tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25708664552264937012024-02-18T23:57:54.376-05:00Ragamuffin Scrap CraftCatherine Kaysehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02901093296849847226noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2570866455226493701.post-44466020216453174592011-08-16T16:39:00.001-04:002011-08-16T16:41:52.348-04:00DIY Chalkboard<div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1DAydh8noDY2EhLa0zHBml8VdEMhYJbgYhMjh_5QvLhAMY19FEQdRHu2xYvV0-dRtSIDGM8Qq9wmNAPsyvPLbqMXZA7MJVIcZhgDlgjXY_-b327mcR7u9pQYoBLuBW2JFVh6I_WoCpdaE/s1600/download-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1DAydh8noDY2EhLa0zHBml8VdEMhYJbgYhMjh_5QvLhAMY19FEQdRHu2xYvV0-dRtSIDGM8Qq9wmNAPsyvPLbqMXZA7MJVIcZhgDlgjXY_-b327mcR7u9pQYoBLuBW2JFVh6I_WoCpdaE/s400/download-3.jpg" width="298" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: right;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxWz5a2DBof6ILjgs4TOcjY1fIMk11lhNQBRUOL-naZyQ-2gsZPZVvtgq27kYxDXzQPQzaphyT0ESm3XbLYqq6pS0bdCT_hricPNC2UXI6KTD5uCS7YK1KlElTYSiwvENVfoFtakBlQZDs/s1600/download-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxWz5a2DBof6ILjgs4TOcjY1fIMk11lhNQBRUOL-naZyQ-2gsZPZVvtgq27kYxDXzQPQzaphyT0ESm3XbLYqq6pS0bdCT_hricPNC2UXI6KTD5uCS7YK1KlElTYSiwvENVfoFtakBlQZDs/s320/download-5.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN3NUKxmVPctIsATDLOEJhvhLR9FzT_z3h8n28sbLWIwG9uBj0n8NR-K1hhEqVyBa-fIG68RA9e1puiU8Gr1omstYAuJ8Z5ZgCUAgfCemhwNcEC_pj5vBtdBJ9FRsYmbnXv6qtBVsoshWb/s1600/download-4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgN3NUKxmVPctIsATDLOEJhvhLR9FzT_z3h8n28sbLWIwG9uBj0n8NR-K1hhEqVyBa-fIG68RA9e1puiU8Gr1omstYAuJ8Z5ZgCUAgfCemhwNcEC_pj5vBtdBJ9FRsYmbnXv6qtBVsoshWb/s320/download-4.jpg" width="239" /></a></div> <span style="font-size: large;">1) Find a frame</span><span style="font-size: large;">. </span>Maybe you have one with broken glass or you like to hunt at the thrift store or garage sales. I got this one in the clearance section at the craft store. Probably because it's pretty tacky.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">2) Cut a piece of MDF to size. <span style="font-size: small;">Or ask the guys at the big box hardware store to cut it for you. I'm pretty sure they like using that big saw. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">3) Choose paint for the frame. <span style="font-size: small;">Make sure you have primer for the MDF, and, of course, chalkboard paint. Chalkboard paint comes in a variety of colors and application types. I chose classic black in the spray can because it goes on smoothly. Plus spray painting is fun. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">4) Prepare your chalk board surface. <span style="font-size: small;">Dust the MDF before priming it. Roll on a thin, even layer of primer. Once the primer is dry you can spray the first coat of chalkboard paint. You may need 3 or 4 coats, making sure to sand any bumps in between coats. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">5) Give the frame a coat or two. <span style="font-size: small;">Coat the frame lightly and evenly. Allow to dry fully between coats. </span></span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmH3XqYhe3PBI5D7RfAw3wePqfx8LAuZPUW1NJ85pSrsXGRXZN8YVnIdYyl4FvgezRhDWGL47oQVuRddZmhNG6CtW08TiiaKYRzAtrusHM8r2DzTReBrSSI6bSjsogpars8PgcQLskGaes/s1600/download-8+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmH3XqYhe3PBI5D7RfAw3wePqfx8LAuZPUW1NJ85pSrsXGRXZN8YVnIdYyl4FvgezRhDWGL47oQVuRddZmhNG6CtW08TiiaKYRzAtrusHM8r2DzTReBrSSI6bSjsogpars8PgcQLskGaes/s320/download-8+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;">6) Bring it together. <span style="font-size: small;">Apply a thin bead of hot glue to secure the MDF to the frame, making sure not to allow any glue to seep on to the chalkboard surface. Use a staple gun to finish fastening the board and frame together. {Yell, "Freeze, dirtbag!" in your best TV cop voice before firing each staple into the frame. I've found that helps with accuracy.} </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOD7zQeGnxd8z25rpvcM4_JTJ5muDznezgWO3zlBD_MbWYkKPIaHe7PAFQexM7NcaJjbVZo_QQtZEy1e5BDzpNq0F4ooe0iw4oebnQvLdUM4eg2KzrITw1YYhLjHTQlGj-omeictQcB6D5/s1600/download-9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOD7zQeGnxd8z25rpvcM4_JTJ5muDznezgWO3zlBD_MbWYkKPIaHe7PAFQexM7NcaJjbVZo_QQtZEy1e5BDzpNq0F4ooe0iw4oebnQvLdUM4eg2KzrITw1YYhLjHTQlGj-omeictQcB6D5/s400/download-9.jpg" width="297" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">7) Add hardware. <span style="font-size: small;">Consider where you'll hang your chalkboard and choose the appropriate fasteners. I used two saw-tooth brackets set about an inch inward from the top corners and hung it on nails. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span><span style="font-size: large;">8) Write away. <span style="font-size: small;">Taking a cue from <a href="http://www.aholyexperience.com/">Ann Voskamp,</a> I'm making a list of things for which I will give thanks. </span></span><br />
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Catherine Kaysehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02901093296849847226noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2570866455226493701.post-81065324556350395202011-08-10T15:43:00.001-04:002011-08-10T15:44:14.040-04:00Thai Veggie Wraps<style>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5crvs8_DQLXM5qO_TK6s23VEqYwFhe8342udcviR_CoiH6I8JTtUIxuRRooDP7TSrjoVK19qh3OapQivlgJBYZi5XdTgNUxrP7nZt_VwUrtz4PvgcYFndwrbgvIfy7T4demSvEvr92rzq/s1600/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5crvs8_DQLXM5qO_TK6s23VEqYwFhe8342udcviR_CoiH6I8JTtUIxuRRooDP7TSrjoVK19qh3OapQivlgJBYZi5XdTgNUxrP7nZt_VwUrtz4PvgcYFndwrbgvIfy7T4demSvEvr92rzq/s320/download.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">7 oz. coconut milk (approx. ½ can)</div><div class="MsoNormal">2 T. crunchy peanut butter</div><div class="MsoNormal">1 t. garlic powder</div><div class="MsoNormal">1 T green onion, chopped</div><div class="MsoNormal">1 t. Sriracha hot sauce</div><div class="MsoNormal">1 t. soy sauce</div><div class="MsoNormal">½ t. crushed red pepper flake</div><div class="MsoNormal">½ t. ground ginger</div><div class="MsoNormal">7 oz. chickpeas (approx. ½ can, rinsed & drained)</div><div class="MsoNormal">1 ½ c. broccoli cole slaw</div><div class="MsoNormal">4 whole grain tortillas</div><div class="MsoNormal">cilantro for garnish</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1prlsoccN2_BLaU9s6cu1dFAmkjBLtnuAzZa1BGl_ucHB1kxLIe4EnGDKBJ5YvM0QAitm23hZIDqE2VNiNugl8BBqSY2zUEBA3QCP1jEfcZ6LhJLoc9TZsiTLo7L85LSf2EyTlZI3xODB/s1600/download-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1prlsoccN2_BLaU9s6cu1dFAmkjBLtnuAzZa1BGl_ucHB1kxLIe4EnGDKBJ5YvM0QAitm23hZIDqE2VNiNugl8BBqSY2zUEBA3QCP1jEfcZ6LhJLoc9TZsiTLo7L85LSf2EyTlZI3xODB/s400/download-1.jpg" width="297" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Full of protein, fiber and flavor + inexpensive + easy. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">In a skillet over medium heat whisk together the coconut milk, peanut butter, garlic powder, green onion, Sriracha, soy sauce, pepper flake and ginger. Add chickpeas and broccoli slaw. Serve on whole grain tortillas and garnish with cilantro. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Catherine Kaysehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02901093296849847226noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2570866455226493701.post-40648026105602844222011-08-03T20:30:00.000-04:002011-08-03T20:30:14.789-04:00The Muir House {Book Review}<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqwcrpZmIRuOzXIphIhRyh4nKyn7LMr0T48r4EEi_osnWCyQM603V1Nv7AkFUC-B1_hclZLF5812pCeTSClX81ikg_vWjMvUr67hvsJaoC_E3r89bLr2Cw-6ie-bNGouRIBDLAN8nfc9E5/s1600/n374407.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqwcrpZmIRuOzXIphIhRyh4nKyn7LMr0T48r4EEi_osnWCyQM603V1Nv7AkFUC-B1_hclZLF5812pCeTSClX81ikg_vWjMvUr67hvsJaoC_E3r89bLr2Cw-6ie-bNGouRIBDLAN8nfc9E5/s320/n374407.jpg" width="207" /></a>Mary DeMuth’s most recent novel <i>The Muir House</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> begins with a tragedy in the midst of a mystery in a fashion sure to drop any reader right into Will Muir’s life. We enter Willa’s story in Seattle with a denied marriage proposal and a devastating house fire, then follow her to her childhood home in Rockwall, Texas where she is seeking answers to long-held questions about a missing year of her life. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Once again DeMuth has crafted a stirring narrative lived out by complex characters. True to life, even the antagonists have redeeming moments and the protagonist makes emotional mistakes.<span> </span>With elegant and detailed prose we walk with Willa as she searches for the truth about her childhood and proper southern family. Phrases like these help the reader to empathize with Willa, “The weight of the memory covered her like a wet afghan, and although the sun winked warmth on her, she shivered on the earth.” </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>The Muir House</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> is hefty and rich enough to meet a tough critic’s literary needs, yet makes a great read for the summer. If you’re new to Mary DeMuth, visit her lovely <a href="http://www.marydemuth.com/">website</a> and read my <a href="http://ragamuffinscrapcraft.blogspot.com/2010/02/book-review.html">review </a>of her memoir </span><i>Thin Places</i><span style="font-style: normal;">. </span></div>Catherine Kaysehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02901093296849847226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2570866455226493701.post-32753773593814893572011-06-18T22:28:00.003-04:002011-06-18T22:34:05.521-04:00Prayer for the Fatherless<div class="MsoNormal">Father’s day makes me a little sad. Okay, without wallowing in self-pity, I confess I feel a lot sad. Just like those other times when I miss my dad, like weddings and birthdays or when I hear a corny joke or can’t remember his recipe for potato salad. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">That gaping hole fills with sadness and never fully goes away no matter how much time passes. God has a way of showering me with love from so many other sources when I'm feeling that loss though. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">One day last year when I was very new on our church staff we had a special guest who was teaching us about spiritual formation. He assigned us a task: find a quiet corner, read a short list of scriptures, choose one to meditate on then spend a few minutes in prayer. I chose Romans 8:15<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman Italic';">For you did not receive a spirit that makes you a slave again to fear, but you received the Spirit of sonship. And by him we cry, “<i>Abba, </i></span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman Italic';">Father.” (</span>NIV)<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman Italic';"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Then the strangest thing happened. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My face began to leak. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And leak.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">And leak. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjboN7WnOPlnaYCeZqcaSVVylebDWfNScpaGt_17Ih42c5bRaI6AnBTsnQ5ZyTbkC1oOPD6i2Gwuc3A9BZTr9ceVm3ESHY6FW3OOA08XhGDJt7ZpwdPELc_txlhqSPFXIx3EckbOP8BPaH-/s1600/father_baby_hands.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjboN7WnOPlnaYCeZqcaSVVylebDWfNScpaGt_17Ih42c5bRaI6AnBTsnQ5ZyTbkC1oOPD6i2Gwuc3A9BZTr9ceVm3ESHY6FW3OOA08XhGDJt7ZpwdPELc_txlhqSPFXIx3EckbOP8BPaH-/s1600/father_baby_hands.jpg" /></a>When it was time to regroup, my face still hadn’t stopped leaking. During my turn to share what how this exercise affected me, my face leaked even more and I had no words. You can imagine my embarrassment. