFE1i7lPgvnxk8-nzfH-7lSaJ-URW1TvfEOCWkpVF5hx7Gzv7Z3phBCzNCFH-HLk2H8GwipDwbxnnV8d1429fgqZPZgLkOZfhjCv4P__1MtQqGsxykME_GcPuwfA/s1600/IMAG3768.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_rfXmme8OVpfAXAEHFE1i7lPgvnxk8-nzfH-7lSaJ-URW1TvfEOCWkpVF5hx7Gzv7Z3phBCzNCFH-HLk2H8GwipDwbxnnV8d1429fgqZPZgLkOZfhjCv4P__1MtQqGsxykME_GcPuwfA/s1600/IMAG3768.jpg" width="180" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKNcjNzzeqfd_nNojXfWA9fdf8BQiFMycFauoMdA8pVVnDv6smoiHGxQnKQ5Xk4uRczp5cvAgiT2Oc6Fu_RN6bmR_FZC0bbfo8oqIwI1Md5GMnhatRgrA5Car7caHqvDVDxHrX5F2NDQU/s1600/IMAG3766.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKNcjNzzeqfd_nNojXfWA9fdf8BQiFMycFauoMdA8pVVnDv6smoiHGxQnKQ5Xk4uRczp5cvAgiT2Oc6Fu_RN6bmR_FZC0bbfo8oqIwI1Md5GMnhatRgrA5Car7caHqvDVDxHrX5F2NDQU/s1600/IMAG3766.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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The chains between the shells and clusters appear twisted together.</div>
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It might look a little complicated but it's not.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwtG11HOP2pn4DvFVuuUBLOkbEeAQ0xO5iPZBh-N_Ddr_L3hrsqm2uLICIBgPAf3sXqF8-HWO82AWC2aI-o7ebD68Hr4arI_Jn0IRheNbHjkpsdgrwVzC1CvqKhKHZzbMaAX5lbqT_8vo/s1600/IMAG3767.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwtG11HOP2pn4DvFVuuUBLOkbEeAQ0xO5iPZBh-N_Ddr_L3hrsqm2uLICIBgPAf3sXqF8-HWO82AWC2aI-o7ebD68Hr4arI_Jn0IRheNbHjkpsdgrwVzC1CvqKhKHZzbMaAX5lbqT_8vo/s1600/IMAG3767.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLWlhcPdcOZzhTMSvnjmMto9fBK5NBs96OdvYzSqBsmDv5qMqrIqj5tVfcUQJ3n7EhkXa2uvrqvz-L1-0jC1-rzGfGWdjetDdeTflsQND77IhmDSBjGB-bhL1tAeHDTkjqz9tIKkvp_YQ/s1600/IMAG3770.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLWlhcPdcOZzhTMSvnjmMto9fBK5NBs96OdvYzSqBsmDv5qMqrIqj5tVfcUQJ3n7EhkXa2uvrqvz-L1-0jC1-rzGfGWdjetDdeTflsQND77IhmDSBjGB-bhL1tAeHDTkjqz9tIKkvp_YQ/s1600/IMAG3770.jpg" width="180" /></a><br />
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<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="background-color: #741b47; color: white; font-size: large;">Fruited Vine Scarf Pattern</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I used DK/light worsted weight yarn and a size G hook but any hook and yarn will work.</span></div>
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<br />
<span class="s1"></span>This pattern gets its name from the clusters of "fruit" between the "twisted" vines.</div>
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<span class="s1">Ch 28</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Row 1. 2dc in 4th ch from hook, [ch6, sk4 , dc in next 5 sts holding back last loop of each (6 loops on hook) yo pull through all loops on hook (cluster made), ch7], 2xs, ch6, sk4, 3dc in last ch.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Row 2. Ch3, turn, 2dc in same sp, [ch3, take loop off hook, put loop back on hook from back of work under ch6 of previous row, ch3, 5dc in top of cluster from row below(shell)], 2xs, ch3, take loop off hook, put loop back on hook from back of work under ch6 of previous row, ch3 (twisted stitch made), 3dc in top of last dc.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Row 3. Ch3, turn, 2dc in same sp, (ch6, sk chains, cluster in 5dc of shell, ch7) 2xs, ch6, sk4, 3dc in last ch.</span><br />
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<span class="s1">Finish off on Row 2.</span></div>
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Twisted stitch in pictures: (or video tutorial: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5fNtixpeDVw" target="_blank">Twisted stitch tutorial</a>)<br />
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Mommy Gallowayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08821851623381680369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995983880051685632.post-68891286117558816902015-01-14T18:31:00.001-08:002015-01-14T18:31:56.219-08:00A Hungry Man<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Children, the house, church, work...we certainly get bogged down as women. We have a lot to do. We are responsible for the lives of many people. I don't know about you, but sometimes everything is just so overwhelming that I just want to scream. But so what, right? It is what it is. We get up early, we stay up late and most of the time it feels like a terribly thankless job. But we love our children, we are proud of the homes we keep, we are proud of ourselves and all the many things that we can manage. We dote on ourselves as the nurse, cook, housekeeper, therapist, accountant, manager, and the list goes on. Unfortunately, at some point in all that doing we forget about the man that steals the covers and leaves his shoes in the middle of the floor. We may even start to resent him. He makes more work for us. He doesn't help the way we want him to. He doesn't follow directions. We start treating him like one of the kids, spouting out orders and commands. And when he doesn't obey we punish him. We neglect him. We stop feeding him. He begs to eat but we put the kids, housework, chores, and to-do lists on his plate and as he starves to death we shake our head as we proclaim, "I'm tired!"<div>
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Ladies! Stop. A hungry man feeds himself. </div>
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Have you ever gone away for a day or two and left your husband to fend for himself and the kids? When you returned did you find that in your absence he and the kids ate healthy, home cooked meals with lots of fruits and vegetables, whole grains, milk, juice and plenty of water? Probably not. You shook your head as you looked in the freezer at the untouched meals you left for them or the fast food bags crumpled in a heap in the trash can. It's not that he didn't want to eat a healthy meal. It's not that he doesn't know what's good for him. But he kind of counts on you. He's looking for you to feed him. It's not rebellion, he's certainly capable, but God created him in a way that he looks to you to make sure he stays full.</div>
