tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-30518923789044148582024-03-19T04:47:08.605-07:00On the Glory RoadBlisters or not I will trudge up hills and pull thorns from my feet because this road leads to a valley of glory. The babbling brooks will sing in worship and the mountains will bow down. It will take my breath away...Pamela Paynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230294431439005060noreply@blogger.comBlogger75125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3051892378904414858.post-51878129899636421072020-07-31T19:41:00.001-07:002020-07-31T19:50:22.264-07:00And so...I Iron<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJSCn8BdsmBhOaMcl9-0pX8TjWiWiiiG2mamIGSST3CtKcGm15rgVQloKK7qPhshprzlEQmRRzAyiTxsgqjEhT-PaO-X7DWUc_Xi_f6xU_pM1bp-W8w6B-ZpSh5mLnij1CSLOHHfai4EY4/s1600/1596250215752276-0.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJSCn8BdsmBhOaMcl9-0pX8TjWiWiiiG2mamIGSST3CtKcGm15rgVQloKK7qPhshprzlEQmRRzAyiTxsgqjEhT-PaO-X7DWUc_Xi_f6xU_pM1bp-W8w6B-ZpSh5mLnij1CSLOHHfai4EY4/s1600/1596250215752276-0.png" width="400">
</a>
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjku05JWW-ZQzC1ELx3IMLekDhCM1ibaMaYe5g08MmXRBeg8T-YVnRP1d9tRv_f9fBAMX9sfhfHhfN8M6QUwGG-wxFpZMsOkxd0_klmvmDA55l7VCK-H-PZWmek6RsDvHi-yH_mT4t-6Elu/s1600/1596250210231273-1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjku05JWW-ZQzC1ELx3IMLekDhCM1ibaMaYe5g08MmXRBeg8T-YVnRP1d9tRv_f9fBAMX9sfhfHhfN8M6QUwGG-wxFpZMsOkxd0_klmvmDA55l7VCK-H-PZWmek6RsDvHi-yH_mT4t-6Elu/s1600/1596250210231273-1.png" width="400">
</a>
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnjybzBOL2cB43ItK21hYVVIKuoQfNjZyW5JD13lp82n2rMgCta3wNZIEUSW4oyvRC4yP14tnbjXrn3dHAoKTBFncRkk6DutnlobzjTVy8B37ZGllRoIBion-Mliab8cXn1DVECtTPwM-y/s1600/1596250083612631-0.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnjybzBOL2cB43ItK21hYVVIKuoQfNjZyW5JD13lp82n2rMgCta3wNZIEUSW4oyvRC4yP14tnbjXrn3dHAoKTBFncRkk6DutnlobzjTVy8B37ZGllRoIBion-Mliab8cXn1DVECtTPwM-y/s1600/1596250083612631-0.png" width="400">
</a>
</div><div>I think I was 10 when I learned to iron. It was 1967 and it became my main chore. I started with my Dads handkerchiefs. He left for work everyday with a crisp white one folded into his pants pocket. The next thing were the pillowcases. We were a family of five, so there were quite a few. Even at that age there was something relaxing about the warm steam and then the reward of the smooth fabric underneath my touch. As I got better at it, Mom let me iron Dad's white work shirts with just the right amount of spray starch on the collar and cuffs. It felt like a work of art to complete one masterfully. </div><div> Anyway...flash forward to yesterday and today. </div><div> I've been ironing our bedding. I'll explain why another time, but I've been bombarded with memories spending hours behind the ironingboard. At times I felt like I could even smell my house. The one I ironed in. And the smell of our fresh cut grass through an open window. There was something precious and right and good about the way I grew up, with church and family and dinner around the table together every night. Homemade clothes sewn by my mother with love. These were the important things. I learned so much from my Mom and Dad as they instilled in me the things of love and family and manners and responsibility.</div><div> I've taken a break from the ironing for now. One bed to go, but its hard work and I'm tired.</div><div>But my heart...my heart is full!!</div>Pamela Paynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230294431439005060noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3051892378904414858.post-48975427976619142942016-10-12T19:58:00.001-07:002022-04-20T14:25:50.671-07:00My Fathers hands...<div dir="ltr">
I wanted you to know that you were beside me today, Dad. Right there beside me with your hands in the bike.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
Today was bike day at Husky club and as the cast of wild things rode I noticed that one of the older boys was sitting with his head hung. His bike was on the ground. I walked over. <br>
"What up buddy?", I asked him. <br>
He looked at his bike and then at me. Pointed. The chain had come off. It was hanging loose on one side and stuck on the other. <br>
"Yeah," I said, tugging on it. "It's stuck<br>
pretty good." Then I tugged it again. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
"Don't bother," He said as he kicked the tire in frustration, "I've been messin' with it for 10 minutes. It's useless."</div>
<div dir="ltr">
I looked down at the two freshly polished fingers that I used to tug on the chain.They were black. Then I saw your hands, Dad. I'd watched put the chains back on our bikes so many times that I could see you do it in my mind. <br>
"You know," I told him, "I have two sisters and a brother and I saw my Dad fix this kind of stuff alot'," I knelt down beside him, "So is it okay if I try?" <br>
The boy shook his head resigned and I moved in. I angled the bike against my leg the way you always did, Dad, and then I began to move the pedal back and forth and back and forth and guided the greasy chain back onto the teeth. I had to tug hard on it hard a couple of times, but I fixed it.<br>
I stood up holding my hands in front of me. They were covered with oily black bike chain goop. <br>
But the smile on the boy's face as he jumped on his bike made my hands look beautiful. "Thanks, Miss Pam!"<br>
Thank you, Dad, I thought smiling as I walked inside to wash up. I had never put a chain back on a bike until today. But today my hands became yours. Efficient, dirty, and working in love. <br>
I watched you and I learned something I didn't even know I'd learned. Thanks for always fixing our stuff, Dad. And know that I really loved having you at work with me today. <br>
There's nothing like a Father's hands<br>
<br>
<br>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbUNxoqbcg-CuVbuM_SQ3LQElGYB-cbMro_UxRoP7k6Zpm7pA0kZmw8foBkJ4pv1cBHV1Dr7ISsmU8iuPAcTNyCXB-gHbIx_PxzZoBhFJDFwnnupzFpd61OaOC7IaZvI8XRGmRsvZGCk-o/s1600/2016-02-27%25252021.26.34.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbUNxoqbcg-CuVbuM_SQ3LQElGYB-cbMro_UxRoP7k6Zpm7pA0kZmw8foBkJ4pv1cBHV1Dr7ISsmU8iuPAcTNyCXB-gHbIx_PxzZoBhFJDFwnnupzFpd61OaOC7IaZvI8XRGmRsvZGCk-o/s400/2016-02-27%25252021.26.34.jpg" width="387"> </a> </div>
Pamela Paynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230294431439005060noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3051892378904414858.post-34940276460345832172016-10-09T18:56:00.001-07:002016-10-09T22:59:40.978-07:00It's time...<div dir="ltr">
On the night of this second political debate, with only weeks until the United States of America picks a new President to lead our country, I am at a loss.<br />
Confession... I've never been political. In fact, if you asked me how I felt about politics, I would tell you that I think it is currupt. I would then say that I had a very real dream about my 22 year-old nephew becoming a Senator in Texas and that I'm waiting for him to change the world.<br />
But all my life, as I think back over the passionate talks my mother and father had. I remember the great debates of my husband, first born daughter, and my son, and I've often wondered what's wrong with me. Why aren't I passionate? Why don't I care?<br />
My mother and father raised four children. My brother Ron is 11 months older. He was my best childhood buddy and we were born in the same calendar year. I'm the second oldest. The oldest of three girls born after.<br />
Whether this is relevant to my birth order or not, know that I listened to every conversation my parents ever had that I could get close enough to hear. We were Catholic, from both sides, and I remember passionate and emotional discussions about the Kennedys, and birth control, and the way the world was turning. My mother and father became Democrats because of the Kennedy campaign. They had a genuine and integral belief that he was going to change the world. <br />
The day he was killed, the principle of our school arrived at the door of my Kindergardern class. He had tears in his eyes as he whispered into the ear of my teacher, Mrs. Young. I knew something was very wrong as I watched tears form in her eyes also. After a moment, she told us that the President had been shot, and we were all going home. <br />
I don't really remember going home, but I assume my brother Ron and I walked home together. What I do remember is walking in the door and finding Mom on her knees in front of the television weeping. <br />
I was 5. But I loved John F. Kennedy because my mother loved him. She made beautiful clothes that looked like the clothes Jackie Kennedy wore. We all believedin them. All of us.<br />
As children, we watch, listen and learn. <br />
It was many years later when the truth about JFK was revealed. His blatant infidelities, the politics of hiding it all, the scandal. I think that was the moment for me. I was a young Mom. I think it was then that I gave up and no longer believed.<br />
I was a child in the sixties and it was a crazy time in the world. The Vietnam War. Woodstock. Martin Luther King. The Klu Klux Clan. Revolution and mayhem was happening everywhere. I was a child, but a young woman was forming inside me too. I began thinking for myself, questioning, wondering. <br />
And so now here I am, more than 50 years later reminiscing on the night of this 2016 political debate.<br />
I sit on my back porch writing this as Paul pops his head out. "Honey, it's getting pretty ugly. I just texted Uncle Todd and..."<br />
And so now, I'm hoping to make you laugh a little, but this is the truth.<br />
Confession number 2... I watch a show called, "Toddlers and Tiaras." It's a crazy show about a crazy world of little beauty queens. And it's often, much more about the Mothers than it is about the precious darlings in the pageant. I cant, however, stop watching it. The reason? In a different life, I could have been one of these Moms. Thankfully, God knew this and saved ReAnnon and I both. But know this...my first-born daughter was a stunning little girl. She was a beauty, and in Oklahoma, beauty queens are pretty big deal.<br />
I'm closing with this, because in the last few episodes of the show these little girls rag on Donald Trump or Hillary Clinton, based on their family's political views. They state as fact what they hear at home and it makes me smile but also reminds me of a little girl who listened to conversations just like these.<br />
My parents talked with passion, and hope. There were wanting conversations about goodnees, and righteous and change.<br />
So to end this, I just find myself thankful. Thankful that God is greater than Donald or Hillary and all that is ugly in the world. He saved me from becoming a "Toddlers and Tiaras" Mom, and He will save us through this election. I know His Sovergnicy goes beyond this moment in time.<br />
But as I study Heaven, it sure looks good. Some days more than others.<br />
But until then, may God bless America and help us all!<br />
<br />
</div>
Pamela Paynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230294431439005060noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3051892378904414858.post-7623090677078597222016-08-22T12:48:00.002-07:002022-04-20T14:16:12.407-07:00A man sits hunched over a table by candlelight...and then... he writes my name.<div dir="ltr">
There is a drop that forms in the middle of every honeysuckle flower. If you rush, and try to get it out too soon, it simply isn't there yet. And if you wait even a little too long it'll dry up before it ever becomes yours.<br>
But... when the timing is perfect, you pull that center string and the dewy drop slides along and out of the end and lands on your tongue. When it hits your tastebuds, it's like...it's like... the meaning of my name. "all sweetness" from Greek (pan) "all" and (meli) "honey."<br>
And as I ponder this, I can't help but wonder who the first person was to do this most amazing honeysuckle thing and, then I wonder what their name was.</div><div dir="ltr">
</div><div dir="ltr"> But now, picture this...it's 1560-ish, and Sir Philip Sidney leans over a desk by candlelight. The wax makes a pool at the base of the candleholder and spills over onto the old oak desk as he dips his quill pen into the night black ink. "Pamela," he says out loud as he places the pen against the onion paper. He begins to write. "Yes."</div>
<div dir="ltr">
</div><div dir="ltr"> "And so she might perceaue that Pamela did walke vp and down, full of deep (though patient) thoughts. For her look and countenance was setled, her pace soft, and almost still of one measure, without any passionate gesture, or violent motion: till at length (as it were) awaking, & strengthning her selfe, Well (she said) yet this is the best, & of this I am sure, that how soeuer they wro[n] g me, they cannot ouermaster God." (A excerpt from Pamela's Prayer (Arcadia 111.6) in it's original language and writing.)</div>
<div dir="ltr">
</div><div dir="ltr"> And so...this was the moment my name was born. This quiet moment of a man amidst his searching and want. Was it really by candlelight? I picture it so. A waning moon and a sky full of stars and a poet in the dark trying to find the perfect name for his person. And the name was Pamela.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
You must know that I love this story of my name for I am a creature of story love. Those of you that know me well, know this. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
And soo... from now till forever I will picture Sir Philip leaning over the candle in the dark with the stars and the waning moon. And will thank him for the deep and beautiful contemplation of my name. Pamela. All sweetness and honey. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
And with this knowledge, do I want to live up to it's meaning? "Yes." My answer is "Yes," I do. Will I? Most definitely not. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br></div>
<div dir="ltr"><br></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Footnotes: (Sir Philip Sidney also wrote, "Dorus to Pamela" sometime between 1554 to 1586, and in "The Old Arcadia" Book 1, also written by Sidney, the eldest daughter of Duke Basilius also had my name.)</div>
<div dir="ltr">
And In 1740, another author, Samuel Richardson, used the name Pamela as the heroin in his novel, "Virtue Rewarded." It was after this that Pamela was used as a given name. It did not become popular until the 20th century.<br>
<br>
<br></div>
Pamela Paynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230294431439005060noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3051892378904414858.post-56167634411284376982016-08-08T19:24:00.002-07:002022-03-15T19:28:17.814-07:00Three little sisters and a brother...<div dir="ltr"> Once upon a time, in a place called Oklahoma, there were three little sisters and one older brother who rode bikes without helmets. They had turtle races, caught amazing fat toads, played in the street without shoes until dark, and laid in the grass and stared at the sky. They danced on tables, sang, caught fireflies and put them in Miracle whip jars and sat them beside their beds as nightlights on warm summer nights. They laughed and cried. They scratched and pulled hair. They hugged and played. They were a family. <br />