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">But when I got home, got over my embarrassment and had time to think about what had happened, I realized it was the overwhelming presence of the Holy Spirit shaking that fearful servant part of me, welcoming me to cry “Abba, Father”. That seems so preposterous: the Creator of the universe welcoming <i>me</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> into an adoptive relationship? <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Thankfully his love is patient and persistent, unlike anything this world offers. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">If you’re fortunate enough to know your earthly father, he may disappoint you even if he’s a pretty good dad. He has probably let you down a time or two or said the wrong thing because he’s human and humans are imperfect. The Father’s love, however, is perfect. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>We are wise to separate our perception of the Heavenly Father from the image of our own father.</b> It’s common for those to get tangled up together, but it’s worth the time to recognize the differences. No matter what your relationship is with your father, there's a life-giving, saving, grace-filled relationship available to you. Yep, with God--the big "g" God who made the heavens and the earth. That might take a while to settle into your soul, but it's true. I can't convince you of that though. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This post comes with an assignment: find a quiet corner, read the scripture below then spend a few minutes in prayerful meditation. Don’t be embarrassed if your face leaks a little. It's called crying. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">"This resurrection life you received from God is not a timid, grave-tending life. It's adventurously expectant, greeting God with a childlike "What's next, Papa?" God's Spirit touches our spirits and confirms who we really are. We know who he is, and we know who we are: Father and children." Romans 8:15-16 The Message</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Lord, <o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Thank you for all of the men giving their best to fatherhood. Bless and sustain the relationships they have with their children. <o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Protect the fatherless and place strong leadership in their lives. <o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Send your Holy Spirit to release us all from fearful spirits and false perceptions of you.<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>In Jesus’ name,<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Amen<o:p></o:p></i></div>Catherine Kaysehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02901093296849847226noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2570866455226493701.post-5362467757824436012011-05-24T17:23:00.002-04:002011-05-26T19:54:19.110-04:00Roasted Butternut Squash Soup<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">1 large butternut squash</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo-P1Q2xjk-X49uvF2kR26x2LukuFcrqsibjbzkiRKwbfua7Ve7Np82DC2eV29ZEmQHyWxn9iEAqoZf7jmxQPSZ95eI68uOZwafbNxsuI2UnYWR96eEJUeOyh-JXjk6vSg6fCE0WW_liks/s1600/DSC01995.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo-P1Q2xjk-X49uvF2kR26x2LukuFcrqsibjbzkiRKwbfua7Ve7Np82DC2eV29ZEmQHyWxn9iEAqoZf7jmxQPSZ95eI68uOZwafbNxsuI2UnYWR96eEJUeOyh-JXjk6vSg6fCE0WW_liks/s320/DSC01995.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Butternut squash are easy to grow: <br />
these are ours from last year.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">olive oil</div><div class="MsoNormal">herbs</div><div class="MsoNormal">2 cloves of garlic, minced</div><div class="MsoNormal">1 medium yellow onion, diced</div><div class="MsoNormal">5 medium carrots, peeled & sliced</div><div class="MsoNormal">5 stalks of celery, sliced</div><div class="MsoNormal">1carton of vegetable stock</div><div class="MsoNormal">2 c. water</div><div class="MsoNormal">1 can of corn, drained</div><div class="MsoNormal">1 can of cream of celery soup</div><div class="MsoNormal">1 cup of milk</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;">1)<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>Roast the butternut squash:</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">Preheat the oven to 350<span style="font-family: Symbol;">°</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;">Slice the squash in half, lengthwise. Scoop out the seeds (rinse the seeds & toast them if you have extra time). Rub the fleshy part of the squash with a little olive oil and coat it with herbs. (I use a poultry rub that’s mostly garlic, salt, sage, and thyme). Place on a baking sheet fleshy side up for about 40 minutes (depending on how large the squash is). You’ll know it’s done when you can mush it with a fork. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;">2)<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>While the squash is roasting, drizzle some olive oil in the bottom of your soup pot—just enough to lightly coat the bottom. Heat the oil at medium heat then add the minced garlic. After about two minutes add the diced onion. Let the garlic and onion “sweat” with the lid on the pot for a few minutes. Once the onion is translucent, add the vegetable stock and water. Then add the carrot and celery. Let that simmer on medium-low heat. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;">3)<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>Once the squash is cooked thoroughly, you’ll have to let it cool for a while before you can handle it. Scoop the squash away from the outside with a spoon. Be careful not to get pieces of the skin—they’re not a good texture in soup. Add the squash to the soup base. It’s okay if it’s still chunky, it will break down as you stir. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;">4)<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>Add the corn and stir.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;">5)<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>Add the cream of celery soup and one can of milk. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;">6)<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>Simmer together, stirring. Make sure the heat is not too high once you’ve added the cream soup and milk—both scorch easily. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in; text-indent: -.25in;">7)<span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span>Serve with hearty bread. </div>Catherine Kaysehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02901093296849847226noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2570866455226493701.post-87228846055265920582011-05-23T22:44:00.008-04:002011-05-24T06:53:42.290-04:00Weird Christians<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJGgbymH0O5vQWMXVExD0y8-uSkPfxlyMqsBYyA4ppe3o5vni11-PvQWzogMI7eVjkTqsrl8bssRZKQ4nPpj3IKIZvpjmSXTJ6whrgABV84-tc_qAqdgohOKD_ZaZp-aIK-Bs7EP9mRU6c/s1600/freaks-n-geeks_l4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJGgbymH0O5vQWMXVExD0y8-uSkPfxlyMqsBYyA4ppe3o5vni11-PvQWzogMI7eVjkTqsrl8bssRZKQ4nPpj3IKIZvpjmSXTJ6whrgABV84-tc_qAqdgohOKD_ZaZp-aIK-Bs7EP9mRU6c/s200/freaks-n-geeks_l4.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Freaks and Geeks</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Remember high school? And the lunch table? And that person you were loosely associated with because you sat at the same table? When he did that really weird thing publicly and you had to say something terrible and mocking about him just as publicly—only to make sure no one thought you were really friends? Remember that?<br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">It’s okay if you don’t remember silly high school misunderstandings—adulthood allows just as many opportunities. Especially if you’re a Christian and some other person who calls himself a Christian does something really weird. You probably think, <i>Come on, dude! We’re weird enough already!</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Last summer Anne Rice famously <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2010/07/29/anne-rice-i-quit-being-a_n_663915.html">quit</a> Christianity via Facebook: <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in;"><span style="color: #535353;">For those who care, and I understand if you don't: Today I quit being a Christian. I'm out. I remain committed to Christ as always but not to being 'Christian' or to being part of Christianity. It's simply impossible for me to 'belong' to this quarrelsome, hostile, disputatious, and deservedly infamous group. For ten years, I've tried. I've failed. I'm an outsider. My conscience will allow nothing else.</span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">More recently, when Rob Bell’s book <i>Love Wins </i><span style="font-style: normal;">came out, battle lines among Christians were clearly drawn. Even before the book was released, John Piper famously Tweeted, “Farewell Rob Bell”. The Christian Blogosphere exploded with infighting. (Of which this will not be an example. I’ll stop here.) <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIp85ycowpWpBmvKN3f21PfqhoJEnaVxYu3bLzIto-RgAScXQraE2T_fJXM3htgwWYjXAOGWABZypd5FymO6Eh8MrK0dJikX-UNGb_Nv1DcJIop6yO3E-P9MqSW7wLV0LPZq0M4MomRgz1/s1600/tumblr_lkaddbtZxc1qdjmnyo1_5001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIp85ycowpWpBmvKN3f21PfqhoJEnaVxYu3bLzIto-RgAScXQraE2T_fJXM3htgwWYjXAOGWABZypd5FymO6Eh8MrK0dJikX-UNGb_Nv1DcJIop6yO3E-P9MqSW7wLV0LPZq0M4MomRgz1/s200/tumblr_lkaddbtZxc1qdjmnyo1_5001.jpg" width="149" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Christian T-shirt Featured on Jesus Needs New PR</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">Matthew Paul Turner’s <a href="http://www.jesusneedsnewpr.net/">entire shtick</a> (Jesus Needs New PR) is built on the wacky, misguided decisions Christians make as they attempt to engage culture. As if Christianity wasn’t confusing and strange enough, Christians everywhere keep presenting and representing it poorly. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In some cases, very poorly. {Enter Family Radio and the Rapture of May 21, 2011.}<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As May 21 neared and Harold Camping and his followers warned a wide audience of the impending rapture, my Twitter feed was a flood of snarky quips, mostly from Christians. Mass media widened Camping’s audience by grabbing the story and letting “experts” weigh in. The masses chimed in via Facebook and Twitter. I engaged too, probably out of that same high school-style knee-jerk reaction. <i>Oh, me? Yes, I’m a Christian but not the Harold Camping kind. </i><span style="font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Camping got it wrong. He ignored parts of <a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew+24&version=NIV">scripture</a> that didn’t support his argument, constructed a timeline, and convinced a bunch of people to commit fully to his cause. Still, that doesn’t cast him out of the flock. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">On Sunday night I read this thoughtful, compassionate <a href="http://www.patheos.com/community/philosophicalfragments/2011/05/21/a-letter-to-harold-camping-and-those-who-expected-judgment-day/">response</a> from Timothy Dalrymple. It’s an open letter to Camping and his followers. It’s biblical, gracious and not snarky in the least. (From a secular point of view, however, it’s still probably very weird.) <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Christianity <i>is </i><span style="font-style: normal;">weird. If Jesus had to choose a high school lunch table, he would absolutely join the most rejected folks. In his time on earth he ate with prostitutes and tax collectors, healed the lepers and others who were deemed unclean, and turned social norms upside-down. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">That is exactly why Christianity can’t be summed up in a tweet or a status update or a blog post or article. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal">Talk to people in person, engage texts you don’t agree with whole-heartedly, think for yourself, seek primary sources. Pray. If you’re not a Christian, attend a bible study. If you are a Christian, but you’re only friends with other Christians, get out more! Extend grace. Grow. Sometimes, you'll even have to be the weird kid at the lunch table. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Jesus replied: ‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’<sup> </sup>This is the first and greatest commandment.</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> Matthew 22:37</span><o:p></o:p></div>Catherine Kaysehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02901093296849847226noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2570866455226493701.post-77974124498716748242011-04-04T16:17:00.001-04:002011-04-04T19:04:55.349-04:00Just Another Pharisaical Monday<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMGyxuWXQOUrNcMEzt_yBYk2U8CjJei7bIWUDZQxmdMFGYATU_zCNCmC6c8jBfo64VtevteGBIQ_xiYqeFxXQ5vsdA6KoAJ_JBgtYHZgUi0gXqkOJF40E3Cgf0di5NUFQZAE78wvevN1k2/s1600/Old-Telephone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMGyxuWXQOUrNcMEzt_yBYk2U8CjJei7bIWUDZQxmdMFGYATU_zCNCmC6c8jBfo64VtevteGBIQ_xiYqeFxXQ5vsdA6KoAJ_JBgtYHZgUi0gXqkOJF40E3Cgf0di5NUFQZAE78wvevN1k2/s200/Old-Telephone.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Mondays in the church world are generally quiet. With pastors working throughout the weekend, many of them observe a Sabbath day on Monday. My Monday church duties include updating the sermon podcast and our Facebook page, inventorying and ordering kitchen supplies if needed, fielding simple phone calls, sorting the weekend mail and (on the first and third Mondays of each month) listening to the banter of the two retired gentlemen who set up chairs and tables for the food pantry and medical clinic. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Unlike most people, I savor Mondays.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">One peaceful Monday morn the phone rang. <i>Easy-peasy</i><span style="font-style: normal;">, I thought. But the caller on the other end had a question for which he wanted a specific answer.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“I drive by your church all the time and see tons of people there. Is it a <i>normal Christian </i><span style="font-style: normal;">church?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I began a general answer, encouraging a visit and a chat with the pastoral staff when the caller interrupted. “Are you a member?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Yes.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Maybe you can answer this then: What is your stance on homosexuality?”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">{insert gong sound}</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I tried to think of a well-balanced, truthful, loving answer. Thinking back to past sermons and our statement of faith, I couldn’t formulate a thought. Lines from <i><a href="http://www.google.com/products/catalog?client=safari&rls=en&q=coffee+shop+conversations+by+dale+fincher&oe=UTF-8&um=1&ie=UTF-8&cid=9476736353157209122&sa=X&ei=-xKaTYn2AaqC0QGMg4X_Cw&ved=0CCcQ8wIwAw#ps-sellers">Coffee Shop Conversations</a> </i><span style="font-style: normal;">and</span><i> <a href="http://arguelikejesus.com/">How to Argue Like Jesus</a> </i><span style="font-style: normal;">pinged and ponged in my brain as a year or two passed, the caller still holding on the line. Ever the PR-minded people-pleaser, I relented, “That would be a great topic to discuss with one of our pastors…”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">He interrupted again, “The answer I’m looking for is that homosexuality is an abomination before God.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Oookie doke, then. <o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The caller didn’t want a returned phone call from a pastor or any answer that involved loving people. He wanted his hate toward a particular group of people to be validated by an institution. Thankfully our church teaches the Bible. We are <i>for</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> the love of Christ, not </span><i>against</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> anyone. </span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuxeEBOHEO_08oxcFmogQc9D36Bep5_2EtarUuukpXlAt2YJky07oph21XIG8kXphE7U8JjClfUIj5NPfo3X2-sW7VcDzvJQLlKlCjEXGMrDSIHtgOS6pY9ha8_qnH3bfiwaEiVGa2YOGS/s1600/pharisees-and-sadducees.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuxeEBOHEO_08oxcFmogQc9D36Bep5_2EtarUuukpXlAt2YJky07oph21XIG8kXphE7U8JjClfUIj5NPfo3X2-sW7VcDzvJQLlKlCjEXGMrDSIHtgOS6pY9ha8_qnH3bfiwaEiVGa2YOGS/s320/pharisees-and-sadducees.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jesus Displaying Masterful Rhetoric <br />
(unlike the way I answer tough questions)</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Sin is sin, but I don’t know of a hierarchy list in the Scriptures. If we’re going by the <a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Exodus+20&version=NIV">Ten Commandments</a>, this caller’s question only highlights his own sin. The <a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew+22%3A36-40&version=NIV">great commandment</a> Jesus gave in Matthew 22 also implicates the caller’s lack of love. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I am a newer Christian, and not a theologian. There is much I don’t know and more I will never understand about God and his plan, his reign and his love. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I do know: </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Jesus protected a woman accused of adultery, then called her out of her <a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=John%208&version=KJV">life of sin</a>. He always knew just the how to put the self-righteous Pharisees in their place, never fumbling for people-pleasing answers (like someone else I know). </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Jesus came to sacrifice himself for the least and the lost. If people could achieve perfection, we would have no need for a savior. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
When I draw into authentic relationship with God, the Holy Spirit resides in me and convicts my sin. No one outside a person's relationship with God can judge him.<br />
<br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">If we dilute the Bible’s message to tell people what they want to hear, we steer them away from Truth and away from authentic relationship with God. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I have a lot to learn, but in the mean time I’m doing my best to be a representation of Christ’s love. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">P.S. The caller called back the next day pretending to be gay, asking if we’d accept him. I told him I’d slide-tackle him at the door. {Only kidding.} <o:p></o:p></div>Catherine Kaysehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02901093296849847226noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2570866455226493701.post-79371657049222182332011-03-05T19:51:00.002-05:002011-03-05T19:53:04.569-05:00A Scrap Craft Graphic Organizer for Visual, Kinesthetic Learners<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">Do you know what sort of learner you are? Knowing how you learn is the best way to retain knowledge and work more efficiently, even if you're no longer a student. Here’s a <a href="http://www.lancsngfl.ac.uk/learnstyles/">short test</a> with instant results (and a colorful pie chart)!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">I am equal parts visual and kinesthetic which explains why I have to motivate myself with a craft project to start a writing project. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCMC6olcGjzIP2I0LGmIrOv8e1BnSm9H5j8zdg2HNOTJWTNc21iXLYrs96Cai4zCyx-pI-4Moxutx3WWkwUqK4ORz-VH2de-a6z-gZzddNSkKQXP1UCWpX8x1zl34J4kv0BuTyUy5EYzRW/s1600/DSC02054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCMC6olcGjzIP2I0LGmIrOv8e1BnSm9H5j8zdg2HNOTJWTNc21iXLYrs96Cai4zCyx-pI-4Moxutx3WWkwUqK4ORz-VH2de-a6z-gZzddNSkKQXP1UCWpX8x1zl34J4kv0BuTyUy5EYzRW/s320/DSC02054.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sad Old Tree Limb</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">This tree limb was hanging too low over the driveway, so my husband chopped it off. As it lay in the yard last August, leaves wilting, I decided it was too pretty to become yard waste. If Crate & Barrel can charge $80 for <a href="http://www.crateandbarrel.com/decorating-and-accessories/botanicals-and-plants/set-of-3-amazon-bamboo-poles/s601713">bamboo branches</a>, I’ll be content to do a little labor to decorate my office. Plus, I’m pretty sure my branch’s carbon footprint is lower. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Of course I didn’t want the leaves wilting on my desk, so I pulled them off and trimmed the branches a bit. I put two large screws into the studs and wired the branch to the screws. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">At that time I was thinking about an outline for a novel. This tree branch, combined with the traditional Aristotelian <a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/adswithoutproducts/RsZ4uJNQxZI/AAAAAAAAAB8/aw5A1tVcT8Y/s400/drama_arc.jpg">dramatic arc</a> might lend itself to the type of story I’ve been thinking of.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Out come the craft supplies:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-FM2Aqz8uEMA84uDRrdx_SYJK9m1a53RBjoB2Qb7k-l6g5Dw2R5Gv-FUDi3cpyetuI8ODa53tHu-AwGh5UmG175EuVBRXxcQvEkrFWayAWnMwF1T-ryz04eXrAnRIniiwhKK9xF-F2sw2/s1600/DSC02058.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-FM2Aqz8uEMA84uDRrdx_SYJK9m1a53RBjoB2Qb7k-l6g5Dw2R5Gv-FUDi3cpyetuI8ODa53tHu-AwGh5UmG175EuVBRXxcQvEkrFWayAWnMwF1T-ryz04eXrAnRIniiwhKK9xF-F2sw2/s200/DSC02058.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Punched-out Tags & Ultra-fine Point Sharpies</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFjWzgyMubhVezlYGdCBkZyRBpVN-dm2WVtmltpJxvodwsa5HC3azTx84Otvht5uNvPtu6hri0RrER_tj5d-AqxgOSUaxA-Wm35MLeTmZkACk_yQsRxrPM2W4PtPU1PHRYyKMy2-iXkx5O/s1600/DSC02063.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFjWzgyMubhVezlYGdCBkZyRBpVN-dm2WVtmltpJxvodwsa5HC3azTx84Otvht5uNvPtu6hri0RrER_tj5d-AqxgOSUaxA-Wm35MLeTmZkACk_yQsRxrPM2W4PtPU1PHRYyKMy2-iXkx5O/s200/DSC02063.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Twine & Clothes Pins</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The twiggy parts of the right end of the limb represent different characters as their story lines are introduced. As the twigs intersect on the limb, so do the characters’ lives.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhna-T5hT2UbpVvMgKVdfhZpkK7jkjm7f7GxWTToEbTZ-noPYQHSGCyxoIkeUlkO1ruZuyXsVqIrnbPIsUeai8VSLUC4lcD0OD7GEQF-oITweFFUPLQigvNonHmSLA3utmvSD9EwZeknSw-/s1600/DSC02366.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhna-T5hT2UbpVvMgKVdfhZpkK7jkjm7f7GxWTToEbTZ-noPYQHSGCyxoIkeUlkO1ruZuyXsVqIrnbPIsUeai8VSLUC4lcD0OD7GEQF-oITweFFUPLQigvNonHmSLA3utmvSD9EwZeknSw-/s320/DSC02366.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tree Limb in Action</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">It’s okay if the story movement doesn’t mimic the tree limb exactly. I never want to be formulaic. The best part about a pre-writing exercise is purging ideas onto paper before they slip away. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">This exercise gets my body out of my desk chair and ideas out of my head. Of course, these ideas will be reordered, deleted, and supplemented throughout the writing process. A visual learner like me can find security in this colorful visual outline to consult rather than scrolling through pages of a traditional outline or, worse yet, relying on my slippery memory. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Discover how you learn and never stop. </div>Catherine Kaysehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02901093296849847226noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2570866455226493701.post-62036655339707043012011-02-26T10:19:00.001-05:002011-02-26T10:25:41.396-05:00DIY Doozie<div class="MsoNormal">On a snowy afternoon not long ago I plotted a DIY beauty day. What better way is there to spend a few hours than getting pretty, feeling healthy, and being financially responsible? Homemade salt scrub, two boxes of hair color, and this <a href="http://www.readymade.com/blog/fashion/2010/12/07/chemical_free_the_oil_cleansing_method">facial recipe</a> from <i>Ready Made </i><span style="font-style: normal;">were on my agenda. If you can’t tell, I love DIY. Since my mom is a cosmetologist, I have no fear of coloring or cutting my hair. After all, I helped her color her hair and began doing my own hair when I moved away from home several years ago. All that experience and nary a mishap—perhaps you already sense where this is going. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJcX3qv1qbEUG-PamezVWaQh6JW1eyDS_ma_E5JWDeVkpZbpjHCZSJ9z9GSGE332PDjh7qqx_11ZkN-mR4bMmZDVIbWmwTCCHSa6GTIr3g2QGEROjFCFlsfR1Gc0PAeKQhpDaRKjRccUZu/s1600/catherine+preschool.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJcX3qv1qbEUG-PamezVWaQh6JW1eyDS_ma_E5JWDeVkpZbpjHCZSJ9z9GSGE332PDjh7qqx_11ZkN-mR4bMmZDVIbWmwTCCHSa6GTIr3g2QGEROjFCFlsfR1Gc0PAeKQhpDaRKjRccUZu/s320/catherine+preschool.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Perhaps the last documentation of my natural haircolor: <br />