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But it's more than that, isn't it? It really isn't necessarily about nutrition, though in your house that may be part of the equation but what it really is about is contentment. Let's take a moment to look at ourselves...</div>
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We all start out with an empty plate. We are hungry. As babies we cried to be fed and in some aspects, as adult women we cry to be fed as well. Who will feed us? We may feed ourselves by pampering ourselves, getting our nails done, taking a long bubble bath, relaxing and reading a magazine. The activities that take care of us feed us, they fill us up. They make us content. Then our friends feed us with some girl time. We laugh and connect and understand each other. They feed us with encouragement and compliments, they feed us by empathizing with our struggles and comforting us. They feed us with their support. Our kids feed us with smiles and laughter and kisses and hugs with little hands and fingers wrapped around our hands. They fill us up with "Mommy you are the most beautiful girl in the whole world," "Mommy, I love you," and "Can I sit with you, Mommy?" Our jobs fill us up with feelings of competence and accomplishment. And certainly God fills us up as we spend time in prayer and meditation, as we read and study the bible, we are filled as we attend church services and bible studies. The spiritual woman is fed. </div>
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And full, we move through the days of our lives returning to the "fridge" for what we need, when we need it.</div>
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What about our husbands? You may look at the list above and think, why can't he just get full the way I do. I don't need him to feed me, why do I need to feed him. He has friends, he has a job, the kids are his too, and they adore him. For him, though, it's not that simple. Men have different hunger pains. There hunger is bigger. They have manly appetites and need heavy meals of meat and potatoes. So now you're thinking, great, something else on my list of things to do. Like I can take on one more task. But honestly, you can't afford not to. If you don't, then he's left to fend for himself. He becomes resentful and angry. He doesn't want to sit in another drive-thru line. He doesn't want another meal wrapped in paper. He wants a hot meal on real dishes, and he wants you to give it to him.</div>
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Now you may equate this with being motherly. Your children, of course, get a great amount of their feeding from you. This has been your job since they were itty-bitty in a bassinet next to your bed. They cried and you fed them every need that they had. They were never hungry long. You made sure of it. Now here is this grown man, crying like a baby and he expects you to drop everything to feed him. Even the kids don't need to be fed like that anymore. But this isn't a motherly task. This is a womanly task. The task is that of a wife who, taken by a husband, wants to please him. </div>
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Proverbs 31:11-12 AMP (you knew it was coming) says, "The heart of her husband trusts in her confidently and relies on and believes in her securely, so that he has no lack of [honest] gain or need of [dishonest] spoil. She comforts, encourages, and does him only good as long as there is life within her." That scripture is the guideline, I'll give you that as many women have told me that the Proverbs 31 woman isn't a real woman, or she isn't one woman alone, and that she's simply an outline, so to speak, so I'll save that discussion for another time we will just suffice to say this is a guideline. Inasmuch, the scripture says that he relies on her. He relies on her for what? Take your mind off your husband for a moment and imagine this scripture referred to mothers and their children. Now the scripture is clear. <i>The heart of her son trusts in her confidently and relies on and believes in her securely, so that he has no lack of [honest] gain or need of [dishonest] spoil. She comforts, encourages, and does him only good as long as there is life within her. </i>The scripture becomes one that is tasteful to you now even if it was distasteful before. It also becomes very plain. The mother meets the needs of the child. He doesn't go looking for other mommies to give him lunch or fix his boo-boos, or snuggle with him on the couch. His mommy, the one God gave him, meets all his needs and is enough. It's the same with our husbands.</div>
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A friend of mine said that when he was young he played football. During the games he would look to the stands for his mother. He looked for her approval, encouragement, support, and love. She was always there. With bells on (literally---a story for another day) and she met his needs. She fed him. He had no need of dishonest spoil. He didn't need the encouragement of anyone else because his mom was there. As an adult with a wife, he looks to her now for encouragement, the smiling face in the crowd. He seeks her out among the many. He wants to be fed by her. It is his strength.</div>