When the sisters and the brother grew into young woman and men, they each got married and moved away from the place they had laughed and cried and played and loved. <br />
Years went by and the sisters and brother missed each other, but life moved forward as a new generation of family was born. <br />
Each of them had three babies. Each of the sisters, two daughters and a son. The brother, two sons and a daughter.<br />
And now, these daughters and sons are growing a third generation of little boys and little girls into a family. Brothers, sisters, and cousins who love each are having little boys and little girls who too will dance on tables, play games, catch Pokeman, pull each other's hair, and snapchat.<br />
And in the heart of this oldest sister lies a hope that these new sweet babies will also one day have the pure joy of catching fat toads, chasing lizards, find themselves with a mayonnaise jar of fireflies on their bedside table on a summer night, and stare up into clouds and find rabbits. May they lay under the stars on a warm summer night and dream. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
#lifeandlove #familiesandredemption<br />
<u>#athirdgenerationgrows</u><br />
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAooTnr5cB-gyRLZhZwmRqP9KpnpQzF0xibY5Qs2gK7NkXdCmUXv0M7yNDAQzRPj3E1DN1NJ8hKzbfkzZI4VEJjhSXeSZXErcfXn2sritwqdR0KaVcVcEgvamOvGhQ0Sj7YTQ_SWQpgxuJ/s1600/2016-08-07%25252012.46.42.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAooTnr5cB-gyRLZhZwmRqP9KpnpQzF0xibY5Qs2gK7NkXdCmUXv0M7yNDAQzRPj3E1DN1NJ8hKzbfkzZI4VEJjhSXeSZXErcfXn2sritwqdR0KaVcVcEgvamOvGhQ0Sj7YTQ_SWQpgxuJ/s400/2016-08-07%25252012.46.42.png" width="400" /> </a> </div>
Pamela Paynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230294431439005060noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3051892378904414858.post-12931136382242132912016-03-11T14:59:00.000-08:002017-03-20T20:33:00.695-07:00Red lips and Ribbons<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , "serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">You're just i</span><span style="line-height: 200%;">nside the in-between. There but not there. </span><span style="line-height: 200%;">So you stand on the line steady your feet and feel your way wearing red lips and ribbons. </span><span style="line-height: 200%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 200%;">You breathe deep and look to the side from
where you came knowing the ribbon should really be tucked in the back of your little
girl drawer, but you’re not ready for that. </span><span style="line-height: 200%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 200%;">This is okay. Don’t be ready for that.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%;"> Some run ahead on the line so fast never
missing a step and you stand here covered in the wake of their dust… but you blow
it off, pop those red lips, and touch the ribbon in your hair. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%;"> I get close enough to see you standing wobbly
on the line and I try to remember… but in the remembering what I really want to
do is run to the line and knock you off. I want to push you back onto the playground where
little boys and girls live.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%;"> It’s a stupid naïve thought. I know this
and you would not stay there even if I did because you can’t stay there, no one
can stay there…and yet…I wish you could and I think it all the same. Just for a little while longer, Please! Just a little while longer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%;"> But you climb back up and brush off the
dirt determined to take back your place in the line because it’s your time and
you have to walk it whether you are ready or not…so... </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%;"> "Stop looking at me."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%;"> "You're in my way. Move."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%;"> "Why are you talking to me? You don’t know me."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%;"> "Who are you anyway?"<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%;"> The person asking the last question suddenly falls in beside me. “Me?" I ask. " I'm just a person trying to find my way," I say, "same as you." I take another step. "I'm just walkin’ the line." </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%;"> "You don't look like you belong here." He said.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%;"> " I know." I reply. "Sometimes I feel like I don't belong here either." We walk a beat. </span><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%;">"But I'm doing it. Doing it again, I should say. But it feels really different this time. It's been awhile. This feels like a foreign land." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%;"> There is a few moments of quiet between us, then I point and say, "I was way up there, you know. Almost to the very end of this road." I pause a moment, "And then I got moved back here with you guys." Another pause. "This is hard for me too. I’m trippin' and brushin’ myself off just like you." I pause again. "But this time...I can't even remember having a hair ribbon." </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%;"> “And you..." I say as another walks up and falls into the rhythm of our pace, "You have the attitude...the pretty face... you're so cool just chillin'."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%;"> He smiles and winks in agreement. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%;"> "Wake
up!” I shout. "Stop acting like a child and thinking you're so cute it's all that matters."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%;"> He stiffens. "You're not that cute," I tell him. “And there is a quarter-horse inside you and I know you know it. I know you feel it stirring."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%;"> He gives me a puzzled yet knowing look. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%;"> "You were born to run." I tell him, "So step it up. Impress me!"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%;">
</span><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%;"> He doesn't like my words so his long legs stretch his stride but I know that he is pondering our conversation.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%;"> There is pushing and shoving around me now as this group I walk with struggle to find their place in a herd of, "Children No More.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%;"> Not quite steady
on their feet but want so much to find their way with strength and
grace. I want to believe that when they bloom they will
take our breath away and bring tears to our eyes. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 200%;"> Until then...I hope they know how amazing they
are. How fascinating. How beautiful.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So let me walk this line with you and see you wear red lips and ribbons just a little bit longer.</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Please.</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Real life comes soon enough. </span></span>Pamela Paynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230294431439005060noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3051892378904414858.post-78002125223669680812016-02-28T16:57:00.001-08:002017-08-15T16:01:51.014-07:00A moment in the life of a girl <div dir="ltr">
A little girl stood behind the backstop...her fingers looped inside the chain link fence.<br />
And as it grew dark the field lit up and there he was...standing on the pitchers mound.<br />
A moment that took her breath away.<br />
The little girl saw him every day and yet...she knew now that she really saw him. Intense, powerful, confident, handsome...<br />
And in a moment he became so much more than just her Dad. He was now and forever after... her Hero.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
Later, when it was time for a treat, the little girl stood in a concession line. "The pitcher's my Dad," she said as she pointed. "He's my Dad."</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQE5M1SL994vhEaQGtJ3_Hqv6j0T2vH_wzuU04obQ4HNt6VKJ843Eue84RoOqcVAqtmDEWtiJe3WLS-2KGyof5MUFfk4Z89MEkxaWwFhl1XXpfXFel4JNDgqjR4JBRvOHlKf7fUeZOoa9Y/s1600/2016-02-28%25252016.42.07.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQE5M1SL994vhEaQGtJ3_Hqv6j0T2vH_wzuU04obQ4HNt6VKJ843Eue84RoOqcVAqtmDEWtiJe3WLS-2KGyof5MUFfk4Z89MEkxaWwFhl1XXpfXFel4JNDgqjR4JBRvOHlKf7fUeZOoa9Y/s400/2016-02-28%25252016.42.07.png" width="365" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGnO-3F3HlAz8BRNNFszRlZk1fGNIPzbhLCRQPkJj9jJPNkMxbJ-3ey4bb74Y_n3582gMUah-Pek4EswMc-39u6-ps5ZxgW4ul7ioO_TdklTQKbaqxYA4VacR0FAjD1DRU6YJ5KS8Oz99U/s1600/Screenshot_2016-02-28-16-31-25.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGnO-3F3HlAz8BRNNFszRlZk1fGNIPzbhLCRQPkJj9jJPNkMxbJ-3ey4bb74Y_n3582gMUah-Pek4EswMc-39u6-ps5ZxgW4ul7ioO_TdklTQKbaqxYA4VacR0FAjD1DRU6YJ5KS8Oz99U/s640/Screenshot_2016-02-28-16-31-25.png" /> </a> </div>
Pamela Paynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230294431439005060noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3051892378904414858.post-303045105759419602016-02-15T20:30:00.001-08:002017-08-15T15:57:04.849-07:00I choose this...<div dir="ltr">
I have to choose. Everyday I have to choose because bad news comes and then more bad news and then more. I dont want to hear it so I don't listen. I turn off the news. But then it comes anyway too close to home. A nieces baby full of cancer. A father who exampled strength and hardwork facing cancer for the fourth time. My father...and I know he can't have much fight left. Cancer on skin I touch and know so well...cutting, burning, waiting. <br />
I don't want to think about. Dont know what to say, so I pray and work and walk. <br />
I listen to music and read and watch TV and take care of business and then pray more but it's all still there and it's ugly and it hurts and I hate cancer. <br />
But in the moments...those moments when I open my eyes to really see, when I quiet my mind and surrender my heart God takes them captive and puts this in the sky and I know...<br />
I know he has answers to every hard thing. Every one.<br />
So I choose this.<br />
Blind Faith? No! Can't you see?<br />
I choose the promises of a God who makes mountains and paints sky. <br />
I will cry but I will trust Him and I will choose Him.<br />
I will choose this.<br />
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjob8SaX7ll8GQ90cgjFdAygvsWBMEE83e0MJfDvgSM409jRZkvpiR_-_ExBpjexEYoYuJfZbR3DCNu8rlzZcC9iIEivsLkHKDcQQInYE3_wIgAvn6LErHBwsEw-tU5W7vDneZaPO5e_ApS/s1600/20160215_174030-01-01.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjob8SaX7ll8GQ90cgjFdAygvsWBMEE83e0MJfDvgSM409jRZkvpiR_-_ExBpjexEYoYuJfZbR3DCNu8rlzZcC9iIEivsLkHKDcQQInYE3_wIgAvn6LErHBwsEw-tU5W7vDneZaPO5e_ApS/s400/20160215_174030-01-01.jpeg" width="400" /> </a> </div>
Pamela Paynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230294431439005060noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3051892378904414858.post-40339220333786972792015-10-21T20:16:00.005-07:002022-03-15T18:31:50.795-07:00For Mary...my mother...on her birthday.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi27KWd2GBNIco4_9FxluAqgQZZJcMcx6W7bYhYsk3udJHSum3a7zygibt5BJd1c76p8uNQrdTnQNmU0Wu5mFC0qmPJdplHfzyr7Z-Tt85sUGTrV9KmUb1JP8S4tRYgqLjKFZz6OvDRTP0t/s1600/72542_1453425016017_4177163_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="540" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi27KWd2GBNIco4_9FxluAqgQZZJcMcx6W7bYhYsk3udJHSum3a7zygibt5BJd1c76p8uNQrdTnQNmU0Wu5mFC0qmPJdplHfzyr7Z-Tt85sUGTrV9KmUb1JP8S4tRYgqLjKFZz6OvDRTP0t/s400/72542_1453425016017_4177163_n.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
There is simply no place I'd rather be than with you the third week of October. <br />
It's not a coincidence that you were born as God chose to change the colors of the leaves on the trees to breathtaking and placed a fresh chill in the air. This time of reds and yellows and pumpkins has always been my very very favorite. It's my big deep breath of, "Aaaaahhhhhh."<br />
<div>
It' was the time of year when God chose to put you on the earth to become my Mother. <br />
October...your birthday.<br />
I've written about you often over the years. As memories came I pecked away at the computer keys so I could remember and pass it on. And so now, for the sake of time I'll cut and paste some of my words.<br />
<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: x-small;"><i><br /></i></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;"> </span> "My mother spoke through straight pins held between her lips as she bent over a pattern on the floor with scissors in her hand. This memory soothed and comforted me in a way I did not expect. On her knees in the living room, pinning and cutting. And it was her foot I saw, and her machine I heard, as I watched Chandler at my kitchen table begin to sew. I was suddenly filled with the excitement and anticipation of the new dress Mom was making for me. Her love behind the sewing machine formed me as a little girl and is coming full circle back to me as a mother."</i></span></b><br />
<br />
"<span style="background-color: #ffd966;">Mary, my mother, is writing down her story. She is being strong and brave and she sends me pages that make me weep. My tears are of joy and of sadness. She tells of truths that have not been spoken to me before. She is doing it because I asked her to. I love her for it. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: #ffd966;"> My friends thought my mother was a movie star. She was beautiful, and I didn't know that she was broken, but, "Fragile...Handle with care" was stamped across her spirit even then. Dad knew it, and a part of me did too. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: #ffd966;"> She was given four babies to love and care for and we were her life. She played with us, read to us, sang to us, and she sewed. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: #ffd966;"> She made clothes for herself like the ones Jackie Kennedy wore, but she was prettier. She made Easter dresses and school clothes for my sisters and for me. Ron was her first. Her only son and she made him a blazer. It was tan and I remember thinking, "How did she do that?" I was born 11 months after my brother. Lori followed two years after me, and two years after Lori, came our baby, Kaylynn. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: #ffd966;"> I love to dance and sing because I saw my mothers joy in that place. I love stories because Mom didn't just read, she made them come alive. I love the way I love because my mother showed me how. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: #ffd966;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 20.7px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><i> Mom...You were my example. I know what a Mother's heart is and what it does because of you. You gave me something precious that I was able to give to my own children. The precious things of childhood go deep in me because your were my Mom. </i></b></span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 20.7px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><i> Thank you for music. </i></b></span></span><b style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 20.7px;"><i>My childhood was full of it because of you. I remember album after album being placed on the turn table. Barbara Streisand, Andy Williams, Glen Campbell, Peter Paul and Mary. </i></b><br />