Preschool 1986 (Mullet in Mary Janes)</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">My intent with the hair color was to (with box numero uno) eek a little closer to my natural hair color. I’d like to get away from dumping chemicals on my head each month. The second box was a caramel highlight kit because I’ve been blonde so long and didn’t want to send the universe (or mainly just myself) into shock or look like John Stossel (a la Just for Men). <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">All was going well with round 1 of the transition. Before rinsing, I noticed my furry friend Toby doing a dance in front of the back door. For now, we use a cable tether to keep him in the yard, so I clipped it to his collar and sent him out. I noticed the urgency in his gait and saw the girl-dog-next-door as she captured his gaze. The two young pups, very madly in love, frequently stare and clamor toward one another as far as their cables will stretch, nearly strangling themselves. We and our neighbors try to avoid these ugly scenes, and only let one out while the other is inside. If she is out, but he’s inside she barks and yelps forlornly in Beagleese. I imagine the translation sounds like this, “Toby, Toby, wherefore art thou, Toby!” <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUT_Au2QKqX-9LBTuCxYEYR5tUWn-aVfdqnV7K4hddaDRUkU3FQJOnmXc7NCd4KWCmO9iJQnj7phnGE13TyWCixlXNeUjHHTlcElYG5YcPhQKlyPrTZ9TnhI4V-TEqIubOVYj0xMXvmaWe/s1600/photo-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUT_Au2QKqX-9LBTuCxYEYR5tUWn-aVfdqnV7K4hddaDRUkU3FQJOnmXc7NCd4KWCmO9iJQnj7phnGE13TyWCixlXNeUjHHTlcElYG5YcPhQKlyPrTZ9TnhI4V-TEqIubOVYj0xMXvmaWe/s200/photo-1.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Toby (as I write)</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">In my urgency, I forgot to check to see if she was out. The pups locked eyes and ran toward one another, forgetting their tethers. I thought, “Oh, no! He’s going to strangle himself!” At 10 months he’s full-grown and strong, but puppy-minded and not yet neutered. Just as that thought formulated in my mind, Toby’s collar snapped, freeing him to romp and slobber all over his lady love. I scrambled for my boots and something to cover my head, still drenched in 8 ounces of L’Oreal Superior Preference 5G. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">By the time I got outside to rescue the delicate neighbor pup from our beast, our neighbor had come out, let the female off her tether and supervised an evenly-matched, PG-rated play session. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I can’t recall the exact moment when I swore off DIY hair-color. Maybe it was during the awkward small talk and my apologies to my neighbor, or while I attempted to wrangle a collarless, 65-pound, snowy puppy that lacks obedience training. It’s neither here nor there. DIY is a great way to save money and feel self-sufficient and in control. That is, until your dog usurps control and wintry air does something weird to the oxidation process of your hair color and you wind up paying a professional to fix your mistake anyway. Lesson learned. Thanks, Toby. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Catherine Kaysehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02901093296849847226noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2570866455226493701.post-90835008932610596652011-02-05T21:48:00.003-05:002011-03-30T21:52:34.713-04:00Stories Worth Telling<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-AS4uPvTp5VQIoB-5_vxZUd2P2t6VR-UOZ67MZiTVzoXMijbysSMAQdS3uvbg9GqX_81zY0hli8uCsxNPSsrsv1RTPtV3xtfjT7NOQ5Ej4ilU1DV6KYTnJO0dXh303veFfZlensMwxWAx/s1600/notebooks1_small.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-AS4uPvTp5VQIoB-5_vxZUd2P2t6VR-UOZ67MZiTVzoXMijbysSMAQdS3uvbg9GqX_81zY0hli8uCsxNPSsrsv1RTPtV3xtfjT7NOQ5Ej4ilU1DV6KYTnJO0dXh303veFfZlensMwxWAx/s200/notebooks1_small.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="color: #535353;"> </span>Last week The New York Times ran Neil Genzlinger’s <span style="font-family: TimesNewRomanPSMT;"><a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2011/01/30/books/review/Genzlinger-t.html"><span style="color: windowtext; font-family: 'Times New Roman';">scathing piece</span></a></span> about the “absurdly bloated” memoir genre. I read the article agreeing wholeheartedly with each shrewd literary point and snarky quip. <i>Yes to:</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-left: .5in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">There was a time when you had to earn the right to draft a memoir, by accomplishing something noteworthy or having an extremely unusual experience or being such a brilliant writer that you could turn relatively ordinary occurrences into a snapshot of a broader historical moment. Anyone who didn’t fit one of those categories was obliged to keep quiet.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">I felt like I was back in <a href="http://www.dupress.duq.edu/pubDetails.asp?theISBN=9780820702940">Elizabeth Hodges’</a> nonfiction workshop when I read, “If you still must write a memoir, consider making yourself the least important character in it.”<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><i>Amen </i><span style="font-style: normal;">to, “If you didn’t feel you were discovering something as you wrote your memoir, don’t publish it. Instead hit the delete key, and then go congratulate yourself for having lived a perfectly good, undistinguished life. There’s no shame in that.”<span style="color: #535353;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">Part of me really appreciates this article—I want the masses to read it and abide by the laws of Neil Genzlinger. But another part of me has <a href="http://www.neuemagazine.com/blog/6-main-slideshow/1137-your-story-must-be-told">this excerpt</a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=2570866455226493701#_edn1" name="_ednref1" style="mso-endnote-id: edn1;" title=""><span class="MsoEndnoteReference">[i]</span></a> from Shauna Niequists’ most recent book<i> </i><span style="font-style: normal;">rattling around in the more inspired part of my brain. The part that wants to encourage others to not only tell their stories, but tell them artfully enough to honor the One writing the big story. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">Is it okay if I agree with Genzlinger and Niequist? Good, because I do. Like Genzlinger says, the memoir genre is bloated. We can heave some blame on the publishing industry, and subsequently the people who write and purchase these books. After all, just because a book becomes a bestseller, doesn’t mean it is a work of literary genius. We can blame the age in which we’re living, and all the narcissistic and voyeuristic tendencies that come with it. But it’s never enough just to lay blame. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">From a Christian standpoint, it’s absurd to say one life’s story has more value than another. From a rhetorical standpoint (in the classical sense of rhetoric<a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=2570866455226493701#_edn2" name="_ednref2" style="mso-endnote-id: edn2;" title=""><span class="MsoEndnoteReference">[ii]</span></a>, not the current news/journalism sense), one life’s story absolutely has more value than another—purely because of the way it is told. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">As Joan Didion said, “We tell ourselves stories in order to live.” Yet, she never said they should all be memoirs. We need to tell our stories, but perhaps they’re better suited for an essay or private journal rather than a full-length memoir. Last week I received a review copy of <i>Someone’s Son</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> by Brenda Rhodes<a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=2570866455226493701#_edn3" name="_ednref3" style="mso-endnote-id: edn3;" title=""><span class="MsoEndnoteReference">[iii]</span></a>. The mother and business owner turned author shares the story of her son’s drug addiction, gay lifestyle, and painful death from illness related to AIDS. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">Writing through grief can bring healing. The semester after my dad died, I wrote an essay about aspects of that grief. I cried and sorted things out as I wrote. I’m indebted to my workshop group for bearing with me and asking gentle questions to help shape the piece, yet I wouldn’t try to publish it. Writing through grief is cheaper than a psychiatrist, but doesn’t make for good reading (unless you write like <a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2005/10/09/books/review/09pinsky.html">Joan Didion</a>). <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">In <i>Someone’s Son</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> Brenda Rhodes relives decades of events leading to her moments of grief. She points to mistakes she made without quite confessing, and provides a great deal of detail. She reflects on her walk away from faith and her return to God in the midst of turmoil. </span><i>Someone’s Son </i><span style="font-style: normal;">may comfort parents living similar stories: those grieving the loss of a child or the mistakes they’ve made. These messy stories aren’t for everyone though. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">While Rhodes said God’s love allowed her to rejoice through her lowest moments, I finished <i>Someone’s Son </i><span style="font-style: normal;">feeling bogged down by the tragedy and by the absence of true, deep reflection. Difficult stories are worth telling, but the most difficult part is sometimes admitting our faults and revealing our humanness. That is how we create space in our stories for God. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">I suspect Genzlinger would categorize <i>Someone’s Son</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> as a memoir that should have remained private. Niequist would probably be much kinder. I stand somewhere in the middle. I think there’s a great deal of value in all of our stories. Yet if we’re really trying to honor God with them, we need to take time, dig deep into reflection and not be afraid to reflect ourselves in a less than positive light.</span><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"></span><br />