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That's the way God laid it out. That's the way it is supposed to be. So as wives we come into the relationship with one very important task. We don't let our husbands starve. We don't allow them to be hungry. If there is no food at home, eventually our husbands must go out and find food. He doesn't want to eat on paper plates with disposable forks, he wants to eat at home. It's the wives responsibility to fill her husband's plate with all that he needs. Even when we are tired we feed our children when they are hungry. We don't make them suffer hunger pains. Likewise, no matter how tired we are, we need to feed our husbands. They suffer longer than the babies do before they cry out, but just like the babies, they always let you know they are hungry. Keep in mind, the waiting feels like eternity to them. </div>
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I know you're thinking, what about me? When do I get to eat? Well, ladies, this isn't about us, but if we must...we have a different appetite than our husbands. We are fed in some of the same ways and in many different ways, but our husband's want to feed us. They want to be the source of our satisfaction. When we start to make them feel like we value them, we appreciate them and that they do many things that please us they will be sure that we are fed. Open your mouth and tell him what you are hungry for. He probably doesn't know, he may even think he doesn't have what you would like. But a closed mouth doesn't get fed. The bottom line is this, do you want to do what the Bible tells you to do or do you want to stand on your own convictions? Of course, you may. You can do whatever fancies you. But the Bible is clear about the wife's responsibility to her husband. </div>
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It's a mind set. It's a heart set. Feeding your husband is an action that you decide to take. They don't stop eating just because there's no food at home. So make the decision. Make the Proverbs 31 choice. Once you have decided in your mind and heart that your husband will not be a hungry man, start preparing his meals. You can even refer to the fun chart below for your meal planning.</div>
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Preparing a Balanced Diet for the Hungry Man:</div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-kerning: none; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-ligatures: common-ligatures;">Grains</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-kerning: none; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-ligatures: common-ligatures;">Make you feel full, lots of energy, turns to sugar</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-kerning: none; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-ligatures: common-ligatures;">Sex</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-kerning: none; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-ligatures: common-ligatures;">(Regularly and on request)</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-kerning: none; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-ligatures: common-ligatures;">One on one bedroom time, lots of intimacy results in lots of sweet moments for you both</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-kerning: none; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-ligatures: common-ligatures;">Fruits and Vegetables</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-kerning: none; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-ligatures: common-ligatures;">Variety, lots of vitamins, delicious with few calories, eat freely</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-kerning: none; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-ligatures: common-ligatures;">Compliments</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-kerning: none; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-ligatures: common-ligatures;">(Daily and liberally)</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-kerning: none; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-ligatures: common-ligatures;">Let him know how he completes you and all the reasons you said “yes”</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-kerning: none; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-ligatures: common-ligatures;">Oils, Fats, Sugar and Salts</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-kerning: none; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-ligatures: common-ligatures;">Use sparingly, too many can jeopardize overall health and wellness</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-kerning: none; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-ligatures: common-ligatures;">Criticisms</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-kerning: none; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-ligatures: common-ligatures;">(Sparingly)</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-kerning: none; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-ligatures: common-ligatures;">Sometimes you have to just do it gently and try not to make it a habit</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-kerning: none; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-ligatures: common-ligatures;">Milk and Dairy</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-kerning: none; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-ligatures: common-ligatures;">Builds healthy bone structure, Vitamins</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-kerning: none; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-ligatures: common-ligatures;">Encouragement</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-kerning: none; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-ligatures: common-ligatures;">(Liberally)</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-kerning: none; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-ligatures: common-ligatures;">On this he can go out and conquer the world</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-kerning: none; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-ligatures: common-ligatures;">Lean Meats, Fish, Poultry, Beans and Seeds </span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-kerning: none; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-ligatures: common-ligatures;">Full of protein, iron and are the building blocks of the body</span><br />