<b style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 20.7px;"><i> The other day I just burst out singing a song for Jude. It came out of nowhere, and yet, I knew every word and note. "And the Red Red Robin goes bop bop boppin' along.” Jude wanted me to sing it over and over and over. </i></b><b style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 20.7px;"><i>ReAnnon finally “googled” the words. It had come from a 1960’s “Sing along with Mitch Miller” album. </i></b><br />
<b style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 20.7px;"><i>"Oh, Mitch Miller." Mary Poppins</i></b><b style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 20.7px;"><i>, The Sound of Music. All of it, such a gift.</i></b></div><div><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b><i>Neil Diamond came later.<br /></i></b></span>
<b style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 20.7px;"><i> A</i></b><b style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 20.7px;"><i>nd I don't remember a single night that you didn’t have dinner on the table for the six of us. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, homemade gravy, pot-roast, meatloaf, creamed corn. All of these still comfort my soul. And I remember the expensive jars of maraschino cherries that you'd bring home just for me when you had a little extra money for groceries. No one but you could have given me these things, so from your Mother’s heart to mine and back… I love you!</i></b><br />
<br />
And so Mom...<br />
Time...it goes by so quickly. You'll be 80 soon and I'll be 60. So crazy to think about and yet, it's true. You were just a girl when you held me for the first time. So much life. So much love. So many memories. But know that my best...it came from you.<br />
Happy birthday Mom. You and Fall. My favorites. I love you! <br />
<br />
</div>
Pamela Paynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230294431439005060noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3051892378904414858.post-6931563742461651072014-12-26T17:49:00.001-08:002017-08-15T13:10:34.945-07:00An, "Old made new forever remember Christmas," Part Two<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
So I sit here still.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
This place of rememberance. A place where God's truth, his power, his promise, rushes around and through me so fast and hard that I spin in love and joy...and yet...much of my Christmas sits in piles unfinished. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
This room...a mess. But beautiful chaos I think. Lovely corners with things that wait. On a table, ruined by glue and paint and love sits three cut out hands and a box of remembrance. Each hand bigger than the other, three boys, three brothers who live in my heart...and the box...it's for Stella Grace.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
And oh...the memories...</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Little hands dripping with creek water held up in front of eyes of wonder wanting to show me the shiny treasures inside. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Three seasons of singing and swinging with baby boys on a porch in back.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Tummies that ache from too too many pears.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Chins stained and dripping with juice from sweet garden strawberries.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
The miracle of Jude's blackberry bush. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Summer picnics on a blue blanket in grass with goldfish crackers on white plates.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Daughters who laugh and cry and sit and pray and read and wait.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Daughters who became mothers and aunts and friends.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
A son who made a creek new with his father, who hung on the beams, bought me baby turkeys and swam with dogs on his back.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
And a husband...who never stops...just makes it all beautiful for us. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Mountains and sunsets. Morning light and promise.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Goodness, and God and Glory</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I plant memorial stones in this messy place. Deep deep in my heart.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I know. I remember. Life and death and truth and love. And the greatest of these....</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
And then Fall came...</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
And with God's very breath over this mountain He blew inspiration over me...</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
And so...I sand and spray and paint and make new and remember...</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
And I have faith for my pile of unfinished Christmas because there will be birthdays and weddings and babies and graduations and God stories...</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
May our lives be full of these...</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
And may we know that life and death, old made new, redemption, new life, and Jesus </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Are What Matter. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpDRRe31plnPbv8DRusvFQCoa1rjtto1lz-I9Zc_ohH4mxxHLWsUoJiweO_77XTiCHrLYrji6IGhNaWJW96H9ZWHgw3jl9U6230UKnMfhLeFSB7RaZUgXu_iY7ce4wotgJ6a1Ee9ZW-ldb/s1600/20141123_152338_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpDRRe31plnPbv8DRusvFQCoa1rjtto1lz-I9Zc_ohH4mxxHLWsUoJiweO_77XTiCHrLYrji6IGhNaWJW96H9ZWHgw3jl9U6230UKnMfhLeFSB7RaZUgXu_iY7ce4wotgJ6a1Ee9ZW-ldb/s640/20141123_152338_1.jpg" width="200" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTIV6NnJTSiiIERRwdelUeGDLjzREa2qgFseOHvWO6LZvjuWKTs53K-FmACcjshXmpPqdFzluFbsbSUUo-xE1_vIVCoe8YSwRdve6Ef1SG8doWK3JpW4kHqiShdUnTiuJb0Jo0te5nMGLS/s1600/20141130_150326.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTIV6NnJTSiiIERRwdelUeGDLjzREa2qgFseOHvWO6LZvjuWKTs53K-FmACcjshXmpPqdFzluFbsbSUUo-xE1_vIVCoe8YSwRdve6Ef1SG8doWK3JpW4kHqiShdUnTiuJb0Jo0te5nMGLS/s640/20141130_150326.jpg" width="112" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicAkPyz-aT1n74SMx4nmxtQBg0XHeKmGeL9pnf_9LhncF00CRXc6Mn8mNndM2pIt0qTUuJ7u8cXjtWLp08M-q0imaqw_3DXltcOqfWusVJ1XHCpa2ZPICx9QxNrm6aW9W1x0gKrkzMfnic/s1600/20141124_184601.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicAkPyz-aT1n74SMx4nmxtQBg0XHeKmGeL9pnf_9LhncF00CRXc6Mn8mNndM2pIt0qTUuJ7u8cXjtWLp08M-q0imaqw_3DXltcOqfWusVJ1XHCpa2ZPICx9QxNrm6aW9W1x0gKrkzMfnic/s640/20141124_184601.jpg" width="200" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWOIrHckQ9AVe_htUMZ0MkVKXfbFxrJfvPUaKcwT5tL4x_LTzXUQezllMUx4Tp9Vu64Cbe-Cfs-luiaVJxhVMTfF3vOhhWgnVSbNgYcicWoJTAXWUaImDifo9q68DDOqu8bVbI85J3ZBzv/s1600/20141225_102932_3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="163" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWOIrHckQ9AVe_htUMZ0MkVKXfbFxrJfvPUaKcwT5tL4x_LTzXUQezllMUx4Tp9Vu64Cbe-Cfs-luiaVJxhVMTfF3vOhhWgnVSbNgYcicWoJTAXWUaImDifo9q68DDOqu8bVbI85J3ZBzv/s640/20141225_102932_3.jpg" width="200" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT1-udxMlbfuTjncmDRmRwD_v5nnxmzGyqfN5sXyCtndPzoE7WZkM22OYWMZDhnsGNGWRwDgLol1Iw8n4VK7IIrG9rciT2LRmXb7qmbbbshwFfu395ah7Gi65gpe3XU1DyskMw7r1-Dve6/s1600/2014-11-28%25252020.18.06_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT1-udxMlbfuTjncmDRmRwD_v5nnxmzGyqfN5sXyCtndPzoE7WZkM22OYWMZDhnsGNGWRwDgLol1Iw8n4VK7IIrG9rciT2LRmXb7qmbbbshwFfu395ah7Gi65gpe3XU1DyskMw7r1-Dve6/s640/2014-11-28%25252020.18.06_1.jpg" width="200" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVeLIztLJYZu3dxUHc0TIAqUzXnvcx3dd7Z3pxwsnlGyYOflSvZliTMrqU_pWpoSHEN4E80fYU9FZxAJZ0EBlmxUtGNR0kQF8GHGW2BOs2dIIvj0shWrJ8UdwPBJCswoycjNDZaEDEhYvc/s1600/20141223_233539_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVeLIztLJYZu3dxUHc0TIAqUzXnvcx3dd7Z3pxwsnlGyYOflSvZliTMrqU_pWpoSHEN4E80fYU9FZxAJZ0EBlmxUtGNR0kQF8GHGW2BOs2dIIvj0shWrJ8UdwPBJCswoycjNDZaEDEhYvc/s640/20141223_233539_1.jpg" width="200" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMDJNRXEoJvT_PkdQxKksKDB2BKzgSur5OeqySThlY9ZssZ7t4IpXHfQOd3DNRLWf9_OTg-E_mjzXBwBO79J1FgpSeMHUFZ1aMevKOr7slO3dlMyo1dR_vGLWdW2HzcgLeiJagGyq18a4r/s1600/20141215_183617_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMDJNRXEoJvT_PkdQxKksKDB2BKzgSur5OeqySThlY9ZssZ7t4IpXHfQOd3DNRLWf9_OTg-E_mjzXBwBO79J1FgpSeMHUFZ1aMevKOr7slO3dlMyo1dR_vGLWdW2HzcgLeiJagGyq18a4r/s640/20141215_183617_1.jpg" width="200" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLHPPDn7pRs_QVQk-xkVft9JU7wPLumQOzGXCsns7NKFafhaKTR8QfOskjk7iR4mc4GGRifiWH8AoE4MlEflpe19otCkQneqeyRkv98oIreOGlu9KVCPrmTZtU4HQgvLraOhLMWRz1ruxE/s1600/20141208_151224_3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLHPPDn7pRs_QVQk-xkVft9JU7wPLumQOzGXCsns7NKFafhaKTR8QfOskjk7iR4mc4GGRifiWH8AoE4MlEflpe19otCkQneqeyRkv98oIreOGlu9KVCPrmTZtU4HQgvLraOhLMWRz1ruxE/s640/20141208_151224_3.jpg" width="179" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD4auOUCK7eVBIgDukE4nS-Nhb0bfBiWCu1fdX2rZZBvoPN_FaB1GHoa4qdwqEovxLWRNG0AO7QROg8xG8KTntdl-kpwW2_5FE0YHR5JaGlqf9wM_H_NUOdVEOBhyLNxLfV3p6nCyPdgF7/s1600/20141215_183844_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD4auOUCK7eVBIgDukE4nS-Nhb0bfBiWCu1fdX2rZZBvoPN_FaB1GHoa4qdwqEovxLWRNG0AO7QROg8xG8KTntdl-kpwW2_5FE0YHR5JaGlqf9wM_H_NUOdVEOBhyLNxLfV3p6nCyPdgF7/s640/20141215_183844_1.jpg" width="200" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVjCZ2VdN9Y-VOIhTBLNTPmypweTD1mb6gZWKVoyrw-hlgp4t0O0ZX6VWXDHJEXAfS4pgG-dyCUOHGUsNb44USSL0xgPzY2uZczCqhfRqQmOpZwN4tVdppQAe5mXwKePMVKUHnTIIB_qVa/s1600/20141123_152553_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVjCZ2VdN9Y-VOIhTBLNTPmypweTD1mb6gZWKVoyrw-hlgp4t0O0ZX6VWXDHJEXAfS4pgG-dyCUOHGUsNb44USSL0xgPzY2uZczCqhfRqQmOpZwN4tVdppQAe5mXwKePMVKUHnTIIB_qVa/s640/20141123_152553_1.jpg" width="179" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUJt4aHDt_TaJADcVUaBa320E91JkkJh-wJ-6olV1u3xCePPgOcyoM9UX8yQ6XakMVGfAjvzBUFHJF-tOaBQh5HdAxShWpM4nEOZMZJ6HJmJMxTvfI4lcLALdV_6bTBfX6p5auOEy9f4Tc/s1600/IMG_20141121_224154.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUJt4aHDt_TaJADcVUaBa320E91JkkJh-wJ-6olV1u3xCePPgOcyoM9UX8yQ6XakMVGfAjvzBUFHJF-tOaBQh5HdAxShWpM4nEOZMZJ6HJmJMxTvfI4lcLALdV_6bTBfX6p5auOEy9f4Tc/s640/IMG_20141121_224154.jpg" width="200" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRrybJB0IIeKwb0vQex_ZVm4UrjqRw4kkFmhHLnyU84KKe7YhXcD_EkcCV75bT6fG6hXvqPVdZX-S64V03p6fdhP0IE0WA1IOMZcVIf6cbOkkxc8MZo2_Tq5gwIQwHjx71Wpo605oqfIyC/s1600/2015-01-05%25252016.49.12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRrybJB0IIeKwb0vQex_ZVm4UrjqRw4kkFmhHLnyU84KKe7YhXcD_EkcCV75bT6fG6hXvqPVdZX-S64V03p6fdhP0IE0WA1IOMZcVIf6cbOkkxc8MZo2_Tq5gwIQwHjx71Wpo605oqfIyC/s640/2015-01-05%25252016.49.12.jpg" width="240" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIvHTNdPoFYaIKjlWB8TDnh_PPOWRMXynPXzG-E_mv6kpEYVE_53E74ArfPd5z_re61U-dyND1RkKOGN6fkvMAB9_dAoSgb1pgRvFUj-RirL_e0qH3L50icQptXKJUH0QWXE8oFaU6T6HJ/s1600/20150105_164015_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIvHTNdPoFYaIKjlWB8TDnh_PPOWRMXynPXzG-E_mv6kpEYVE_53E74ArfPd5z_re61U-dyND1RkKOGN6fkvMAB9_dAoSgb1pgRvFUj-RirL_e0qH3L50icQptXKJUH0QWXE8oFaU6T6HJ/s640/20150105_164015_1.jpg" width="179" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLprfwYlg1GbFFkhUirdwITN15laJ_kLBhxDfW9SGiZgwNKuemuX3_EuHbvF8Gd3QgdK4X3jfaAmWphJou9y6-dK-epE1FaxPGVAGN5G7o2qLz58sIrlSacNorgGmkz6mmxTEftlANBIbh/s1600/2015-01-05%25252016.48.17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="130" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLprfwYlg1GbFFkhUirdwITN15laJ_kLBhxDfW9SGiZgwNKuemuX3_EuHbvF8Gd3QgdK4X3jfaAmWphJou9y6-dK-epE1FaxPGVAGN5G7o2qLz58sIrlSacNorgGmkz6mmxTEftlANBIbh/s640/2015-01-05%25252016.48.17.jpg" width="200" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis0Fnc_7mMXpp0p2FmO48I6qXMEnleaG8t_Qofv8zUHO2RCnJ8i5kzCZps0X2tO5jncgfPiO1Bknc4pBmxMuwyH9Vqtr5kZDb0D_vuvQmh_yCWqBgwHcOnz_F_m8-40D4xXwSFlwFRwL0C/s1600/20150102_144545_3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis0Fnc_7mMXpp0p2FmO48I6qXMEnleaG8t_Qofv8zUHO2RCnJ8i5kzCZps0X2tO5jncgfPiO1Bknc4pBmxMuwyH9Vqtr5kZDb0D_vuvQmh_yCWqBgwHcOnz_F_m8-40D4xXwSFlwFRwL0C/s640/20150102_144545_3.jpg" width="179" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Pamela Paynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230294431439005060noreply@blogger.com0Round Valley, Round Valley37.419376 -118.587616tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3051892378904414858.post-59896483455064812622014-11-29T12:27:00.003-08:002014-11-29T12:27:46.302-08:00An "Old made new forever remember," Christmas It's the last thing I do before going to bed and the first thing I check on when my feet hit the floor. My projects. My Christmas.<br />
I've been treasure hunting. Collecting things that have a past. I am going to make them new and write the next chapter in their stories for my family. <br />
I began to sand through wood trying to erase scars and scratches when I suddenly picture the hands and feet of Jesus. The scar on his side and I remember what they mean.<br />
I stop sanding. The nicks and notches in the old wood have become beautiful.<br />
<br />
I can't explain how I feel making things inspired by God in this season of my life because I have never felt this before. But over and over God takes me back to this place of remembrance. He sets me on the hills where memorial stones are planted. He reminds me that my story was written by Him and he wants me to leave behind a part of His story in my history, and so...<br />
I sand and stain and arrange and glaze and wait and check on...<br />
And on Christmas I will give away a few, "forever remember" moments of a life written by God with a heart of great praise from a greatly loved daughter.<br />
<br />
I wish I could show you what I'm doing... but it would spoil the surprise.<br />
<br />
Pssss..."I'll show you later."<br />
<br />
Pamela Paynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230294431439005060noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3051892378904414858.post-72684309703735053202014-09-04T20:55:00.004-07:002017-08-15T16:02:45.667-07:00Right onto the pages of Robinson Crusoe...<div dir="ltr">
Today was full of surprises. Seriously. One after another. <br />
Truth is, I'm getting pretty comfortable with my, "Jesus adventures," so when he says, "Let's go." I go.<br />
And so I put on trail blazin' shoes.<br />
This week was hard, (this season has been hard), and tomorrow marks a week since my friends husband died.<br />
It was fast and tragic and I'm still reeling. <br />