<span style="font-style: normal;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">The trickiest aspects of writing creative nonfiction are: 1) Your characters write their own action. 2) You can’t swoop in like a fiction author, orchestrating the tidy conclusion. Much, thoughtful, honest reflection is required for catharsis. 3) Even if you are brave enough to tell the whole truth about your ugly humanity, others may not appreciate your version of their story. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">Every once in a while, I’ll dust off the essay about my dad. Maybe I’ll have more truth to offer it, but I doubt it will ever be resolute. <o:p></o:p></div></span></div><div style="mso-element: endnote-list;"><br />
<hr align="left" size="1" width="33%" /><div id="edn1" style="mso-element: endnote;"><div class="MsoEndnoteText"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=2570866455226493701#_ednref1" name="_edn1" style="mso-endnote-id: edn1;" title=""><span class="MsoEndnoteReference">[i]</span></a> Please read the whole excerpt and be inspired. </div></div><div id="edn2" style="mso-element: endnote;"><div class="MsoEndnoteText"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=2570866455226493701#_ednref2" name="_edn2" style="mso-endnote-id: edn2;" title=""><span class="MsoEndnoteReference">[ii]</span></a> Quintilian’s definition of rhetoric is, “A good man speaking well.” </div></div><div id="edn3" style="mso-element: endnote;"><div class="MsoEndnoteText"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/post-create.g?blogID=2570866455226493701#_ednref3" name="_edn3" style="mso-endnote-id: edn3;" title=""><span class="MsoEndnoteReference">[iii]</span></a> Wine Press Publishing </div></div></div>Catherine Kaysehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02901093296849847226noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2570866455226493701.post-90426383068849171322010-11-08T14:57:00.001-05:002010-11-08T14:58:41.973-05:00Show & Tell: Scrap Craft Desk<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUWCgJ9hemeAALeWBQfZJb_dS0BHpc2AzT_vZ1PFMMYVyz0cbAXZFpugrUBnFHRqnJMurTxeD-JG7U5W_4pCTZTLuPX_yssxHJgr8X7c_IH4KuCigGl4HKxf3yOT8wV0s-zUazjGcv4ikt/s1600/DSC02049.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUWCgJ9hemeAALeWBQfZJb_dS0BHpc2AzT_vZ1PFMMYVyz0cbAXZFpugrUBnFHRqnJMurTxeD-JG7U5W_4pCTZTLuPX_yssxHJgr8X7c_IH4KuCigGl4HKxf3yOT8wV0s-zUazjGcv4ikt/s320/DSC02049.JPG" style="text-decoration: underline;" width="320" /></a><br />
I have a rickety old desk in my office. My husband eyed it at <a href="http://www.sanduskystreetantiques.com/">Sandusky Street Antiques</a>, and appreciated its folksiness.<br />
<br />
I like tucking things in drawers and this desk has six! Plenty of room for notecards, pens, and glue sticks. The only thing about rickety old desks is sometimes the drawers stick instead of slide. There are no runners, only wood on wood, but I know a trick. My friend's grandmother, a collector of antiques and an antique herself, suggests soap. (Rub a bar of dry soap on the wooden surfaces that touch. Results: reduced friction and a furniture that temporarily smells like Dove.)<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_5pu6hnevCj3RpovxMqsc31T_JDEuDEACYkx1fQzfY8azBUwsme8nXQ0WXmX4ALxQScnDxaGb6zfQ3mJ2-dElEsRa2zGf8IbyJ46MkPt-VZj4lVdBKOvjwFc-3ez44W63RzTLcn744spb/s1600/DSC02029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_5pu6hnevCj3RpovxMqsc31T_JDEuDEACYkx1fQzfY8azBUwsme8nXQ0WXmX4ALxQScnDxaGb6zfQ3mJ2-dElEsRa2zGf8IbyJ46MkPt-VZj4lVdBKOvjwFc-3ez44W63RzTLcn744spb/s400/DSC02029.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">When I pulled the first drawer out to soap the bottom, I noticed this on the side! This desk may have had some other life before it was just a rickety old desk.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Clk6y-UIXlQ5OIjumKHgqp3ro6veE485Fl5qC3a-NO3LzaPORO73sgLWcGb8TvCWTNTjoWOOOobUlev3kD6Jqw1MgTUG_q-rof3SH6FhDY33_M1GLfBDPtBUxhU47KFSYkGWkV93D5SP/s1600/DSC02052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5Clk6y-UIXlQ5OIjumKHgqp3ro6veE485Fl5qC3a-NO3LzaPORO73sgLWcGb8TvCWTNTjoWOOOobUlev3kD6Jqw1MgTUG_q-rof3SH6FhDY33_M1GLfBDPtBUxhU47KFSYkGWkV93D5SP/s400/DSC02052.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">Or, was the artisan just practicing his scroll technique for the outside of the desk?</span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"><tbody></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK9zGb6Fx2310WwUCh4btXFrIfzXjY-VaPL0dv5NBVEQ5GiGGxvcMDw1q0tSoyhBOjtvEFwoENt5hUZcbGCDYVNjMGlOiPOUQufkNPnMAg2wTuARyNE043job2_ZRbR2xXBjvWmrscJGZC/s1600/DSC02033.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK9zGb6Fx2310WwUCh4btXFrIfzXjY-VaPL0dv5NBVEQ5GiGGxvcMDw1q0tSoyhBOjtvEFwoENt5hUZcbGCDYVNjMGlOiPOUQufkNPnMAg2wTuARyNE043job2_ZRbR2xXBjvWmrscJGZC/s400/DSC02033.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">There are flowers like these on the bottoms of two of the drawers where no one could even spy them, unless, like me, you're soaping the drawers. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUFH2Jfpl0Yfn5Uz4jFHFPg3qzwhnBI-_jDin8RnmfElPrEsnPI3JydpRD71Gl0T9smoOEqHa_eZF6A9sXIZqWooWbt0_UGcvr0M5-VKIrrJ8JsTEqT0yzDVlbhFgs5UY-baPAOrb7qWqZ/s1600/DSC02045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUFH2Jfpl0Yfn5Uz4jFHFPg3qzwhnBI-_jDin8RnmfElPrEsnPI3JydpRD71Gl0T9smoOEqHa_eZF6A9sXIZqWooWbt0_UGcvr0M5-VKIrrJ8JsTEqT0yzDVlbhFgs5UY-baPAOrb7qWqZ/s400/DSC02045.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">I found this label when I removed the bottom, right drawer. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"> According to the web, in 1875 the A. B. Chase Company began making organs and then pianos in Norwalk, a business which continued until 1930. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;">Is this desk made of piano parts? I wonder. </span></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Catherine Kaysehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02901093296849847226noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2570866455226493701.post-553490701444977532010-11-08T13:03:00.002-05:002010-11-08T13:06:39.333-05:00Book Review<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY6hvxwDEAglEWL9qKDqgkQ9x4jywNQKKLJhuCBvgEHBfvfX50X4ZFeB5cQq3zi2LzaOZScFBTTLdXRXBeinZUwTYbEFAGaUnUKEpFEP9gWjS4kn5gQitOmMPpT3iUPVhHjMShJ1z0fxCd/s1600/notlikeme200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY6hvxwDEAglEWL9qKDqgkQ9x4jywNQKKLJhuCBvgEHBfvfX50X4ZFeB5cQq3zi2LzaOZScFBTTLdXRXBeinZUwTYbEFAGaUnUKEpFEP9gWjS4kn5gQitOmMPpT3iUPVhHjMShJ1z0fxCd/s320/notlikeme200.jpg" width="207" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Not Like Me: A Field Guide for Influencing a Diverse World<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal">2010<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Formerly titled: <i>Peppermint-filled Piñatas <o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal">2006<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Eric Michael Bryant<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Zondervan*<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">$14.99<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://ericbryant.org/about-eric/">Eric Michael Bryant</a> is a leader at one of the most diverse church communities in America. This credential alone creates a platform from which he can teach others how to operate in a setting outside their own culture. Add to that the fact that he, a “bald white guy”, and his wife deliberately chose to live in a neighborhood in which their family could be the minority. It is evident that he likes challenging boundaries. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">His book <i>Not Like Me </i><span style="font-style: normal;">was released in 2006 as </span><i>Peppermint-filled Piñatas. </i><span style="font-style: normal;">The latter is a reference to a personal narrative in which Bryant wanted to fill the piñata for his son’s birthday party with cheap peppermint candies rather than spending more money on candy the neighborhood children would likely enjoy. His wife intervened before the party and filled the piñata with more popular candy. Bryant uses this story to create an analogy of what the church sometimes offers the world. “We offer peppermints, when the world wants Gobstoppers, Airheads, and Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. We offer something sweet to believe; they want a new life that helps change the world” (69). The new life he’s referring to is relationship with Christ. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Not Like Me</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> has a foreword by Erwin McManus and “Field Notes” at the end of each chapter written by authors like <a href="http://www.margaretfeinberg.com/index.php?option=com_wordpress&Itemid=5">Margaret Feinberg</a> and <a href="http://solarcrash.com/">Lon Wong</a>. The field notes provide varied perspective through additional personal narrative and application questions relating to the lesson in Bryant’s text. They serve to enrich the message, adding depth and leaving room for the reader’s personal application. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Bryant covers a great deal of important cultural ground, like seeing past stereotypes, living missionally, loving our neighbors, and separating politics from religion. Unfortunately, he has attempted to cover too much ground with not enough reference back to his thesis or the gospel. This is especially problematic for a book with a new title, and little contextual reference to it. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">While I’m sure a great deal of market research went into the full title before Zondervan spent money on a reprint, the subtitle, <i>A Field Guide for Influencing a Diverse World </i><span style="font-style: normal;">makes me uneasy. In particular, the word “influencing” teeters too closely to the realm of manipulation. Taken from the lexicon of modern American business, and certainly not found in the gospel, “influencing” implies superiority for the party of influencers. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="http://www.edstetzer.com/">Dr. Ed Stetzer</a> serves to steer away from the notion of influence in his contribution to the “Field Notes”. He says, “People are not projects…When Jesus saw Zacchaeus in the tree, he did not say, ‘Well, well, well, what have we here? A rebellious, God-hating tax collector!’ On the contrary, he invited himself to Zacchaeus’s house for dinner and a conversation. With Zacchaeus, Jesus was willing to push beyond the surface of obvious differences to his actual point of need” (206). Dr. Stetzer is careful with his illustration.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Bryant is less careful when he says this, “Sadly, when we push away those who have homosexual tendencies, we eliminate opportunities to show Christ’s love, much less to influence others” (196). The call to love our neighbors here fully reflects the gospel, however thinking we can influence people is arrogant and dangerous. It is our mission to love others, not to change their hearts—only the Holy Spirit can do that. Attempting to change others can either result in superficial change or fractured relationships. Only relationship with Christ saves and sanctifies. God’s word is clear: we are to love our neighbors, not make them notches on our Bible covers.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">While <i>Not Like Me</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> gives many examples of how we can love our neighbors and apply Christ’s teaching to our diverse world, Bryant needs to be careful with the language he chooses. People are not projects, conquests, or challenges. They are God’s children, just like us. We are wise to love them—all of them—and leave room for the Holy Spirit to influence. </span></div>Catherine Kaysehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02901093296849847226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2570866455226493701.post-52789472401607129142010-09-17T21:00:00.004-04:002011-03-30T21:06:41.468-04:00Book Review<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrc7AbsEb0TzmT_j-kE8nWWRodgxjIEkDdlUPR1ohbUu6iHYbJz5Ut4FQgWui6W9JwcoJeSBhdmOfZdTDvFiiwKdPShHeHx4pnXSqMG5VlhJkh0yWcxinE6WdDelattWjfMW-j53Uo_BSV/s1600/coffeshop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrc7AbsEb0TzmT_j-kE8nWWRodgxjIEkDdlUPR1ohbUu6iHYbJz5Ut4FQgWui6W9JwcoJeSBhdmOfZdTDvFiiwKdPShHeHx4pnXSqMG5VlhJkh0yWcxinE6WdDelattWjfMW-j53Uo_BSV/s320/coffeshop.