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<td style="border-color: #000000 #000000 #000000 #000000; border-style: solid; border-width: 1.0px 1.0px 2.0px 1.0px; height: 84.0px; padding: 4.0px 4.0px 4.0px 4.0px; width: 108.0px;" valign="top">
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-kerning: none; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-ligatures: common-ligatures;">Communication</span><br />
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-kerning: none; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-ligatures: common-ligatures;">(Continually)</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Helvetica; font-kerning: none; font-size: 10px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-ligatures: common-ligatures;">Let him know what’s on your mind and in your heart. Share your hopes and dreams and together you will build a strong relationship that will withstand many trials.</span><br />
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Mommy Gallowayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08821851623381680369noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995983880051685632.post-60107660736264379172014-10-12T08:45:00.002-07:002014-10-12T08:45:34.798-07:00Almost a HoarderI cringe when I see those shows on tv-- men and women whose families come together for some form of intervention trying to convince a loved one that they are living a life of destructive excess. Hoarding things and holding onto them as if there were some value still in a broken coffee mug or a room filled with old newspapers.<br />
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I wonder when I watch those shows how close am I to becoming one of them with my book shelf stacked a little beyond its capacity with books found, given and bought. "I love books," I reason, "I want my kids to love books." Greeting cards in my bureau. Stacks of patterns under my bed and cabinets and boxes stuffed full of yarn and fabrics, notions and needles. Things that I am making. Classes that I will be teaching. And when someone comes to me with questioning in their eyes about the project they know I can, and will complete with the supplies out of my stash to mend or make...I reason.<br />
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And on those days when I feel particularly energetic I start to sift through things, a trash bag at my side as I wistfully toss what I know I won't finish, what I think I won't need, stickers that have lost their glue, paper that is faded, patterns for things that are out of fashion, yarn that is knotted. Those things I throw away. And in the throwing away I gain new inspiration in found things that had been forgotten. I am drawn into who I was created to be. I am drawn into a creative vision that I can't help but explore. I reason.<br />
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When I die, if you are given the task of cleaning up and clearing out you might be on the edge of referring to me as a hoarder. You will think I was almost there. The treasures of my life on bookshelves and tucked under my bed. You will think it was excess. But if you look before you throw it away you might find the treasure of love folded and tucked between sheets of unused fabric, you will find my sanity and my peace there, you will find my heart.Mommy Gallowayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08821851623381680369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995983880051685632.post-46182443887939016302013-02-27T21:12:00.001-08:002013-02-27T21:13:58.022-08:00Book Review: She SpeaksWhat a disappointment! I received a copy of <u>She Speaks Wisdom from the Women of the Bible to the Modern Black Woman</u> for free as a member of Booksneeze.com. I received the copy with only the agreement to write my honest review of the book. I am not otherwise associated with Booksneeze or Thomas Nelson Publishing in any way and have not received any compensation for this review.<br />
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I already had a copy of the Bible by the same author and was excited to receive this complimentary book in the mail. I thought that I would receive something new and encouraging, uplifting and courageous. To my dismay, this book is a collection of excerpts from the <u>Sisters in Faith<b> </b>Bible</u>. Verbatim, the text in this book comes from the "Women of the Bible" sections in the <u>Sisters in Faith Bible</u>. Unfortunately, I was unimpressed with those sections in the Bible and was very disappointed to find that I now own a collection of them. The "monologues" are dry and not very creative at all. I didn't find that much thought was put in the writing of those sections to bring the women to life, they simply restated the text. There were no knew incites or supposition to what may have been their thoughts. Something I was looking forward to reading.<br />