Life is hard. <br />
But today...I knew deeply God's love. I felt it.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
"Keep out" signs don't always keep me out, but they did today. I promised my husband and Mother I'd be careful, so remembering my Rock Creek adventure, I sent Paul a text to let him know where I was going.<br />
And today, I got blessed. And I got a little taste of what it might be like to be a real adventurer.<br />
And I loved it...<br />
<br />
So thank you for, Lord. Thank you for being beside me in all the really hard places. I see you. I know your love.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwanzKDUnQuOIjmDvd6HQS6N_zKSAXAPD96Acy-qF9e-BKAMzCB12TFCqkRD5zmbvYt4YdeVaqZPru-9weXtFr_gsvBznIY01CfEudzZ1JRFS9m0d-1Pnywcyo8jYLH-j5g1PLMG7tpt3j/s1600/IMG_20140904_223531.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwanzKDUnQuOIjmDvd6HQS6N_zKSAXAPD96Acy-qF9e-BKAMzCB12TFCqkRD5zmbvYt4YdeVaqZPru-9weXtFr_gsvBznIY01CfEudzZ1JRFS9m0d-1Pnywcyo8jYLH-j5g1PLMG7tpt3j/s640/IMG_20140904_223531.jpg" width="320" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimWK1PAjoHrdRTNhmvLOGmuy_E0X1k8m1iF1EMgFFmsW8z9LZ4xKkqS6aZWexZ4HKNPP1hskkOIzAsNjsXIe5Wt4wUEUnX6Vnvuc-l2Atl86bxRl3TnU2Vv78H3ImCwJ4xg748c6jlm0_m/s1600/IMG_20140904_223050.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimWK1PAjoHrdRTNhmvLOGmuy_E0X1k8m1iF1EMgFFmsW8z9LZ4xKkqS6aZWexZ4HKNPP1hskkOIzAsNjsXIe5Wt4wUEUnX6Vnvuc-l2Atl86bxRl3TnU2Vv78H3ImCwJ4xg748c6jlm0_m/s640/IMG_20140904_223050.jpg" width="320" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo_P9FHftuluXRQi8VwuyvM3UmLsgZPwWzOKLGSzpQkVh2dF7144yU-DqxB-Pw_wihIxh_UTrJBsje8kaLaim17lERFBGMVIiBJfoM1Ro0MQCWqWYyertg9Thm9Ulzg10nLLWBz_855D6c/s1600/2014-09-04%25252017.07.28_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo_P9FHftuluXRQi8VwuyvM3UmLsgZPwWzOKLGSzpQkVh2dF7144yU-DqxB-Pw_wihIxh_UTrJBsje8kaLaim17lERFBGMVIiBJfoM1Ro0MQCWqWYyertg9Thm9Ulzg10nLLWBz_855D6c/s640/2014-09-04%25252017.07.28_2.jpg" width="320" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy64umrcXLnLEEipGkfN-wNp0sfZ11Rf8yhI1lL18SfTOVjfjJT05XukPBjBmdltgVm2Rej4mp6ESneoeEPSnSgkW9d0ZEqwaICmLVLGNsJnQpqiC1Rd_C10sy9aL2rY-UJ-A9dwec5L0l/s1600/20140904_161815_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy64umrcXLnLEEipGkfN-wNp0sfZ11Rf8yhI1lL18SfTOVjfjJT05XukPBjBmdltgVm2Rej4mp6ESneoeEPSnSgkW9d0ZEqwaICmLVLGNsJnQpqiC1Rd_C10sy9aL2rY-UJ-A9dwec5L0l/s640/20140904_161815_1.jpg" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Pamela Paynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230294431439005060noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3051892378904414858.post-58755693972945334492014-08-07T21:12:00.001-07:002024-02-29T16:42:40.998-08:00I was just headed home... Today was one of those days so I've decided to tell you it's story. I believe it is worth the telling and the remembering.<br />
I really wanted to show you the story of this day with pictures, but instead, I'm gonna have to put on my big girl pants and use my words so you are going to have to use your imagination.<br />
<br />
"Where you lead I will follow. Anywhere, that you you tell me to. When you need, you need me to be with you, I will follow where you lead."<br />
These words are from a song by Carol King, but today, I sang them to Jesus.<br />
<br />
I was just headed home...<br />
<br />
"You should drive up to Rock Creek Lake. It's really beautiful today."<br />
I pass Tom's place restaurant and slow the truck. Hmmm...<br />
I make the turn.<br />
20 minutes later I sit in a line of traffic behind the flag man.<br />
The road is torn up. It's bumpy and dusty and I am irritated. "Really...and why am I here?"<br />
<br />
I pull into "Pie in the Sky" restaurant, let out a big sigh of frustration, and park.<br />
<br />
"Go inside and get a piece of pie."<br />
<br />
I need a bathroom.<br />
But I go inside and a lady is fussing about the pie menu. She wants peach. It's written right there, she says and points. It's barely 10 oclock. Why is peach crossed out?<br />
A couple behind me complain. I am not the only one who doesn't like the road work. <br />
So I go outside to the bathroom, do my business, and head to the car. I am dreading the drive back down the dusty construction road.<br />
<br />
"Go inside and get a piece of pie. Take it down to the lake."<br />
<br />
So I sigh, give in, and stand at the counter. Behind the fussy lady. She is still talking about the peach pie.<br />
The young man behind it, trying to be kind, walks away and comes back. Yeah, I checked with the pie guy, he said. No more Peach.<br />
<br />
I don't really like any of the pie choices either. I step up. Rhubarb or Banana Cream, I ask?<br />
Rhubarb. He answers without hesitation.<br />
I order a piece.<br />
<br />
20 minutes and $7.50 later I get back in the truck with my pie in the sack and know in my heart that I am just as fussy as the lady who wanted Peach, and I drive to the lake.<br />
<br />
I get out of the car carrying my sack of pie and my phone and my keys.<br />
<br />
I catch a sight of the lake and I sigh. It is beautiful.<br />
<br />
There is a place in the sun right at the waters edge and so I go and I sit and I open my sack.<br />
<br />
"Put your feet in."<br />
<br />
And so I do. And I take a bite.<br />
It might be the best pie I ever tasted.<br />
<br />
(Here is a pretend picture of my feet in water with a half eaten piece of pie in my lap and a lake glistening like diamonds in the sun.)<br />
<br />
I eat most of the pie and flutter my feet back and forth in the water.<br />
I lean back, hold my face in the sun, realize I feel good and know this a good and beautiful thing. A God designed thing.<br />
<br />
"Walk with me."<br />
<br />
And so I do.<br />
<br />
(Here is another pretend picture of the fly fishermen I run into, five of them, thigh deep and arranged perfectly in a geometric pattern in the water by the big rock.)<br />
<br />
It stops me and I take a deep breath.<br />
<br />
I walk for an hour and it is beautiful and I take lots of pictures.<br />
I am happy and have forgotten about being disappointed. About being discouraged.<br />
Thank you Lord.<br />
<br />
I get back in the car and I am the first one at the flagger with the stop sign.<br />
I don't even care and I smile. His beard is long like the Duck Dynasty guys and his smile is just as genuine.<br />
Thank you Lord.<br />
<br />
"Stop at the campground."<br />
<br />
I choose the lower rather than the upper campground and park near the lodge. The wildflowers are in crazy bloom. Purple like I have never seen. Long grass in shades of green I can't even describe grow around the trees with the light... oh the light. Just so...<br />
<br />
And the creek...so loud and foamy and dancing. I close my eyes and listen.<br />
And then I walk.<br />
And I see and I snap...<br />
<br />
"Get off the path. Go down by the waters edge."<br />
<br />
Really? I look down at my rubber flip flops and too long sweat pants already wet around the bottom. And my foot hurts. I was headed home.<br />
<br />
"You want adventure. So go down to waters edge."<br />
<br />
For the next two hours I am off the beaten path. Following a most beautiful creek ducking under branches, climbing over slippery rocks, holding onto tree trunks as I step around and see the most beautiful light and beautiful things and I am smiling.<br />
<br />
"Does your foot hurt?"<br />
No. It doesn't hurt at all.<br />
<br />
I am happy, on a great adventure surrounded by glory. The water is so clear. A huge trout nips and plays chase with little ones. The colors of the creek water go from white to turquoise blue to every shade of green you can imagine and the long green grass has so many shades and the wildflowers and...I pull my Maui Jim sunglasses off my eyes just to make sure...and... I am awestruck.<br />
<br />
(I have no words for what these photos looked liked. Just picture the most beautiful creek and grasses that you can imagine)<br />
<br />
When I take my next steps in the thigh high grass, the water suddenly hits the middle of my calf and my foot comes out of the sticky mud without a sandal. I hear a swooshing sound and I laugh.<br />
<br />
(Here is a pretend picture of my legs in the deep grass, my foot coming up naked, and my hand holding so tight to my phone that I have a cramp. I'm so worried I'm going to drop it.) But I laugh again.<br />
<br />
"You want adventure."<br />
<br />
Yes, I do. And I smile. But I'm not sure how far I've walked and going forward from here means I might have to wade in waist deep water across the creek. I would be soaked. And so...I turn around.<br />
<br />
I get back to the car and eat the rest of the pie. It's almost three-thirty and I'm hungry.<br />
<br />
When I get home I eat and sit down with my phone. I can't wait to see the pictures.<br />
<br />
There are no pictures. <br />
<br />
I spend the next three hours in Bishop at the AT&T store.<br />
My device storage is full although my camera is set to copy to my SD card which holds all my photos and has 3.11 GB of memory left. He is baffled. I am about to cry.<br />
<br />
I go home with no pictures. No pictures of my amazing God day.<br />
<br />
What I realize as I wrestled around with this is that my day was not about the pictures. It is about God. Who He is. What He does. How He speaks to me. Do I want to show you what He showed me today? Yes. because it was glorious, but I can't. Does that change what God did for me today and what He showed me? No. It does not.<br />
<br />
I was just headed home.<br />
<br />
But God had a different plan.<br />
<br />
Thank you Lord... <br />
Pamela Paynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230294431439005060noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3051892378904414858.post-82544718690095642862014-08-06T12:06:00.001-07:002014-08-12T08:32:09.726-07:00What a mess!<div dir="ltr">
Why are you sitting here like this? How did you get to be such a mess. What is wrong, child? </div>
<div dir="ltr">
I look up. Really? This is how you're going to start our conversation?</div>
<div dir="ltr">
How else would you expect me to start it?</div>
<div dir="ltr">
I look at him and then look down. I could use a hug. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
So he gives me one. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
And I'd like it if you'd just sit with me for a while and hold my hand. I love it when you hold my hand.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
So He does.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
Now. He finally says. I'll ask you again. Why do you sit here like this?</div>
<div dir="ltr">
I let out a long hard sigh. I'm just so weary. I tell him. I have no "good fight" left in me. I'm really discouraged. It is just too hard.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
Okay. If that's really how you feel, then now what? You gonna sit here underneath all this hard stuff and... wallow? Just roll around in these shadows some more until you get really covered with them and they get really heavy? Think that's the answer? </div>
<div dir="ltr">
I ponder this.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
If that's the case, you might as well just open up the door and let him in now.<br />
<br />
I give God a hard look.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
He's right outside. He points. Prowling around, struttin' his stuff. Roaring. He thinks you're lookin' pretty good right now too. You're kinda right where he wants you. He can't wait to get in here.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
But I belong to you, I say with just a hint of sarcasm. You never leave me and Jesus already saved me. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
All of that is also true. But that Lion... God points right outside the door. He gets to try. That's just the way it is. And you are ripe for picking now. He pulls me close and whispers. But when you walk in my joy. My joy that is your strength, his goal, (to steal and destroy and lie), becomes much harder to do so he just moves on. When your heart is full of praise and you are full of Faith most times, he'll just walk on by. He pauses, but days like this...well...He nods his head toward the door, he waits.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
I grip His hand a little tighter.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
He pats it. I'll sit here with you for a little while longer, but then I'm going to step away because you know the truth. You know it is in my strength that you will get to your feet and leave this dreary place. It is in my power that you will walk right past that roaring lion and sing my Praise. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
I take a long slow breath.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
You know what I have told you and you must remember the things I've shown you. You can fight the good fight. You will. He lets go of my hand and stands.<br />
Put on my armor before you open this door, and when you're ready, plant your feet firmly on the solid rock of my truth and step out in Faith full of my word.<br />You are my Beloved! Now stand up. Put some Praise on your lips! I know you can.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
He smiles and opens the door. There is great adventure ahead for you precious daughter. And don't you ever doubt that again! He blows me a kiss as he walks away and I watch from the window as the lion bows at his feet.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
I put my hand on the door knob and take another deep breath. The joy of the Lord is my strength. I say it again. Louder. The joy of the Lord is my strength and I open the door . I can do all things through Christ Jesus. The lion hears me and looks up. I take a step. So does the lion. I can do all things through Christ Jesus! </div>
<div dir="ltr">
And when I pass him...</div>
<div dir="ltr">
I am singing worship and I <u>s</u>mile and pat his head.<br /></div>
Pamela Paynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230294431439005060noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3051892378904414858.post-91481922883984038652014-04-09T17:15:00.002-07:002015-08-08T09:48:22.730-07:00Oh Eve! There had to be that moment. The instant when it hit you. The thing you had done and what it meant.<br>
<br>
I picture you with your hands in Eden's dirt and sweat on your brow as you stand and lift your face into a breeze. The birds sing and swoop and peck out the seeds you planted but you love and smile and guard because in the garden you walk with God. You walk in the garden with God and know His Glory. You know it.<br>
<br>
So you toil and plant and reap and care because your purpose under heaven is for this hard and good and holy work. From the breath of God it is innately in your spirit and you see what is front of you and know its gift. You see and you know. <br>
<br>
Did you get tired and sore from all the toiling? Was Adam doing his part. Were you exhausted the day the serpent came with his temptation? Was it all just too intoxicating? <br>
<br>
Oh Eve!<br>
How could you? You were in paradise with God. <br>