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Coffee Shop Conversations: Making the Most of Spiritual Small Talk<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal">Dale Fincher & Jonalyn Fincher </div><div class="MsoNormal">Zondervan*</div><div class="MsoNormal">$14.99</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">2010 has been a big year for Dale and Jonalyn Fincher. They’ve given birth to a son, and just recently released their first collaborative book. <i>Coffee Shop Conversations: Making the Most of Spiritual Small Talk</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> serves as an instruction manual that incorporates Bible study and cultural analysis to encourage gentle and sincere evangelism. Peppered throughout are many of their own examples of conversations they’ve had with people they encounter—everyone from old friends to fellow airplane passengers. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Broken into well-organized sections, <i>Coffee Shop Conversations</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> is easy to read, and very informative. In the first of three sections, the authors gently remind us of the purpose of evangelism. “Talking about Jesus isn’t a contest. For years we thought sharing our faith meant saying the right things to get people saved. But whenever we treat our friends as problems to solve or objects to fix, we are not relating to them as people” (22). With humility as the foundation, the authors share a list of manners we should mind while evangelizing, as well as some sure-fire conversation stoppers to avoid. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In the second section, the authors dig into scripture and provide more examples of ways to engage others in dialogue about faith. They clarify definitions of words in the Christian lexicon that are commonly used but misinterpreted, like faith, love, sin, forgiveness, and glory. Knowing the intended meaning of these words in the context of the Bible can leave less room for miscommunication, and make more room for a clear picture of Christ’s role in our lives. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The third and final section addresses the red herring topics, like evolution, that sometimes serve to distract us from the big picture: sharing the gospel. “Sometimes we forget we’re inviting people to Jesus and not to our brand of Christianity” (162). Rather than following the red herring, the authors encourage us to bring the focus back to Christ’s love. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In the chapter titled, “Molehills That Are Mountains” the authors address some issues they observed to be driving people away from Christianity—issues most Christians aren’t paying enough attention to—like sexism, hypocrisy, and abuse of power in the church. Their friends have cited reasons in these categories as cause to reject Jesus and his followers. The authors like to think these people “have not rejected Jesus, but rather rejected a particular version of Christianity”. For this reason, they’ve “been studying how to talk about these topics in a helpful, biblical, loving manner” (174). </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Talking about faith can be uncomfortable, frustrating, and unnerving for people on both ends of the conversation. Dale and Jonalyn Fincher are thoughtful, sincere, and well researched in their approach. They say, “We want this book to serve not merely as a collection of apologetic tools, but as a road map guiding you toward freedom to be yourself as you talk about Jesus” (218). Take their advice into your next conversation with a loved one or complete stranger. Be winsome, gentle, accommodating, and understanding. Most importantly, be an example of someone who knows Christ. <o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">To hear the Dale and Jonalyn Fincher discuss <i>Coffee Shop Conversations</i><span style="font-style: normal;"> go to: <o:p></o:p></span></div><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 12pt;"><a href="http://www.soulation.org/media/CoffeeShopConversations-MoodyRadio.html">http://www.soulation.org/media/CoffeeShopConversations-MoodyRadio.html</a></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">*Review copy provided by publisher. </span>Catherine Kaysehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02901093296849847226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2570866455226493701.post-31530070357132401312010-09-12T20:12:00.003-04:002010-09-13T13:49:16.670-04:00In Memoriam: Anna M. Foltz<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEzS3UnreUmzAl8pDAnx0U8S4Mxr5tSgKkuPQuZ7E9zro3iUIoozUAMA1Vritknv9_GgLc9l2BKPbKOuecj07bRsn_2KQ5Yb5Quk3kKpYBqXwVi3uW2EsTQA9l7JsHQO4QW9IK3RgBmltQ/s1600/lillygrandpa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEzS3UnreUmzAl8pDAnx0U8S4Mxr5tSgKkuPQuZ7E9zro3iUIoozUAMA1Vritknv9_GgLc9l2BKPbKOuecj07bRsn_2KQ5Yb5Quk3kKpYBqXwVi3uW2EsTQA9l7JsHQO4QW9IK3RgBmltQ/s320/lillygrandpa.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span">On August 29 I lost my beloved Grandma. She was ill only for a brief time, and those who knew her will ache with loss for much longer. A queen of resourcefulness, a home-making genius, and the purest living example of Christ in my life, no short tribute can honor her enough. At the request of my family, here is the little piece I read at her memorial service: </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"></span></span><span style="font-size: small;">I’ve had a book on my nightstand for a while. It’s called <i>When the Game is Over it All Goes Back in the Box. </i></span><span style="font-size: small;">In this book the author equates life with a board game, explaining the “rules” in biblical terms. I’m sure many of you have played a game with my Grandma. She told me her mother taught her to play 500 bid at an early age because they needed a fourth person to play. Grandma looked for any opportunity to play a game of “hand and foot” or dominoes. If there was a lull in the conversation during a visit she’d say, “Want to play a game?” She was a good game player and a patient teacher, but by the terms in this book, she was an even better player of the game that really matters. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">The author’s main point here is to give less value to everything that is temporary: our possessions, money, resumes, youth, earthly bodies, securities, and other people’s opinions of us. And to live for all that is eternal: God, other people, our souls, and deeds of love. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">An Ethiopian man told the author, “In the West, you measure a man’s wealth by his possessions. In this country, we measure his wealth by his friends” (30). Well, I’ve looked through most of the binders in which Grandma complied her genealogy research, and I didn’t see any Ethiopian relatives, but I know that what she valued most were her family and friends. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">Clearly we aren’t the ones keeping score of this game, but I’m sure the One who is noticed how Grandma always put others first. God knows how much love we felt when we opened our mailboxes to find a hand-written note from her. He noticed the time she spent knitting gifts for us, for children in poverty, really for anyone who would like a pair of slippers or a sweater. I’m sure God noted the care she gave to her flowers, and how she welcomed people into her home for a delicious meal, always followed by dessert. Most importantly, I’m sure God noticed the sincere love that she poured into each act of service to us—the sort of love that can only flow so naturally from a person who knows Jesus. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">All of us are here to honor the relationship we shared with this amazing woman. No one will ever fill the void left in our hearts today, but we can honor her memory by being like her in little ways. So love people who might not be easy to love, make a gift for someone who isn’t expecting it, and welcome someone into your home for a meal—and remember to do it all with the heart of a servant. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;">Will you pray with me? <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Heavenly Father, <o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Thank you for this life you’ve blessed us with for this season. Thank you for the richness and love she brought into our midst. Send your Holy Spirit to comfort us as we grieve her loss. As we remember her, help us to be like her, loving one another, expecting nothing in return, and writing a real letter once in a while. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Amen</span><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>Catherine Kaysehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02901093296849847226noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2570866455226493701.post-50338452848449714372010-07-19T18:56:00.007-04:002010-09-13T13:50:26.926-04:00Wedding Craft<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; font-style: italic;"><span class="Apple-style-span">It seems as if a book reviewer has hijacked this blog! A cool opportunity with </span><span style="color: #0700f3; text-decoration: none;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><a href="http://www.zondervan.com/cultures/en-us/home.htm">Zondervan</a> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span">has turned into a bit of a preoccupation for me. But, in honor of our wedding anniversary, and to ease back into crafting mode, here are some reflections on the labor of creative love that went into our wedding last summer.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><i><br />
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</i></span></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0000ee; font-style: normal;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496548305415211954" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-SuwvFHEt-MWtMhB6HmXsWi9ihiIC1ULhIynEaHrQZJKP-Iw6gzPzxFm3jGpv7XW_QeZXq4UlAMaJ37nWolsj4eqakPEJctXO-foDixGxdLjK8XiYEyLTPDG3LF882Hy03a-qTXv15bcI/s320/5528_103604144711_684789711_2036835_6412307_n.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 320px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 213px;" /></span></i></span></div><div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Our culture is obsessed with weddings. We have wedding magazines, wedding websites, wedding coordinators, and reality shows about every aspect of event planning from dress shopping, to budgeting, to brides who pressure themselves into a level of insanity. All of this makes me wonder if anyone is even considering the outcome of a wedding: marriage.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">The goals for our wedding were to honor God’s sacrament of marriage, surround ourselves with our loved ones, and have money left for a down payment on a house. Here are some of the highlights:</span></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; font-style: italic;"><span style="font-family: Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;">Joe designed everything that could be printed:</span></span></span></span></div></div><div><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEas0hyphenhyphenuFJqlWUun04CITic4EANRfHVzKBQa9aZplWEf7qAyW3FJLREGTyhZtmfPg_SDNqqyYBR8DPSOUI-5LCps1A5PIy8CuO8vKyE_uULE5_ewyTfw0Jj23NkZJjt_Q2IJblRd9Q-qYb/s1600/IMG_0236.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495757778587295618" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEas0hyphenhyphenuFJqlWUun04CITic4EANRfHVzKBQa9aZplWEf7qAyW3FJLREGTyhZtmfPg_SDNqqyYBR8DPSOUI-5LCps1A5PIy8CuO8vKyE_uULE5_ewyTfw0Jj23NkZJjt_Q2IJblRd9Q-qYb/s320/IMG_0236.