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As much a disappointment, I am glad I have the Bible and will pass this little book along. I don't recommend it. Pick up the <u>Sisters in Faith Bible</u> instead.Mommy Gallowayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08821851623381680369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995983880051685632.post-23468356174920991412013-01-10T19:53:00.003-08:002013-01-10T19:53:37.487-08:00Need a New Bible? Try Sisters in Faith.<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #ea9999;">I received a free copy of <u>Sisters in Faith Holy Bible</u> as a reviewer for Thomas Nelson at Booksneeze.com. In exchange, I give my honest opinion.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #674ea7;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">The cover, is amazing. This is a beautiful Bible and is perfect for gift giving. When I opened the pages I was equally impressed. The pagesThis Bible is beautiful from cover to cover. The font is purple and pink and very easy to read. There is a Feature Index and Concordance. There are study guides, devotions, supplements and helps in this Bible that speak directly to women of color.</span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><br style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;" /><span style="background-color: white; font-family: verdana, arial, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">After having the Sisters in Faith Bible for only two weeks I found that I was using some of the Empowered Faith (motivational articles) to minister to friends. I recommend this Bible for anyone looking for a King James Version. This is the Bible to gift your girlfriends.</span></span>Mommy Gallowayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08821851623381680369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995983880051685632.post-22804663170088392462012-12-04T19:32:00.001-08:002012-12-04T19:32:42.680-08:00Book Review - The Purpose Driven LifeI received a copy of the most recent, re-release of <i>The Purpose Driven Life</i> (expanded edition)by Rick Warren as a blogger from Booksneeze.com. I received the book free and in return I read the book and post my honest opinion. I am not paid for my review. Oh...and this was supposed to be posted earlier, I just couldn't finish it that fast... :(<br />
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So...I read this back in 2003 when our church broke off into home groups to study <i>The Purpose Driven Life. </i>From that reading I took what was of value to me and left what was not. Having gained 9 years of living, and being in my calling, I approached the book a bit differently this time around. My mind was in a different place and of course, my outlook on my future is clearer.<br />
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The expanded edition has two more days of study: The Envy Trap and The People Pleaser Trap. Wow! and Yes! Before I even read the new chapters I knew Rick Warren hit this one right on the head. I found myself reflecting on walking in my calling, using my gifts and talents and looking around. What are other people doing? Why can't I do that too? No one is going to be happy with what I am doing...I have to do what everyone asks...I can't say no. But that isn't what God has called me to. I realized in reading the new chapters that I have what God has for ME! I can't get caught up in what other people are doing and what there situation looks like from my vantage point. I also can't worry about what other people think and say about me. It surely isn't about pleasing man...it's about pleasing God.<br />
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The scriptures at the beginning of the chapters are perfect and give a Biblical reference point that can be studied and meditated on.<br />
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I am so pleased to have been able to re-visit this book. I was not disappointed...well, maybe a little bit...the book has those QR codes you can zap with your smartphone. I don't have a smartphone, but I can get connected online. Super addition to the book.<br />
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I gave this one 4 out of 5 stars...$22.99 (retail) is a lot for two chapters... Mommy Gallowayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08821851623381680369noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6995983880051685632.post-10557538485999553442012-10-31T21:18:00.000-07:002012-10-31T21:18:39.996-07:00Twelve Unlikely Heroes by John MacArthur.<br />
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I received a copy of this book as a reviewer for Booksneeze. You can too. Just read the book and give your honest feedback.<br />
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<u>Twelve Unlikely Heroes</u> was exactly what I thought it would be. Images from the Bible of God using ordinary, flawed, sinful people for very extraordinary, exceptional assignments for the Kingdom. One of my favorite characters in the Bible is the Apostle Paul. I always considered him the most fortunate to be chosen from his despicable self to change his life so drastically and life his life for Christ, to share the Gospel, to win souls and to be so ultimately sold out. <u>Twelve Unlikely Heroes</u> gives you a straightforward glimpse into the lives of others in the Bible and maybe even to reflect on your own life and worthiness as seen through the eyes of God.<br />
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As I read the book I was able to look at my life in ministry and shout a heartfelt AMEN! for being one of the chosen; an unlikely hero in my own right. Living the life of a new creation and understanding that it's not my past that interests God, it's the future that He has destined me to and how stepping into that purpose is what He's waiting for.Mommy Gallowayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08821851623381680369noreply@blogger.com0