I know you must've wanted to take it all back. To spit in the face of the snake and spit out the fruit and say,"No! No! No!", but it was too late and you knew it.<br>
<br>
I picture you now outside the garden gate lying on the ground crying out to God with the deepest of wailing. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" You say and beg for another chance.<br>
But you didn't get one and I'm sorry for that because God had to be God and you had to be Eve. You had to be Eve because God chose you. He chose you. <br>
<br>
I wonder how long you laid there waiting for God to change his mind? Begging him too. And when you finally picked yourself up was Adam waiting or did you find yourself alone? How many times did you stop and turn back for one more deep glance of hope wanting desperately to see God and hear him say, "Come back! Come home!"<br>
And then you turned one last time and simply couldn't see your Garden anymore. <br>
<br>
Oh Eve!<br>
I see you once again with your hands in the dirt and sweat on your brow as you stand and put your face into the breeze while birds and Angels swoop and sing. And this most glorious garden is full of students of Eden who watch and learn to toil and plant and reap from the first master gardener. It is full of God and love and eyes that See and spirits that Know. <br>
<br>
Oh Eve!<br>
I want you to know that even though you started us down the path of sin you didn't end us. We get second chances now. And third. How about that? And all because of Jesus. He died for us and gave us Grace, but you probably already know.<br>
<br>
And so...dont be surprised when I walk into your eternal garden one day. Ill be there.<br>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_abgKSIuokahJpfvAKkY2hxMApzPCdEmoLNrIyAwBTCU6Awxq5ZVIQoI8STnqAsj5cd7G8gRYR3bQ1cjWvtuiQfS6mmtpLRF_ATAkw_DDZWyUPYXTwc8ycYN6Lf8W_GzkGid1v5wf1HFY/s1600/301113_3629114406892_1421545941_n%252520%2525281%252529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_abgKSIuokahJpfvAKkY2hxMApzPCdEmoLNrIyAwBTCU6Awxq5ZVIQoI8STnqAsj5cd7G8gRYR3bQ1cjWvtuiQfS6mmtpLRF_ATAkw_DDZWyUPYXTwc8ycYN6Lf8W_GzkGid1v5wf1HFY/s640/301113_3629114406892_1421545941_n%252520%2525281%252529.jpg" height="400" width="400"> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE2m-mzUe0BAfVdfD-fb9WxF3LoWjq6sxFquP8l5l4LaxjvtXSy9pIVHlnsHFVan-IwjLHzvs44sVAtutcx-yF2QR63ozveDIBsHzkvY6ISHsxX-c3ElmTFp5meoRLt7wJkZjh0afejgS1/s1600/290919_3519543907698_872644064_o%252520%2525281%252529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE2m-mzUe0BAfVdfD-fb9WxF3LoWjq6sxFquP8l5l4LaxjvtXSy9pIVHlnsHFVan-IwjLHzvs44sVAtutcx-yF2QR63ozveDIBsHzkvY6ISHsxX-c3ElmTFp5meoRLt7wJkZjh0afejgS1/s640/290919_3519543907698_872644064_o%252520%2525281%252529.jpg" height="400" width="400"> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPwFjsMGtTJ0SUS8icDL_M656xxB8WbpHQLIY-d6p4POE2M3s8Z-PbN4WxR2ZGtEP-CEIBF4J7QQcu6y5XND8rbqWp6LApcpYOlfJu98PT4vgFBrWl7hmh3UX6o5YZFTOhLM39TUqRg4se/s1600/382412_3474134052480_913595013_n%252520%2525281%252529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPwFjsMGtTJ0SUS8icDL_M656xxB8WbpHQLIY-d6p4POE2M3s8Z-PbN4WxR2ZGtEP-CEIBF4J7QQcu6y5XND8rbqWp6LApcpYOlfJu98PT4vgFBrWl7hmh3UX6o5YZFTOhLM39TUqRg4se/s640/382412_3474134052480_913595013_n%252520%2525281%252529.jpg" height="400" width="400"> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnwMhbSgmtEx5IMqGcHrG_kDNrQ8h1Hc_9ZR8VR_d2dexY5Ca_i-c1UgChz-R_3bCda1qPYbVnD5Zll8QiI5z8wkjPpHp0iuwGMq4Q9FtViD1SFgKec0_M4_yvrLukci4qoUI5Kbh5zR-X/s1600/479801_3449343352728_1644238233_n%252520%2525282%252529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnwMhbSgmtEx5IMqGcHrG_kDNrQ8h1Hc_9ZR8VR_d2dexY5Ca_i-c1UgChz-R_3bCda1qPYbVnD5Zll8QiI5z8wkjPpHp0iuwGMq4Q9FtViD1SFgKec0_M4_yvrLukci4qoUI5Kbh5zR-X/s640/479801_3449343352728_1644238233_n%252520%2525282%252529.jpg" height="400" width="400"> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDS12ogpLR69XDdvScUJJmmH07ub-Vq1IZ4WADqix5f103-PEQclS7esTh2KGC0rAXL9gWawoAcOuCIOVXgMYJTtiALPXG8iOps6v5tM0luDC_rgYJ9eqpAJCIOuB5qkk4FLnC_k3im0hZ/s1600/294507_1974709047792_80887_n%252520%2525281%252529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDS12ogpLR69XDdvScUJJmmH07ub-Vq1IZ4WADqix5f103-PEQclS7esTh2KGC0rAXL9gWawoAcOuCIOVXgMYJTtiALPXG8iOps6v5tM0luDC_rgYJ9eqpAJCIOuB5qkk4FLnC_k3im0hZ/s640/294507_1974709047792_80887_n%252520%2525281%252529.jpg" height="400" width="300"> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmwUoe2DuHv5fLw_3NugcmJ6D_A71b6wZMrhcKF_x1j7EauZzrtBw9Y_OmvMjA0TVtZ4jrXhXHMiSp2ynxmU9tj4Xzp2r-dxWbgikpb7lZhL089FXVycMwNYstef5hyHUxQH-pF_1ozV3m/s1600/552721_3517015484489_521741660_n%252520%2525281%252529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmwUoe2DuHv5fLw_3NugcmJ6D_A71b6wZMrhcKF_x1j7EauZzrtBw9Y_OmvMjA0TVtZ4jrXhXHMiSp2ynxmU9tj4Xzp2r-dxWbgikpb7lZhL089FXVycMwNYstef5hyHUxQH-pF_1ozV3m/s640/552721_3517015484489_521741660_n%252520%2525281%252529.jpg" height="400" width="400"> </a> </div>
Pamela Paynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230294431439005060noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3051892378904414858.post-30879784019572231502014-03-14T01:28:00.000-07:002017-08-15T13:15:43.460-07:00Beautiful Bones... There are beautiful bones buried deep on country roads. The marrow and roots of it, so rich behind gates made of sticks and barbed wire hold life and truth and God and move something deep in me. Sometimes I just want to burrow in and disappear inside the story.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin_CXaShpaeCugWFk6RSvFC2_KECt1bWoWWqddXltS-rBo1xifwdrqBgTXGu6lFVvw_8Xr32E-p7Ndd2sycwvfkAWa6YNwJ9x2R1fnXzmI6tkw-EuWwtGBAgokEidL-HlVuFguaM-5NpI1/s1600/2014-03-12+23.09.46.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="398" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin_CXaShpaeCugWFk6RSvFC2_KECt1bWoWWqddXltS-rBo1xifwdrqBgTXGu6lFVvw_8Xr32E-p7Ndd2sycwvfkAWa6YNwJ9x2R1fnXzmI6tkw-EuWwtGBAgokEidL-HlVuFguaM-5NpI1/s1600/2014-03-12+23.09.46.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgBATttsZWNK3Mzu1oOyFX7uHJVWOlK9XzCiTmMWmMYnrGiAR-5Fn0HRJNkMO3L06gMCcE-86NZbBe25BWLa7MJ76o7R0YhIHsCzVbIlakdZxjy3vrzm1oy2m4G0pBQlz9yLLN_qifRwOt/s1600/2014-03-12+22.55.58.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgBATttsZWNK3Mzu1oOyFX7uHJVWOlK9XzCiTmMWmMYnrGiAR-5Fn0HRJNkMO3L06gMCcE-86NZbBe25BWLa7MJ76o7R0YhIHsCzVbIlakdZxjy3vrzm1oy2m4G0pBQlz9yLLN_qifRwOt/s1600/2014-03-12+22.55.58.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
There are deep strong bones inside these cabins and I hear them groaning to breathe again. Broken, they have been left to linger alone but I visit them and hear their whispers. I think they are beautiful and I want to dig them out of the ground and take them home because I do not think they are finished yet. I believe there should be more.<br />
Season after season, they draw me back with the hypnotic promise of something. What?<br />
<br />
And there are deep God bones in the trees and fields and mountains and sky of this place that have lasso'd my heart with a knot so tight I will never escape from the lure of their wile. And so I walk and breath and see...<br />
<br />
Wildflowers...sunsets...pastures sprinkled with cows and horses and sheep and babies...just give me the babies, Lord.<br />
These quiet my spirit and sooth my soul and everything is right in the world<br />
In this place I know the majesty and glory and truth of God and I feel it in my own fragile beautiful bones and I praise.<br />
I want it. I want the simple life of barbed wire sticks and keep-out gates and trees and cows and mountains and sky. I want my "road home" in all four seasons. <br />
Oh... if only it was all like this...<br />
<br />
A tree, huge with roots and trunk, lay on the ground with years of seasons buried inside. It's battered and broken down by the wind. A giant wonder with a horse-shoe and it's story still tangled up in it's roots.<br />
<br />
And a tree with with white bones stuck them out for me to touch. Until that day I did not know that trees had bones.<br />
<br />
Today I pictured Jesus leaning against the giant tree with a smile as my rebellious spirit climbed the fence where the "Keep-out" sign was clearly posted. "Your foot is not really ready for this fence." I heard him say. But I climbed it anyway and I knew He knew I would.<br />
Does the idea of Jesus meeting me in the, "do-not-enter" zones help my confession that I climb the fences and push through the barb wire anyway and do not care?<br />
Just look at the pictures I took of the cabin. Is was worth it, don't you think? was it? But the light was amazing. <br />
<br />
These things remind me of childhood. Of toad hopping contests and fireflies in a jar by my bed. I can hear the sound of our turtles in the cardboard box scratching to get out, our nail polished initials shiny on the back of their shells.<br />
There was a time when raw cow milk was put on porches in bottles and chickens laid eggs and roosters crowed and boys played cowboys outside all day and mail men walked and waved.<br />
That life, so quiet. Stripped and bare and pure. I want it... <br />
<br />
And, yet, I love technology. I fight for it. I sing it's praises for the glory of God. Blogging, Twitter, Facebook , Instagram.<br />
I do it all. I was born for this time and this purpose under heaven so could I really imagine this other life? Would I be happy in simply beautiful country with sky and cow fields with babies and mountains with sunsets and barbed-wire farm field gates made from logs?<br />
The truth of these things live deep in my heart and sing to my soul. They continue to draw me back to the light and shadow of changing season and new life and furry babies...<br />
But what if I had to choose? <br />
<br />
Don't make me...life without all I've grown accustom to would be hard and frustrating. I would not be easy and my company would not be good.<br />
But baby cows and cattails make my breath long and slow and I can not stop the smile that comes. And mountain moons and pop-corn clouds pull my car to the side of the road and when the sky is on fire I can hardly breathe so the beautiful bones of my quiet country, deep and rich with promise will always have their way with me. <br />
So I straddle this place...I walk the line between new and old knowing the gift and beauty of both. God knew of the juxtaposition between these things in my life and He also knew how they both would pull me.<br />
<br />
So I will walk my country roads with fences of sticks and barb and call them beautiful. And I will dream of other roads in country that I have yet to see because I know deep roots and broken barns with story wait for Paul and I.<br />
<br />
And for my sisters that live on country roads that I long to meet. I want to park in the quiet place by the home of the bride of "the farmer" who writes about 1000 gifts with words that make me weep and I want to walk and see and listen to her voice and see her pictures because they will be beautiful and she gets it.<br />
And for the sister in Texas who moved to the country somewhere and seriously might be my kindred with daughters and a long husband she loves greatly and pain and a heart that has exploded in the new love of grand-babies in her arms and who has a son named Michael just like me. A woman whose story, written by a Father who greatly loves, was redeemed and anointed and changed my heart. I want to sit on her porch and hold her hand and say nothing because it will say everything.<br />
<div>
So know there's a story with beautiful bones on every quiet country road under heaven. When you take the time to follow one, listen for your name and it will tell you all it's secrets. If you're lucky, it might have a mountain on one side and a barbed-wire gate opened to a setting sun throwing shadows over a pasture with babies. And then the moon will come out and you will smile.<br />
And then another day...you'll go again because the secrets inside the beautiful bones buried there will already be in you and you wont be able to stop yourself.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpKW_AQcaBhJZQXZBy05rvihVfylgpftDbX5BqwyeLQ4HGKAYzZsu7D_z4uE664q29__9SnvWg8p-G7ObptuqnpvrUc3JIryUry7UfrNr2Q4PvB80a37wxoPvjB8PPoxDF2Hj1SdSxrwRG/s1600/20140313_160236_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpKW_AQcaBhJZQXZBy05rvihVfylgpftDbX5BqwyeLQ4HGKAYzZsu7D_z4uE664q29__9SnvWg8p-G7ObptuqnpvrUc3JIryUry7UfrNr2Q4PvB80a37wxoPvjB8PPoxDF2Hj1SdSxrwRG/s640/20140313_160236_1.jpg" width="360" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEx_pMoCQGZpqODTKPwdjDUg2aYW27JJ4IQ0pblh8shFiFKKm9Y57toQARPvovxCUTsZS9DR7pDNi3zwi90CpBNBUPmSLNZx8NtaA07ZYxLJm_CaOLZ1Zi608OHYCm975rY96uP00n9ZSR/s1600/20140313_161402.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEx_pMoCQGZpqODTKPwdjDUg2aYW27JJ4IQ0pblh8shFiFKKm9Y57toQARPvovxCUTsZS9DR7pDNi3zwi90CpBNBUPmSLNZx8NtaA07ZYxLJm_CaOLZ1Zi608OHYCm975rY96uP00n9ZSR/s640/20140313_161402.jpg" width="400" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO8lAtE2YeEWGNKS2GkqrgRWB1hHd9FxKY3_58MgFMseodzy8bpQV846ySSfY849ScRRYjMIU8WCqVSrRe0pc23aC5Jg2NYoTY5Vp_JhePkvNmv5GvX6iOpzUpWqgaQ3vhmsF4nPj-fz_7/s1600/IMG_20140308_194954.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO8lAtE2YeEWGNKS2GkqrgRWB1hHd9FxKY3_58MgFMseodzy8bpQV846ySSfY849ScRRYjMIU8WCqVSrRe0pc23aC5Jg2NYoTY5Vp_JhePkvNmv5GvX6iOpzUpWqgaQ3vhmsF4nPj-fz_7/s640/IMG_20140308_194954.jpg" width="400" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBt11Jb079ss0Mk8wEsr2P2ojkXvWfi2-CIDyZc66YBSquCF-K5QAr4ZmTGfnPFki32cP6bXGlr1d1ldpar9b7IxCT5oGx6x17DZ54z3BQeVrVQ209whgbibo833_U1R_CAPhX5zta_dZi/s1600/IMG_20140306_202824.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBt11Jb079ss0Mk8wEsr2P2ojkXvWfi2-CIDyZc66YBSquCF-K5QAr4ZmTGfnPFki32cP6bXGlr1d1ldpar9b7IxCT5oGx6x17DZ54z3BQeVrVQ209whgbibo833_U1R_CAPhX5zta_dZi/s640/IMG_20140306_202824.jpg" width="400" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCn29mzs2pnwd6JNfOJCQA5mOWim7qZ8YHeQPBwlB8XnYV2aTTq3SQSJBAKgnuptB1T3Mw8spSIVKlMi-3EYHZYd4bpFUnF_iE_3LygTQ3c3xDzo6GbcGwb1ixYITvU0kyplIVajueMd5U/s1600/IMG_20140306_203213.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCn29mzs2pnwd6JNfOJCQA5mOWim7qZ8YHeQPBwlB8XnYV2aTTq3SQSJBAKgnuptB1T3Mw8spSIVKlMi-3EYHZYd4bpFUnF_iE_3LygTQ3c3xDzo6GbcGwb1ixYITvU0kyplIVajueMd5U/s640/IMG_20140306_203213.jpg" width="400" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnSyoUQ2Nuv3wEluv1zxntGcIc4wi1nri6P3gXoD4piZ1So_mw6N7h4YFlZsSA0ASVx1P_rzdHYYvO_fSWhHqaer9OQ64XVfZqw-yrxgaJkUYCJBkjLws6cWk97YkLaTjmW17ITC6JyfYA/s1600/IMG_20131125_143332.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnSyoUQ2Nuv3wEluv1zxntGcIc4wi1nri6P3gXoD4piZ1So_mw6N7h4YFlZsSA0ASVx1P_rzdHYYvO_fSWhHqaer9OQ64XVfZqw-yrxgaJkUYCJBkjLws6cWk97YkLaTjmW17ITC6JyfYA/s640/IMG_20131125_143332.jpg" width="400" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpQSzvxjm4gvOSLGQ_vSHqg8DUBhLlpNvzixtmmexLr-S-5u0vVpGYQFyWoM0VGu9K8pyB2Yt8yf6xqO5y6NEkBxNCulb6am_qCVpSMg6OqC72z6CKomDch3Gf5MwuYcAAP_1S9k9PH7cn/s1600/2014-03-08%25252020.16.47.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpQSzvxjm4gvOSLGQ_vSHqg8DUBhLlpNvzixtmmexLr-S-5u0vVpGYQFyWoM0VGu9K8pyB2Yt8yf6xqO5y6NEkBxNCulb6am_qCVpSMg6OqC72z6CKomDch3Gf5MwuYcAAP_1S9k9PH7cn/s640/2014-03-08%25252020.16.47.jpg" width="400" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3PGcQDSEe5xmOBE9p9tdnUCPTIyixTVeeygV_2Kux905_yXzjntIhw5yuibTUnot3FKxRchOKDUFRqdZ9G3Zg7McLMUp64_C3LUOUMICEh4zrGr5I0NcgwF2IIrHCZuV7VTZAg16MyG7j/s1600/IMG_20140308_203402.