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 213px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Joe designed nontraditional guestbook pages. Our guests got creative</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">during the cocktail hour while we were outside for photos. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioEi0IUgf80t-sIyagz3NFuKVFCwjHGfzdgx1INXfQqywZPfxml-xRiAxr19tI1FBUaCnDHOVPOyMAsc6h4zcQh1JVH-QSJ_6fQkosMcqHLdp1W8tCXBksb2JAUAUH_G0AS4KWEPHwENII/s1600/IMG_0173.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495757757464638882" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioEi0IUgf80t-sIyagz3NFuKVFCwjHGfzdgx1INXfQqywZPfxml-xRiAxr19tI1FBUaCnDHOVPOyMAsc6h4zcQh1JVH-QSJ_6fQkosMcqHLdp1W8tCXBksb2JAUAUH_G0AS4KWEPHwENII/s320/IMG_0173.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 213px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">We printed table numbers and this sign for our sweetheart table, </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">punched the corners and slid them into corks. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgonC3FTlxl-AMJZR1tmmOZhWZoRncaD_BcoeTD9SLtqJYlw84daB6b5bCaC1C1xcfYZ4bTZsea-DoqucYBPogWnTY1mNSiyzT0lMwbquGE9Vz1IgYwLsDWKc5RtxwNfUY6CFodQ2WH9CTr/s1600/IMG_0031.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495757751426425122" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgonC3FTlxl-AMJZR1tmmOZhWZoRncaD_BcoeTD9SLtqJYlw84daB6b5bCaC1C1xcfYZ4bTZsea-DoqucYBPogWnTY1mNSiyzT0lMwbquGE9Vz1IgYwLsDWKc5RtxwNfUY6CFodQ2WH9CTr/s320/IMG_0031.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 213px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Our programs doubled as fans for the outdoor ceremony. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0000ee; font-size: small;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495764008540497090" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhJia7PfOzo5kz-vAvN91R1Pa-vlj52TqGmi_5CMxY5TigVS5bwE4bXz29noFAK9UuYPcj0qvUkUtOzYykgCd0Kg9efzAB-PFkdIZafDZdEvM0g7hEhpwBPLbmoBOSIXpa5mZTHPWo1aU-/s320/IMG_0010.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 213px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0000ee; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;">Before the ceremony, my bridesmaids helped tie little "thank yous" to </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0000ee; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"> miniature spruce trees for our guests</span>.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0000ee; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0000ee; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 16pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0000ee;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495764014605702322" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkvuhzYGBBHPCtL6WMvHkMe2dxHzbFCiRXytyl83XVAs7qNCjpfD7a3_QXgBSAouETDoXNR7iNFw4c72ZT5SUpKFJYH0rm0_Voxr2MoXx7ANDnZAAeApI5FAEqeCeJ9RF7pvcy3fZTXI9Q/s320/IMG_0117.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 320px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 176px;" /></span></span></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Our niece Ainsley carried scattered petals for us. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I found the pail at the $1 spot at Target, then trimmed it with lace and ribbon. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">This summer she's using it to carry her crayons.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0000ee; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0000ee;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495764031270031874" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq2A0x4ER6H-fzd4JXwTFf08ZLxZGHkATkaOdbtfT9vwCyM1cekT3PRrAmbGkTEeLYmie4vgpMSqP2cLuZtmsJ4e70IwUSR6Kxl_iZJ4ZcGvUN7j_GAX7v2yTsdMOna4xAc0cZ4hTxsQjG/s320/IMG_0169.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 213px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> Our nephew Caleb carried our wedding bands on a <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">perfectly-matched pillow. I found the fabric in the remnant section at </span><a href="http://www.voguefabricsstore.com/store/catalog/index.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Vogue</span></a></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0000ee;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495764023662644178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGJr8yH_tvarYWbCoWekNoxTGELn7Hp4VMOo9rnmC4IkFsRSDzI4kX4t76NM9MNhjxUMsYN5D53sXuZgWfEnSiQBZSggsD-1n8wYPYxufL-PVEFwcHNZipPUtIUfqdQyVu8OOd_okZOFzY/s320/IMG_0156.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 213px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">I arranged the flowers and bought handmade</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">bridesmaid jewelry from my friend's aunt. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496548300680449778" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd3lZMEBAZv8pCkWMYwAs82dCs2m7dsi2Nh8eGyO3e22a56TyoWr3mEUtyeuOXdZ2J7RFqDyELLSq7juXJqOlCZ8sWkp0BSttqBphHoyAFs2wL2StgOQfiPd-b4UpN_WE2PIlEhrj5mwFo/s320/IMG_0253.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 213px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">My college friend, <a href="http://junifoto.com/portfolio.html">Kristen Beck</a>, photographed our wedding.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">I love the treatment she used on this one of Caleb and me. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
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</span><br />
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</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0000ee; font-size: small;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495769436668831970" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih8z7ojzncLLwBhur5Mvwj_RV0sL8LM2aUWEAKBPZ7bO7YQ8h78FQ7qQ6L8qANI2EKehx1wfsmMElkpvGKjoFbx8yUZVo59uveLMH-xc4DEQMZfo1lR75r2WB11uOMUYysTGxDo6eE3NEa/s320/IMG_0068.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 213px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Because it's hard enough being a baby, the mini bridal party</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">wore neckties stitched to onesies. Sweet Carter is the model here.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0000ee; font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
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</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #0000ee; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5495769431684007778" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHGEBgWevZ_wNu0a3fpHsbk34woj_TWDk1XzjUgv2D8BTHmPsQIY2Q1VWTFhU3n2pv95Ug7F_Gi_cV0IRtDXp51MJ2bSvuLNNGwaQZ3YBSMMuPSVIxE1UWOBdBlMoe6viL28Zkne17c_NW/s320/IMG_0379.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 213px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Like most manly men, my husband isn't big on bling. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">His simple hammered band came from this </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black; font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/seababejewelry">etsy shop</a></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">One of the most carefully crafted aspects of our wedding was the reading. My dear friend Rose read <a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Psalm%20139&version=KJV">Psalm 139</a> Not a common wedding choice, this psalm spoke to us about the type of relationship we're to have with God before we can have a solid relationship with each other. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div>Catherine Kaysehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02901093296849847226noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2570866455226493701.post-62979553565550644152010-06-22T19:33:00.001-04:002010-09-12T19:04:34.230-04:00Book Review<link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CUser%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><o:smarttagtype name="country-region" namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags"></o:smarttagtype><o:smarttagtype name="place" namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags"></o:smarttagtype><style>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK3zGRTQUz79IaUx6o1B6p-kgvtsxS6XgH2nspk4gJ6uTgNQ6O0EplfI74UNHkjNMbJXvTehzDdy-rs7-uenCceDMTUKwRZiUjPZxMJa8VkxduM8lfFYRnERY6GHSTglm7D7xqv0Z3zcMx/s1600/ome.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK3zGRTQUz79IaUx6o1B6p-kgvtsxS6XgH2nspk4gJ6uTgNQ6O0EplfI74UNHkjNMbJXvTehzDdy-rs7-uenCceDMTUKwRZiUjPZxMJa8VkxduM8lfFYRnERY6GHSTglm7D7xqv0Z3zcMx/s320/ome.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>O Me of Little Faith: True Confessions of a Spiritual Weakling<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal">Jason Boyett</div><div class="MsoNormal">Zondervan* </div><div class="MsoNormal">$12.99</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">We all doubt. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Doubting God’s existence, sovereignty, and loving omniscience can be a pitfall to some degree or another for everyone who attempts to walk with Christ. Jason Boyett explores and explicates his journey of doubting, only punctuated with moments of fervent belief, in <i>O Me of Little Faith. </i>The latest book from the talented <a href="http://blog.beliefnet.com/omeoflittlefaith/">blogger</a> and former advertising copywriter, is insightful, well-researched and at times quite funny. Boyett has clearly done his scriptural, cultural and academic homework, and manages to blend humor into unexpected places—even the footnotes. Detailed narratives of the moments when he clearly experienced the presence of God are lovely, including a particularly enchanting moment in a garbage dump in <st1:country-region st="on"><st1:place st="on">Nicaragua</st1:place></st1:country-region>. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Boyett spends considerable time, as you could expect from the title, reflecting on his doubt in the context of a “less liturgical, more conservative, evangelical, megachurch <i>sub-</i>subculture.” He warns in the first chapter that this may not be a book for those with rock-solid faith. Sections of his meditation teeter, uncomfortably for this reader, on the verge on cynicism. Said to be written for a doubting audience, <i>O Me of Little Faith </i>may not even be for everyone in the doubting boat. Toward the end of the book Boyett states his fear that his work may steer others down the doubting road, but that is not his intent. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">As creative nonfiction goes, the author makes a place for the reader in his world. Boyett’s world seems to be a churning and swirling vortex of reading, thinking, analyzing, observing, sharing anecdotes, and cracking jokes. If that strikes your fancy, hold on, absorb the citations and enjoy the laughs. For me, it was slightly dizzying, but equally entertaining. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">In the second to last chapter, Faith with a Kung Fu Grip, Boyett cites <a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew+17&version=NIV">Matthew 17</a> for the second time and highlights the fact that even some of the disciples doubted when they saw the resurrected Christ. What follows is some of the strongest writing in the book:<i> <br />
</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i> <br />
</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"><i>Notice how Jesus responded to their doubt. He didn’t scold them. He didn’t whip <o:p></o:p>out a scroll of Daniel to walk them through Old Testament stuff about resurrection. He didn’t sigh dramatically and perform yet another miracle to display his spiritual clout. He didn’t remind them of his messianic credentials. He didn’t drop what he was doing to pray for them. He didn’t wave his tunic at them, Benny Hinn-style, to magically infuse them with the power of belief or deliver them from demonic influence. He didn’t bust out a PowerPoint presentation on the historical reliability of his death and resurrection, using tiny little crosses in place of bullet points. <br />