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3PGcQDSEe5xmOBE9p9tdnUCPTIyixTVeeygV_2Kux905_yXzjntIhw5yuibTUnot3FKxRchOKDUFRqdZ9G3Zg7McLMUp64_C3LUOUMICEh4zrGr5I0NcgwF2IIrHCZuV7VTZAg16MyG7j/s640/IMG_20140308_203402.jpg" width="400" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL2opFiUc6YUB8TcEPapYhBZ1j77F0NYyrjyj0qPFvLpc2DczyTZfYBExY4WB8kYGCAfQIJcLWZrOgpzIEkO5Vge3c_vfulCkdJJpZwEhdTnmYjEt4g_lzaMaoRiU4aYlK4cFWyn6OFPa6/s1600/165063_4090686865915_787643968_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL2opFiUc6YUB8TcEPapYhBZ1j77F0NYyrjyj0qPFvLpc2DczyTZfYBExY4WB8kYGCAfQIJcLWZrOgpzIEkO5Vge3c_vfulCkdJJpZwEhdTnmYjEt4g_lzaMaoRiU4aYlK4cFWyn6OFPa6/s640/165063_4090686865915_787643968_n.jpg" width="400" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio9QP9_A4LqE9OFofH8Y2I6lOpm_RxKyyy0Pbw0_pHTt8zwJmyR_6ZKd-tllEA9eOF2KlXgS6vvAtH_ugdc50eJq8V7uXDiFrKcB6DndUBwa_7WPfOP5OTJQ6_FGSgQVGY6jOvJBXlDE-I/s1600/2013-12-20%25252001.08.34.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="397" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio9QP9_A4LqE9OFofH8Y2I6lOpm_RxKyyy0Pbw0_pHTt8zwJmyR_6ZKd-tllEA9eOF2KlXgS6vvAtH_ugdc50eJq8V7uXDiFrKcB6DndUBwa_7WPfOP5OTJQ6_FGSgQVGY6jOvJBXlDE-I/s640/2013-12-20%25252001.08.34.png" width="400" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGqFyKRWUtXy5RjL0aqRAYA22ULX7rFSIy9InQGi6jgN1HTH9sfeydOKQ491mQoiCk9EMLmoB0qKI7GU307fm-J7Ygb__J8b1mZoP4rcyWmVXWCVa6TxmAX7chueLOGN4G23BYt4M4-zd2/s1600/IMG_20140213_175755_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGqFyKRWUtXy5RjL0aqRAYA22ULX7rFSIy9InQGi6jgN1HTH9sfeydOKQ491mQoiCk9EMLmoB0qKI7GU307fm-J7Ygb__J8b1mZoP4rcyWmVXWCVa6TxmAX7chueLOGN4G23BYt4M4-zd2/s640/IMG_20140213_175755_1.jpg" width="400" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9vbu6YtLaZYGidHF4SUTiPe4oU0E-DxjpeFNmTisZnGvN8nIOSA0iplkkXX1Bctcen5i3zIYJ1e6utTzKJusn7v84_odmo3_V3EX0frDbEcSin5Gvs94cUmDeR6P6IylQ1Wl8_LDQjAZc/s1600/IMG_20140212_215658.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9vbu6YtLaZYGidHF4SUTiPe4oU0E-DxjpeFNmTisZnGvN8nIOSA0iplkkXX1Bctcen5i3zIYJ1e6utTzKJusn7v84_odmo3_V3EX0frDbEcSin5Gvs94cUmDeR6P6IylQ1Wl8_LDQjAZc/s640/IMG_20140212_215658.jpg" width="400" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnC8PCmChM-7oJqf0aB-PcrrF6AvPu9XkdkZ4vYygB3rXQi_3IDE9Tgj-KvM2-ooqOcLpWYP6JSH_CwxMcwnlQNjkuOByvw17PCKRN3lQ4ohe4VJw72Cm4W4jweYUmZs9_GCBOIt8g93N3/s1600/532240_4728018598810_1376909613_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnC8PCmChM-7oJqf0aB-PcrrF6AvPu9XkdkZ4vYygB3rXQi_3IDE9Tgj-KvM2-ooqOcLpWYP6JSH_CwxMcwnlQNjkuOByvw17PCKRN3lQ4ohe4VJw72Cm4W4jweYUmZs9_GCBOIt8g93N3/s640/532240_4728018598810_1376909613_n.jpg" width="400" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggmgOnRDjF89jrnhH9uSyQa4tnFkhJzrUdCmjAJZc-iCxWGqdzAUkVb7v6qNGaqYrvG3CGCOyGDvxgL43JpthVEaeSY_1gJqaypEeFKE4iZSwfYlLizjIXSvdvWjpKjHbqUEENVyVKDhQi/s1600/2013-11-22%25252015.05.18_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggmgOnRDjF89jrnhH9uSyQa4tnFkhJzrUdCmjAJZc-iCxWGqdzAUkVb7v6qNGaqYrvG3CGCOyGDvxgL43JpthVEaeSY_1gJqaypEeFKE4iZSwfYlLizjIXSvdvWjpKjHbqUEENVyVKDhQi/s640/2013-11-22%25252015.05.18_2.jpg" width="400" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijii__uOOgraM6NQhRhbWQCUN3boBOGv8eC0DYOGL9Xammd90QFkorcBy7BSiooAJXTABPuP5ppdTYlLmZkvk45RnHqYG5S3Cmmqga9rrAbRSI7BP61WqO58RQmWKl_BfM83uvcifrWveo/s1600/2014-01-23%25252009.04.39_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijii__uOOgraM6NQhRhbWQCUN3boBOGv8eC0DYOGL9Xammd90QFkorcBy7BSiooAJXTABPuP5ppdTYlLmZkvk45RnHqYG5S3Cmmqga9rrAbRSI7BP61WqO58RQmWKl_BfM83uvcifrWveo/s640/2014-01-23%25252009.04.39_1.jpg" width="400" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF7SzZByG9JP_4wfF_M89bxbqrv-OKqiKDk3oxhCtILaHdhus3ZLwpB9BmEbm2nLLlWmhFnEu9gQN460XG7sSIyEO2Y0YAgWT2TjFEDPM8fJK4bzwQd1xZFXVsUsA20_uUAPlEDuElMM6F/s1600/603637_4820598793257_553614078_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF7SzZByG9JP_4wfF_M89bxbqrv-OKqiKDk3oxhCtILaHdhus3ZLwpB9BmEbm2nLLlWmhFnEu9gQN460XG7sSIyEO2Y0YAgWT2TjFEDPM8fJK4bzwQd1xZFXVsUsA20_uUAPlEDuElMM6F/s640/603637_4820598793257_553614078_n.jpg" width="400" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNDo342U6iHoQK3Oee4XlQjaC6ahaUpDuAVauXfV-GCjdOY3AeSFzUfVr-9YO5tzHAGyDHC37GTU1jKTWT2BYiip1WN7XxrkqXT4iCFE3jq3rbBE2Auw5zA8OWcVNuDLn01mc4Rk-qs56R/s1600/2014-03-14%25252015.36.55.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNDo342U6iHoQK3Oee4XlQjaC6ahaUpDuAVauXfV-GCjdOY3AeSFzUfVr-9YO5tzHAGyDHC37GTU1jKTWT2BYiip1WN7XxrkqXT4iCFE3jq3rbBE2Auw5zA8OWcVNuDLn01mc4Rk-qs56R/s640/2014-03-14%25252015.36.55.jpg" width="400" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0ZfOQJnmwEl9COlCyw7nNgD0sqKF11wrw0jW4kNx913-nSTspcRYTH9xEPlkratQxrrW-J2MZxrzY68QWsUFKADE37zNYFK74dmRlkws5wjbQJFSrIXIUYTBI90m_clQ3AxZyPquEGML9/s1600/20140214_125046_1_1_1_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0ZfOQJnmwEl9COlCyw7nNgD0sqKF11wrw0jW4kNx913-nSTspcRYTH9xEPlkratQxrrW-J2MZxrzY68QWsUFKADE37zNYFK74dmRlkws5wjbQJFSrIXIUYTBI90m_clQ3AxZyPquEGML9/s640/20140214_125046_1_1_1_1.jpg" width="400" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3s-uVyVEXhzQIce9QIZXfMAX52qBCyZCLJEPpukU1NqnNuYYNJxxiv3hhYYIwbyLSyyWcMl-c26egm6Kczj1e5HCvwmd_pVl3EaoxW26-RZrWfql7nCVVvxolY3zi44b7gzaYPCG_hvUK/s1600/2014-03-14%25252015.30.49.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="313" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3s-uVyVEXhzQIce9QIZXfMAX52qBCyZCLJEPpukU1NqnNuYYNJxxiv3hhYYIwbyLSyyWcMl-c26egm6Kczj1e5HCvwmd_pVl3EaoxW26-RZrWfql7nCVVvxolY3zi44b7gzaYPCG_hvUK/s640/2014-03-14%25252015.30.49.png" width="400" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTjRqfnHouOm6blxwWf_MOIAjMnirPdLbIt2qngDKVqU4hKdaokdhouYe0C8c2pSd0MOggxd_KzAaXEvYQ6Lmof2XPhgYRyMzIaqGHn_Pjbkg10Cvu2wvhXu5ZMMoQQTmCaC4YJ7wfmfIf/s1600/2014-03-14%25252015.29.53_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="399" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTjRqfnHouOm6blxwWf_MOIAjMnirPdLbIt2qngDKVqU4hKdaokdhouYe0C8c2pSd0MOggxd_KzAaXEvYQ6Lmof2XPhgYRyMzIaqGHn_Pjbkg10Cvu2wvhXu5ZMMoQQTmCaC4YJ7wfmfIf/s640/2014-03-14%25252015.29.53_1.jpg" width="400" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju0odIVlTpG1w4Myafn4LqDuj8kn2apWEidUWZ73lDRw4ey_o1L3N63nDtwcWYMIXAny1u1OhbVNIcnhv3vhMkOGBQ7HhXpdKVDPmDRuRPwYVth4-UF4px6wJg_-Cv6gXMaeLOxEXpNhVb/s1600/551152_3585337592499_1214323333_n%252520%2525281%252529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEju0odIVlTpG1w4Myafn4LqDuj8kn2apWEidUWZ73lDRw4ey_o1L3N63nDtwcWYMIXAny1u1OhbVNIcnhv3vhMkOGBQ7HhXpdKVDPmDRuRPwYVth4-UF4px6wJg_-Cv6gXMaeLOxEXpNhVb/s640/551152_3585337592499_1214323333_n%252520%2525281%252529.jpg" width="400" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy4UzVLMOpffxv7JTM4VBj6RS4vtCfRPISH7I0CC7HJT7g4hJsP1zKqdqDxzqVFs6JYv4yT9hso6vA8KIM0fNpxugnlL6fzkEk2HtLXEj2rD4fNIRU1SBlX_OZj7YagLJWqricedBpYr7i/s1600/177709_3415383343749_714645106_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy4UzVLMOpffxv7JTM4VBj6RS4vtCfRPISH7I0CC7HJT7g4hJsP1zKqdqDxzqVFs6JYv4yT9hso6vA8KIM0fNpxugnlL6fzkEk2HtLXEj2rD4fNIRU1SBlX_OZj7YagLJWqricedBpYr7i/s640/177709_3415383343749_714645106_o.jpg" width="400" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd-UB-LdX9WpN5JaBWiY-GfpaYN6zpfw3wP0s4933fqmRdCgIyp4wq33SM_A1l3AmDaAw8HVbAgeWdkaggsxuw01dtXG8Uzp8siILx8Ww7M3BT-FFCONrrRWxblfbSXJo0zx-BGyp1FVsl/s1600/18659_1189701583096_1884687_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="352" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd-UB-LdX9WpN5JaBWiY-GfpaYN6zpfw3wP0s4933fqmRdCgIyp4wq33SM_A1l3AmDaAw8HVbAgeWdkaggsxuw01dtXG8Uzp8siILx8Ww7M3BT-FFCONrrRWxblfbSXJo0zx-BGyp1FVsl/s640/18659_1189701583096_1884687_n.jpg" width="400" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSEbtLWg8_uAdBYYbEf0OyAzI3g-oqhuLD8pBKH7Bhe8FSNcqxFZxpls_-x4kvLOlmR_dZf9vhLktXuMrV-ehvLdRE8JFU4i7AYRZUnJn19qI6a_cTz5ZsRGzzXwd3G-35isMtKXNf9ftP/s1600/IMG_20131022_225812.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSEbtLWg8_uAdBYYbEf0OyAzI3g-oqhuLD8pBKH7Bhe8FSNcqxFZxpls_-x4kvLOlmR_dZf9vhLktXuMrV-ehvLdRE8JFU4i7AYRZUnJn19qI6a_cTz5ZsRGzzXwd3G-35isMtKXNf9ftP/s640/IMG_20131022_225812.jpg" width="400" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDk5yh2OHCWcovPRG_sehbKR3Y8EuHj9B5J87uzA4n7eQz4X8IpsWqZBPbk-Ea2hS_6_Z7V_Q6R4fY3PSdsZ-KBRz_W5l0kCi_J21MTJmi_Wn1W3iR0WfxanX0EU8-PzEYmv9E0X8FEcLh/s1600/20130813_193728_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDk5yh2OHCWcovPRG_sehbKR3Y8EuHj9B5J87uzA4n7eQz4X8IpsWqZBPbk-Ea2hS_6_Z7V_Q6R4fY3PSdsZ-KBRz_W5l0kCi_J21MTJmi_Wn1W3iR0WfxanX0EU8-PzEYmv9E0X8FEcLh/s640/20130813_193728_2.jpg" width="400" /> </a> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq33a8ypZzbwEoa874liJoGRHAjjAdkp_9QrmZd40MEWN9VLs8ahnsH-xBlSnXMKCFIL5Bw7BznmNEPqUH57lPPYnwaNbbAuZRpHxoRjq7rDnPfmTIwOsqH1c7XFhmaAkIfLOLQP9zD0BK/s1600/DSC03246.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq33a8ypZzbwEoa874liJoGRHAjjAdkp_9QrmZd40MEWN9VLs8ahnsH-xBlSnXMKCFIL5Bw7BznmNEPqUH57lPPYnwaNbbAuZRpHxoRjq7rDnPfmTIwOsqH1c7XFhmaAkIfLOLQP9zD0BK/s640/DSC03246.JPG" width="400" /> </a> </div>
</div>
Pamela Paynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230294431439005060noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3051892378904414858.post-47177893610092402392014-03-09T13:34:00.001-07:002014-03-09T14:19:00.063-07:00Big deep breath...and now... <div dir="ltr">
<br />
Now...I will preach to myself...</div>
<div dir="ltr">
</div>
<div dir="ltr">
God deserves praise! Praise him for your life. He is bigger and greater than insurance companies, lawsuits, broken bones, surgeries, and car crashes. <br />
You walked for an hour and a half yesterday. Your foot is almost healed. Have you forgotten the amazing things God put right in your path just yesterday? You had surgery just 10 days ago and look how good you feel. And have you forgotten what God did when Chandler needed surgery in Colorado? Sure, it was hard. It was a battle. But God equipped Paul for it, did he not?</div>
<div dir="ltr">
Yes, but it was a long and really hard and we got beat up pretty bad.<br />
But you survived and you are stronger. Your faith grew and you planted a memorial stone. It is part of your testimony now. Aren't you the one who always talks about trials being the most powerful parts of the story God has written of your life. Aren't you the one always telling people to go back and sit on their memorial stones? To remember. To remind yourself what God has done. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
So what if you don't want to fight with insurance companies again? So what if you don't get a new car? For whatever reason this is where you are. Do you believe that God is here with you? Do you believe he has gone before you in the things you worry about? </div>
<div dir="ltr">
He took the Israelite's on a 40 year trek through the desert with only one pair of shoes and fed them manna from heaven, remember? Your situation is nothing for God. So stop grumbling already and walk in faith. If it doesn't work the way you think it should does that mean that God has abandoned you or doesn't care about you? No!<br />
God is always worthy of your trust and your praise. Always! Who are you anyway but a sinner saved by His grace. You are a truly and greatly loved daughter of the King!<br />
And so...about those things in the corners of your heart that God is gently sweeping out and exposing. They're not very pretty are they? Consider that this test of faith might be just about your own refinement.<br />
</div>
<div dir="ltr">
And so I breathe deep again... </div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr">
Give me the strength Lord to surrender those places in my heart, and then pour out your grace and patience so I can walk the rest of this season out with integrity and honor.<br />
And may it increase my faith, build my testimony, be used for my good and bring you glory!! Amen?<br />
</div>
<div dir="ltr">
I can hear you shouting back... Amen!</div>
Pamela Paynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230294431439005060noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3051892378904414858.post-34327562930412458872014-02-13T10:38:00.005-08:002022-03-16T09:00:53.244-07:00The very first Princess...<div dir="ltr">
Once upon a time, (almost 40 years ago to be exact) the first tiny princess was born into the kingdom of a great and royal family. As the queen held the tiny girl in her arms for the first time, her heart exploded with a new kindasaaaaaaaaaa of love. The King and Queen had never seen such a thing as this. Such a tiny beautiful miracle, and they couldn't stop looking at her. Often, they sat side by side just staring with tears in wonder. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
Everyone in the kingdom came to see this beautiful child because she was the first, and each day, her dark eyes twinkled of things the Queen could not know, and she would rock the princess and sing to her and ponder the great and mysterious secrets within those big dark eyes. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
Soon, the tiny girl began to grow and became a force to be reckoned with. She was dramatic and precocious and now demanded the crown her Father had showed her and told her would be hers one day. </div><div dir="ltr"> And so...the crown was much too big, but she wore it proudly, although it would be many years before she understood it's true significance.</div><div dir="ltr"> But she, after all, was the very first Princess and the crown belonged to her. So she put it on her head and embraced her very special place inside the kingdom. </div><div dir="ltr"> The Queen often found her entertaining the court to their grand delight. She put on shows, assigned roles for her plays, and often sounded very bossy. She was, however, a great light and great joy to all who knew her.</div><div dir="ltr"> Years passed, and the princess soon grew into a beauty. Articulate, strong, opinionated and smart, she decided she was ready to trade the Castle in for the world. So the day that the Princess rode in on the back of a big white horse holding tight to a handsome Prince, the King and Queen knew they had to let her go. </div><div dir="ltr"> Then one cloudy day a few years later, the Queen stood looking out her bedroom window and saw the Prince approaching on his big white horse. When he got closer, she saw her princess behind him holding tight with a bundle in her arms. The Queen cried out to the King and they both ran down the stairs to greet them. </div><div dir="ltr"> The Queen held out her arms with tears in her eyes as the Princess climbed down from the horse and handed her the baby. "We have a son." The Princess said.</div><div dir="ltr"> Blood vessels burst inside the Queen's with a whole new kind of love as she took the baby into her arms and breathed in the tiny Prince. The Princess had tears in her eyes now too. "We coming back to the kingdom Mama. Were coming home."</div><div dir="ltr"> And in the blink of an eye, the Castle was filled with little Princes. Three of them ran around fighting dragons, climbing trees, and throwing rocks. They played in dirt and left a trail of footprints and fingerprints everywhere they went. They wrestled, snuggled, laughed and cried. They learned every fact about dinosaurs, told the best stories on earth, and everyone...everyone...in the Castle and the court were in love with them. </div><div dir="ltr"> The crowns the King gave the 3 little Prince's were too big too, but they wore them on their heads and pranced around just like the Princess had, because they were Princes after all, and the crowns did belonged to them.</div><div dir="ltr"> This time though, instead of correcting the boys as they had with the Princess, the King and Queen just watched and smiled as the Prince and Princess gathered up the the 3 wild boys and took them to bed. </div><div dir="ltr"> Because the truth of life was simple. The King and Queen knew who the real giver of crowns was, and they knew of His love and His sufficient grace. </div><div dir="ltr"> And so...on a sunny day the next week, the King and Queen set aside their Kingdom duties as the King loaded their little Princes into the Kingdom Carriage to head out for a day of Kingdom adventure. </div><div dir="ltr"> The Princes are rowdy and fighting over their too big crowns as the King leans down to grab the hand of His Queen. "We are Blessed," he yells over the noise as he pulls her up beside him. She smiles as she settles in and shouts back. "Yes," the Queen says, eyes full of love, wisdom and tears..."That my King...we are!" </div><div dir="ltr">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6e-5NpeSIV4KQe2kbDcRntnlbXwdTl7XssktMQmgRF9kGCbGrA29voqrLApy_V98CH_mPHVPAMT6YoWB7holH-y59mrq3kCRHy8CCxaKeHsNc0o9DqLwZK5zwZcfKyglvgurX3sUNNpMd/s1600/543759_4407085295678_2131181925_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6e-5NpeSIV4KQe2kbDcRntnlbXwdTl7XssktMQmgRF9kGCbGrA29voqrLApy_V98CH_mPHVPAMT6YoWB7holH-y59mrq3kCRHy8CCxaKeHsNc0o9DqLwZK5zwZcfKyglvgurX3sUNNpMd/s320/543759_4407085295678_2131181925_n.jpg" width="213"></a></div>
<br></div>
Pamela Paynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230294431439005060noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3051892378904414858.post-71215490491934453312014-01-31T10:13:00.001-08:002014-02-01T17:14:09.478-08:00"Regret"...Who owns it? You get to choose.<div dir="ltr">
The thoughts come after. After the action...or the words...or the lie. My inside-the-head justification conversations. <br>
"Yeah, well...the truth would have hurt them much worse. Should I have told them that I was out of grace and the idea of a whole evening with someone as challenging as they are is...well...just not how I choose to spend my time tonight. I've had a long hard day and I don't want to be with you."<br>
"I know I am not honoring him but I really don't care. After yesterday, if he wants that done he can do it himself. It's a ridiculous chore anyway and I have important things to do."<br>
"Sometimes people just need to hear the truth and need to hear it with a loud voice. I'm so over their hypocrisy. It makes me sick. It was time. It was soo time. Someone needed to call them out and today, I decided the time had come and it would be me."<br>
</div>
<div dir="ltr">
The next voice I hear cradles and cuts simultaneously. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
"So you lied and let them down? So what? You're right, the truth would have been much worse. Remember what happened last week? Why put yourself through that again? You've done more than your share of that relationship." I feel a pat on the back. "I think you should do whatever you want tonight. Pamper yourself. You do so much for other people. You deserve it."</div>
<div dir="ltr">
"Good choice about not doin' that chore, sister!" I get a high five. "I can't wait to see his face when he gets home and sees you didn't do what he asked you. That'll show him." A nudge to my shoulder. "You go girl. Maybe now he'll see. Maybe now he'll get it. He should appreciate how great you are. How good he has it. You're a saint." </div>
<div dir="ltr">
"You were so right-on tonight when you called them out! They deserved everything you said to them. Bravo! Someone had to set them straight. How dare they pretend to be one thing in church and something very different in real life?" I hear a chuckle. "The truth will set them free, right?" another nudge.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
</div>
<div dir="ltr">
The last voice breaths a salve of "Truth" and it stings. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
"The evening you said 'No' to tonight, I ordained. You have missed my good purpose and plan. You say you are out of grace. I say, even as you deserve nothing, I sent my son to die for you out of the greatest love and His grace never ends. And do I need to remind you how I grieve over your lie? Imagine instead, setting down your pride long enough to be blessed in a valuable friendship that I orchestrated for just those hours. Do you remember how challenging you can be?"</div>
<div dir="ltr">
"You know what I am going to say about this. I know you do. Obey him. I have set order in marriage for a reason. Do what he asks out of obedience. Honor him and watch him rise up in the desire to lead you well. You are not a saint. I called you to be his Helpmate."</div>
<div dir="ltr">
"Know that you're righteousness is ugly in my sight. You are not the judge. Have you ever been a hypocrite? Do you think being right gives you the right to something? Are you God? No. You are a sinner. Stand on the line. Will you throw the first stone? Will you?" <br>
</div>
<div dir="ltr">
There is a knock at the door. I open it, ready for anything besides conviction. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
I find "Shame" on the threshold and he enters my house. He comes in power of the second voice and fills up the room. I cower under his heavy oppression and close my eyes. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br></div>
<div dir="ltr">
When I open them, God's light floods and Shame flees.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
The only voice left is Truth. Life. It is the Breath of Creation and the greatest of Love. "You are my Beloved and I am your Redeemer. I transform hearts and breath new life. Get up and walk. Go...hold your head high. The joy of the Lord is your strength. You are chosen, called, adopted, and perfectly made. Go...and sin no more." </div>
<div dir="ltr">
</div>
<div dir="ltr">
</div>
Pamela Paynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230294431439005060noreply@blogger.com0Round Valley, Round Valley37.419376 -118.587616tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3051892378904414858.post-91417477117367678852014-01-24T14:17:00.002-08:002014-03-28T20:50:19.448-07:00For Samuel...who just turned three...and lives in heaven.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I'm reading your story little darling and even though we never met, I love you. I sit here and weep remembering your nineteen days on earth. Sad tears come from my love for your parents and the knowledge that every day of their lives they will miss the things they did not get with you. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I cry happy tears because I know you are in paradise with Jesus and carry a joy that none of us on earth will ever know. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Your Daddy's words about you go deep and forever inside me and I love that they are now being planted into new hearts from the pages of your book. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Has Jesus told you just how much your little life mattered? </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Can you see your family from heaven? Do you laugh along with Noah and Mia? Can you feel Christians excitement as he accomplishes each new thing?</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Your Mommy is so beautiful, isn't she? Stunning really. Inside and out. And your Daddy? Well...he's one for the record books. A special one indeed. I know you must be so so proud. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I really love three-year-old boys and selfishly wish you could come to my house and play with Reed. He's three too, you know. The two of you would probably jump and chase and make me laugh and crazy all at the same time. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Your Mommy and Daddy suffered greatly over you, but they suffered beautifully too. Did you get a glimpse of the glory God received on earth from your too-short life little man? Ask Jesus about it on your next walk with him. I bet he smiles when you do. And pay attention, because there's more on the way. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Your life was a gift to the world for God's glory, Samuel Parkins, and He is not done with it yet. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I'll meet you one day...and when I do...I'll hug you tight. And it will be deep and long and full of great love. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz3fERGMpCOB4rGLCVatVm_ntlPpoXpgyZfjllW_KsKZfwxWCpX_Pw2BAkLegF8HC2wOIwv9cnImPleG9rbIa00MvPDQhyzN75i6roWw4HDs6NJxHga8Njd3a9KwdIIL0j-we6udKHfGWA/s1600/2014-03-28%25252020.39.50.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> <img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz3fERGMpCOB4rGLCVatVm_ntlPpoXpgyZfjllW_KsKZfwxWCpX_Pw2BAkLegF8HC2wOIwv9cnImPleG9rbIa00MvPDQhyzN75i6roWw4HDs6NJxHga8Njd3a9KwdIIL0j-we6udKHfGWA/s640/2014-03-28%25252020.39.50.jpg" /> </a> </div>
Pamela Paynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230294431439005060noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3051892378904414858.post-58230733366227490662014-01-21T18:40:00.003-08:002014-01-21T18:40:58.580-08:00A day like no other... <div dir="ltr">
The enemy had my shoulders squared and a pin to the mat was coming. Weak and beaten I had no fight left. I was almost ready to surrender. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
And yet, in my spirit where the truth lived, I called. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
I called. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
God heard, he answered, and the enemy fled. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
</div>
<div dir="ltr">
In the moments that followed I knew that nothing in my circumstances had changed and yet everything...had changed.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
Everything had changed.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
</div>
Pamela Paynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230294431439005060noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3051892378904414858.post-69009394042720489332014-01-01T12:42:00.001-08:002014-01-29T13:19:11.710-08:00Tests of faith? No thank you! But wait...<div dir="ltr">
I cry out, "No! Enough already. They can not handle any more. <br />
My hands turns into fighting fists and I can not stop crying. <br />
Not their baby, Lord! Please, I beg you!<br />
And I feel the darkness smile. It hovers close. I can almost touch it and I know it's coming to steal any breath of hope that might still linger inside this nightmare of heartbreak.<br />
Not another brother, Lord! NO! He's lost too many already. He wont survive this! I wont! We cant do it...and I fall to the floor in a heap.<br />
Then God comes. He brings light and the darkness flees. <br />
Fists unfurl and truth dries tears as God bends down and holds together the broken heart with his own hands and stays like that for as long as it takes.<br />
And he picks up the pieces of shattered life and fulfills promises over it with his breath. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
It is by His power we survive the things that without Him would kill us. By His power. Thank you Lord. You make us new with your love.<br />
<br />
</div>
Pamela Paynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230294431439005060noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3051892378904414858.post-47740811783629408292013-12-26T18:29:00.001-08:002022-04-20T14:23:38.710-07:00Doors...like eyes... are guardians of story. <div dir="ltr">
</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WEpXjFYMh4A/VBcyGrvVz4I/AAAAAAABRO8/WNjYTpwPesoIumqmTC2ffPOwSX6H_nbagCPcB/s1600/2013-12-26%2B19.40.36.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WEpXjFYMh4A/VBcyGrvVz4I/AAAAAAABRO8/WNjYTpwPesoIumqmTC2ffPOwSX6H_nbagCPcB/s320/2013-12-26%2B19.40.36.png" width="263"></a></div>
<br>
<br>
Why do they pull me close and still my feet? Why do I photograph them and stare at them and steal other people's door pictures?</div>
<div dir="ltr">
I linger in front of them and sometimes want to sit and make myself at home? Why is that? In my head begins a story as I imagine lives going through them? I hear whispers calling from the other side. A promise waiting to open before me.<br>
Let me just have a little peak through the window. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
No. That's a lie. I want to enter through the door. I want to feel the knob in my hand, push it open. Invade and go all the way in. All the way to the back porch and yard where swings and hearts dwell.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
Why do I imagine it? That's not my door. Not my right.<br>
But still there is a compelling. A compelling that holds me because I think the threshold wants me there. That something is happening and if I leave I'll miss it. A compelling that brings me back to stand and photograph the same porches and doorways over again.<br>
Are the doors like the first notes in the song of a life? Pretty on the outside, but perhaps just blushed and mascaraed to contend. A pretense? Beautiful first notes don't mean the song won't be sad. <br>
And where is it exactly in the cracks and holes and peeling paint, things old and broken and faded, do I see beauty? Im not sure except that I do. The story in the scarred wood makes my curiosity run far and fast and sometimes I can't catch it so I just let it go. But what if this door's song sings of the greatest love? </div>
<div dir="ltr">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ufx31KDpMLA/VBcvTzm216I/AAAAAAABRKc/JjlNLOyrH8AXAo4z-aM86tBOAXTKJP3dgCPcB/s1600/2013-12-26%2B21.54.45.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ufx31KDpMLA/VBcvTzm216I/AAAAAAABRKc/JjlNLOyrH8AXAo4z-aM86tBOAXTKJP3dgCPcB/s320/2013-12-26%2B21.54.45.png" width="200"></a></div>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br>
I know all these doors carry their real songs on the other side where the truth and the secrets and the lives really dwell.<br>
Do I want the song of the door side I see to be true? Authentic to the rooms behind? </div>
<div dir="ltr">
How many of them like faces with eyes are practiced? Facades that manage their outcome. Do I really want to hear all of the voices and know all the secrets inside? I think not.<br>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RCpM62tU-BU/VBcy69K9xhI/AAAAAAABRQc/F78tIIqDjnw9flV0q1GlFN-s9pht7g7lgCPcB/s1600/2013-12-26%2B19.29.36.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RCpM62tU-BU/VBcy69K9xhI/AAAAAAABRQc/F78tIIqDjnw9flV0q1GlFN-s9pht7g7lgCPcB/s320/2013-12-26%2B19.29.36.png" width="249"></a></div>
<br>
<br>
And yet, the charm and notch and knockers and ivy and peep holes and color of each one carry mystery and story and I want to stand by them all. </div>
<div dir="ltr">
When I see my porch I ponder there too because inside it is my story. One only God and I will ever fully know. It's messy and beautiful and sad and miraculous. <br>
My hope would be this...if you push inside and see my mess, stay long enough and dig deep enough to find love.</div>
<div dir="ltr">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-m3M9vxBTTdI/VRsxITv800I/AAAAAAAB17E/7y6sjOq0EqUnV9MlmhCszkPIGBgbBohEQCPcB/s1600/2013-12-26%2B19.39.51.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-m3M9vxBTTdI/VRsxITv800I/AAAAAAAB17E/7y6sjOq0EqUnV9MlmhCszkPIGBgbBohEQCPcB/s320/2013-12-26%2B19.39.51.jpg" width="237"></a></div>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MHWplrp4Jqk/WGPfDVVMpnI/AAAAAAAC5zI/WQrSx_Y_yJ0Xc6NZOUQwyH92GD7QqED-wCPcB/s1600/2013-12-27%2B03.13.41.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="248" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MHWplrp4Jqk/WGPfDVVMpnI/AAAAAAAC5zI/WQrSx_Y_yJ0Xc6NZOUQwyH92GD7QqED-wCPcB/s320/2013-12-27%2B03.13.41.jpg" width="320"></a></div>
<br></div>
<div dir="ltr">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4BJ9LG-IsIg/VBczen0ZSsI/AAAAAAABRRE/Lu2NcfFdMWsnVr7xgqRsMj5JyeYvRhSLgCPcB/s1600/2013-12-26%2B19.27.07.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4BJ9LG-IsIg/VBczen0ZSsI/AAAAAAABRRE/Lu2NcfFdMWsnVr7xgqRsMj5JyeYvRhSLgCPcB/s320/2013-12-26%2B19.27.07.png" width="212"></a></div>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pJ_2PCY9S9Y/VBcz5DHmHPI/AAAAAAABRR0/bE5WHFmCesIcNAfY5E1WaQBxDUMZgCZDwCPcB/s1600/2013-11-28%2B10.09.38.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pJ_2PCY9S9Y/VBcz5DHmHPI/AAAAAAABRR0/bE5WHFmCesIcNAfY5E1WaQBxDUMZgCZDwCPcB/s320/2013-11-28%2B10.09.38.png" width="316"></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-O2HD7-jnCBI/VBczYLeUF0I/AAAAAAABRQ8/YN4w4GDKReYe32AWRm1YQCHZfkV-TiJqgCPcB/s1600/2013-12-26%2B19.25.43.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="309" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-O2HD7-jnCBI/VBczYLeUF0I/AAAAAAABRQ8/YN4w4GDKReYe32AWRm1YQCHZfkV-TiJqgCPcB/s320/2013-12-26%2B19.25.43.png" width="320"></a></div>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yM39qxu367g/VBcye67au4I/AAAAAAABRP0/66f6i4Ev84UO6XGZ5rcuY2Zn4p13MsJuQCPcB/s1600/2013-12-26%2B19.39.10.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yM39qxu367g/VBcye67au4I/AAAAAAABRP0/66f6i4Ev84UO6XGZ5rcuY2Zn4p13MsJuQCPcB/s400/2013-12-26%2B19.39.10.png" width="271"></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AH6O7YWztBs/VBcx6dLwZiI/AAAAAAABROs/CZbBdPpU4CoKHA1En_fdhAsaUDvA7MVJQCPcB/s1600/2013-12-26%2B19.41.58.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AH6O7YWztBs/VBcx6dLwZiI/AAAAAAABROs/CZbBdPpU4CoKHA1En_fdhAsaUDvA7MVJQCPcB/s320/2013-12-26%2B19.41.58.png" width="235"></a></div>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-I3VCVsx2w_k/VBcxvE2VmaI/AAAAAAABROc/zFvBGBDCuEUsrBxzqDWtCBS1VbKmVfsJgCPcB/s1600/2013-12-26%2B19.43.24.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-I3VCVsx2w_k/VBcxvE2VmaI/AAAAAAABROc/zFvBGBDCuEUsrBxzqDWtCBS1VbKmVfsJgCPcB/s320/2013-12-26%2B19.43.24.png" width="226"></a></div>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pekLmPdD22g/VBcxjRJIbDI/AAAAAAABROI/OFG6ua0YR-YcUX5MoFpYVek4hDODbgrPwCPcB/s1600/2013-12-26%2B19.42.41.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pekLmPdD22g/VBcxjRJIbDI/AAAAAAABROI/OFG6ua0YR-YcUX5MoFpYVek4hDODbgrPwCPcB/s320/2013-12-26%2B19.42.41.png" width="301"></a></div>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2zWut3eRg58/VBcvg_cGATI/AAAAAAABRKs/PnhAlxChYy4zP-jKu_Bhyw3xOnixoaC4ACPcB/s1600/2013-12-26%2B21.52.11.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2zWut3eRg58/VBcvg_cGATI/AAAAAAABRKs/PnhAlxChYy4zP-jKu_Bhyw3xOnixoaC4ACPcB/s320/2013-12-26%2B21.52.11.png" width="210"></a></div>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-37QenYGWv14/VBcvr3ko0RI/AAAAAAABRLA/ZeZ9pMkkD1kj9Yjk3lmiOQObmyOhTlXDgCPcB/s1600/2013-12-26%2B21.52.59.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-37QenYGWv14/VBcvr3ko0RI/AAAAAAABRLA/ZeZ9pMkkD1kj9Yjk3lmiOQObmyOhTlXDgCPcB/s320/2013-12-26%2B21.52.59.png" width="203"></a></div>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vACP70a-9rc/VBcvOmkbC2I/AAAAAAABRKU/omvf6GM3XtUtHRTI8VPrltSnRsNF53_EwCPcB/s1600/2013-12-26%2B21.53.45.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vACP70a-9rc/VBcvOmkbC2I/AAAAAAABRKU/omvf6GM3XtUtHRTI8VPrltSnRsNF53_EwCPcB/s320/2013-12-26%2B21.53.45.png" width="213"></a></div>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Pamela Paynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230294431439005060noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3051892378904414858.post-60277676590572220252013-12-22T16:06:00.000-08:002024-02-29T16:33:59.995-08:00Confession. It's time<span style="font-family: inherit;">It's a biblical command.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">It's good for the soul.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And so... </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A car came into my lane and hit me head on going 40 mph.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Could God have prevented the accident? Yes. But He didn't.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Did God save my life? Yes. I absolutely know that He did.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The man that hit me had no drivers license. It was suspended months ago because he had no insurance. I don't like anything about that. And yet...before I knew any of this, his wife came to the emergency room to tell me that he was sorry and I was blessed.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So now what? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Is God doing something in the heart of the man who hit me? Will he be held accountable?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Does God have plans for me in the still and quiet season that He set-apart for me while my bones heal. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I believe the answer to all of these questions is, "Yes."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I don't like the way the pain medication makes me feel. But I hurt and my muscles are sore so I take it. I am irritated and I have no patience. Give me patience Lord.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I pray for Grace. I need lots. I need it for myself. I need it for my husband. He needs it for me. I need it for everyone who loves me and everyone who loves me needs it for me. I am thankful that God gives it in abundance. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">In that abundance, I will find my Euchristeo praise. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I reel with frustration. I feel helpless, old, weary and weak.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Going to the bathroom, getting something to eat, just getting out of bed is a challenge. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I see the scars on my husbands face and neck where large chunks of basil cell cancer have been cut from him in </span>the last two weeks and I feel sick.<br />
<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And yet...I walk in a season of communion with the Lord like I have never known. I have new eyes. Spiritual eyes. I see God everywhere. I feel his presence. I really feel it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I draw and paint. I hold chalk between my fingers and I see a miracle on the paper. It took a huge step of faith to jump head first into a place I knew nothing about, but now, in the simple act of obedience, I get to see a miracle. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So I acknowledge God's power and presence in a gift he placed in me for his purpose and my great joy. I can't explain it. There are no words. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But I know. I see. And I praise.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So I will settle into this place on my "Glory Road" in faith. I trust God's plan. He has proven that he is trustworthy and so even as I struggle and whine and cry, I will also praise. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> I remind myself of what Jesus took to the cross for me and my portion of suffering becomes </span>inconsequential<span style="font-family: inherit;">. I will be restored. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> And every day I look at the book on my nightstand, "Nineteen days," about the life of Samuel Parkins who died on a Christmas eve but I can't read the book. I don't want to.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> I know the story. I know what God did through Dan's blog of that time, but the family is precious to us and I know their suffering. I don't want to remember.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Mine suffering is nothing. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> So it is in this place of perspective that I will settle in. Jesus died for me. God saved my life when the man without a license hit me head on. And God had great plans for the short life of Samuel Parkins. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> May my confession help me walk in the will of my Father. May it be filled with the hope of the Gospel, and may it glorify and bring praise to a God who is present, powerful, and worthy. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> I love you Lord. </span><br />
<br />
<strong style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px;"><a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Ezra+10:11&version=ESV" style="color: #b2462d;"><span style="color: black;">Ezra 10:11</span></a></strong><br />
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Now then make <b>confession</b> to the <span class="small-caps" style="font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span>, the God of your fathers and do his will.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><strong style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"><a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Hebrews+10:23&version=ESV" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;">Hebrews 10:23</span></a></strong><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"></span></span><br />
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Let us hold fast the <b>confession</b> of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful.</span></div>
<div style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><strong style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"><a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Daniel+9:4&version=ESV" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="color: black;">Daniel 9:4</span></a> </strong></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px;">I prayed to the</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px;"> </span><span class="small-caps" style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px; font-variant: small-caps;">Lord</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px;">my God and made</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px;"> </span><b style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px;">confession</b><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit; font-size: 16px;">, saying, “O Lord, the great and awesome God, who keeps covenant and steadfast love with those who love him and keep his commandments.</span></div>
Pamela Paynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230294431439005060noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3051892378904414858.post-7074357379519887922013-12-18T20:53:00.002-08:002017-08-15T16:56:55.404-07:00A Walker's zipper bag of Praise...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKlKRlARZ_uf_-slDbve5FmCmoNWGY0K12p-ZpbXBLVnHwZJEgBKqss0LaZ9vVynZwT9TcVQ1jXHdcYm3Vsza3hXUbI-hYbLOaUBq-n9NLLgpKsroGso5gyNmCObRrLQhDFB-BCuybaRB6/s1600/2013-12-18+16.59.53.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKlKRlARZ_uf_-slDbve5FmCmoNWGY0K12p-ZpbXBLVnHwZJEgBKqss0LaZ9vVynZwT9TcVQ1jXHdcYm3Vsza3hXUbI-hYbLOaUBq-n9NLLgpKsroGso5gyNmCObRrLQhDFB-BCuybaRB6/s400/2013-12-18+16.59.53.jpg" width="225" /></a></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">M<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>y girlfriends found me sitting at the top of the four stairs that lead down to our office and the new room that I call home. I was pouting because the zipper broke on the bag that another friend had tied to my walker, and now everything was falling out. I loved being able to take things with me from room to room. Now what was I going to do?</i></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i> "Can we help you find another bag?" One of them asked. "Yes please," I reply, and I tell them where my bag stash is. They get them and go through them carefully trying to find one that compared in size to the one I had tied to the walker with the broken zipper because...</i></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i> "I really loved that one, " I told them. "It was the perfect size."</i></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i> "Does it have to have a zipper?" One of them asked. </i></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i> "Well...yes." Duh. "I tried to get my water cup back from the bedroom with out the zipper and it fell out twice."</i></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i> "None of these have a zipper, Pam. I'm sorry."</i></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i> "What if we saftey pin it?" another said. </i></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i> Have I mentioned that I am irritated by almost everything. </i></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i> "I don't have a safety pin that big." I was trying hard not to sound as cranky as I felt.</i></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i> "Wait a minute!" One of them said as she got up and went outside. </i></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i> Chris came back with the perfect zippered bag. </i></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i> She explained that she uses it for groceries and that it had disappeared recently. She went on to say that she thought it might have been left it in the desert during a recent trip but had found it in her husbands car. </i></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i> Now, here it was in her hand, just for me.</i></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i> </i></span><i style="font-family: inherit;">"It's perfect." I squealed. "But...it's your favorite grocery bag. What if I break this zipper?" </i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<i style="font-family: inherit;"> "Ahhh," she replied waving the thought away with her hand. "I don't need the zipper."</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<i style="font-family: inherit;"> And so...irritated and all. I love my friends. I also love that God chose them and put them in my life for such a time as this with the simple gift of a walker bag...</i></div>
Pamela Paynehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13230294431439005060noreply@blogger.com0