</i></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;"><br />
<i><o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Instead of any of Boyett’s hilarious hypothetical suggestions, Jesus gave the disciples the Great Commission. The balance of questioning, reason, humor, and appreciation for scripture Boyett displays in this section is brilliant and left me longing for consistency with this voice throughout <i>O Me of Little Faith.</i> Rather, Boyett’s style, perhaps a symptom of advertising and blog writing, is a little choppy and inconsistent. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Incidentally, Jason Boyett’s blog is really good. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">I recommend <i>O Me of Little Faith</i> to the critical reader, to those willing to turn a discerning eye on their own doubts and to those hoping to better understand their doubting friends. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">*<i>Review copy provided by publisher. <o:p></o:p></i></div>Catherine Kaysehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02901093296849847226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2570866455226493701.post-86487565613703395032010-05-28T13:05:00.002-04:002010-09-12T19:02:01.610-04:00A(nother) Book Review<link href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CUser%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml" rel="File-List"></link><o:smarttagtype name="place" namespaceuri="urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags"></o:smarttagtype><style>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMHGZwYRa2OJ3R7M6yKETEpGMvIUmhjPLlk5HZ2lR0ryNYWbDPCUwfbB16JZmhLOPbUP8A-ptw5Y_GfWCx0Cg7K6rmQuSTa7F6fT3hKWOhKdlg03I2zJndxeQbjTIwPDsp6KlV_CSygpwz/s1600/presentperfect.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMHGZwYRa2OJ3R7M6yKETEpGMvIUmhjPLlk5HZ2lR0ryNYWbDPCUwfbB16JZmhLOPbUP8A-ptw5Y_GfWCx0Cg7K6rmQuSTa7F6fT3hKWOhKdlg03I2zJndxeQbjTIwPDsp6KlV_CSygpwz/s320/presentperfect.jpg" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Present Perfect: Finding God in the Now<o:p></o:p></i></div><div class="MsoNormal">Gregory A. Boyd</div><div class="MsoNormal">Zondervan</div><div class="MsoNormal">$14.99</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In <i>Present Perfect: Finding God in the Now, </i>former atheist Gregory Boyd weaves together the meditations of Brother Lawrence, Jean Paul de Caussade, and Frank Laubach to encourage readers to wake up to the present reality of God. Boyd, a scholar with credentials from Yale and <st1:place st="on">Princeton</st1:place>, studied three theologians from three different periods and transposed their practices for application in our lives. The result seems radical to our contemporary, compartmentalized lives.</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">In this series of essays, Boyd challenges readers to be aware of God’s presence in each moment of our lives, posting reminders throughout the text. He effectively holds together abstract, counter-cultural, sometimes mind-blowing concepts with a concrete structure, and reminds readers to read slowly and prayerfully (25). Each chapter begins with an opening quote from Brother Lawrence, J.-P. de Caussade, or Laubach, followed by a poetic prayer by Boyd. He concludes each chapter with practical application exercise derived from his study. This structure helps to counter an obstacle Boyd foresees in practicing the presence of God in each moment. “Gathering new information is easy: translating it into transformation is the challenge” (25). Just as a weekly trip to church isn’t what makes us followers of Christ, the truth of the Bible remains mere information until the presence of the Holy Spirit convicts us and reshapes our hearts and our subsequent actions.</div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Until that transformation occurs, we compartmentalize God and persist as “functional atheists”. Boyd asserts, “We may still <i>believe </i>in God, of course, but he’s not <i>real</i> to us most of the time” (29). The only way for God to be real to us is to seek him in each moment. Because we can’t change the past and can only speculate about the future, all we have to offer God is the present moment. “The only thing that matters is that we—right now—cease our striving after false gods and become aware of God’s ever-present, perfect love” (54). </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">All Christians intellectually agree that Christ died for our sins, but only those seeking “Life” from God on a moment-by-moment basis can effectively fill themselves with his love and pass it on to others as we are commanded. To be awake to God in each moment is to die to ourselves continually. “Only now are we free to agree with God that every person we encounter, including our own worst enemies, was worth Christ dying for” (107). What an effective reminder of how radical authentic Christianity is! </div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p> </div><div class="MsoNormal">Boyd closes <i>Present Perfect </i>with a reminder of the big picture. “As much as possible, we are to manifest <i>now</i> what will be true for the whole creation in the <i>future</i>” (150). Our full, authentic belief in God can be displayed in our actions, in each moment. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p><i> <br />
</i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><i>Present Perfect</i> is inspiring, freeing and deeply convicting at the same time. Boyd effectively grounds his work in classic contemplative authors and scripture, while keeping his finger on the pulse of our modern culture. He employs challenging exercises to tie down abstract notions of a living, loving, ever-present God. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><i>Reviewer’s notes: I highly recommend this book! My delay in writing this review is a testimony to how challenging and convicting it is. Against the author’s advice, I read hurriedly and hungrily, leaving my review copy cluttered with notes. I’m sure I will use this book as a resource in the future. <o:p></o:p></i></div>Catherine Kaysehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02901093296849847226noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2570866455226493701.post-53112894194335887172010-04-21T05:03:00.001-04:002010-09-12T17:47:08.013-04:00Treasures on EarthA year ago I was an unmarried twenty-something living in <st1:place st="on"><st1:city st="on">Chicago</st1:city></st1:place> and working at a major university. I took hour-long lunches on the <st1:place st="on"><st1:placetype st="on">shore</st1:placetype> of <st1:placename st="on">Lake Michigan</st1:placename></st1:place> every day, made a decent salary, and worked with lovely people. Although that sounds like the finish line of a goal for most modern women my age, every calculated move I made was part of a strategic escape plan.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br />
</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">I was engaged, planning a wedding, then moving to <st1:state st="on"><st1:place st="on">Ohio</st1:place></st1:state> to be closer to family and to pump the brake on my frenetic pace. My then fiancé Joe and I were saving every penny for the wedding, the state-to-state move, and to buy our first home. We spent months praying and waiting to hear God’s will for our lives. I went without cable or internet in my apartment, traded my gym membership for pilates dvd’s, and fasted from restaurant dining. Somehow none of this was that much of a struggle since I was so excited about reaching our goals, and because I had so much more quiet time with God. This sort of simplicity in the sprawling, materialistic city felt nothing short of triumphant, as if I had conquered a beast. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br />
</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">No designer label could elevate me to this position. No fancy phone or gadget could make me feel like a part of this club. Material comfort items could never compare to a relationship with our God who comforts. </div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br />
</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">I thought my feeling of stability in this position of fulfillment would last. Joe and I thought that a move to <st1:state st="on">Ohio</st1:state> would mean a simpler life, respite from the hyper consumerism of <st1:city st="on"><st1:place st="on">Chicago</st1:place></st1:city>. How wrong we were! Perhaps we let our guard down, but how could we be prepared for this? After all, we moved to the suburbs, not an idyllic Amish community. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br />
</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">Now our nearest grocery store is one of those mega-supermarkets—on my way in to pick up bread and milk, I pass armchairs, craft supplies, and everything in between. Convenience and mass production abound, and credit card offers are all too common. It seems like everyone around me has an expensive hair style, trendy clothes, and a Vera Bradley bag. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br />
</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">When I feel my resolve wavering I look to scripture like this passage from Matthew 6:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br />
</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in; text-indent: 3pt;"><sup>19</sup>Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. <sup>20</sup>But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. <sup>21</sup>For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br />
</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">I recognize my tendency to seek comfort from small purchases like magazines, beauty products, and decorations for our house. Then I pour more of my heart into my relationship with God and remind myself that impulse items provide only fleeting satisfaction. Yet, the lure of “stuff” persists.</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">When I fail to draw the application from scripture to practice, I look to my grandmother. She’s lived a life of simplicity, stewardship and patience. Have you ever heard of testing your attitude by slipping your name in place of the word “love” in 1 Corinthians 13:4-7? My grandmother is the only person I know who passes.</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 0.5in;">Grandma is patient, Grandma is kind. She does not envy, she does not boast, she is not proud. She is not rude, she is not self-seeking, she is not easily angered, she keeps no record of wrongs. <sup> </sup>She does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. She always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br />
</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m so lucky to know someone like her who has lived simply, partly out of necessity, but always gracefully. You can imagine my surprise last weekend when my sweet, eighty-four-year-old grandma looked at my sister’s designer bag, pointed and said excitedly, “Is that a Vera?” </div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br />
</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">Et tu, Grandma? Not only had she correctly identified the designer, but she also referred to her on a first-name basis as if they were old gal pals. Apparently Grandma’s appreciation for designer quilted bags developed earlier that week when she received a catalog in the mail. My uncle offered to buy one for her, but she insisted that they were too expensive. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br />
</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">It’s funny to lump my precious grandma in with the masses of culture that rely on “stuff” to elevate status. It makes me check my attitude on this issue: am I a little too gratified in my abstinence? Maybe people just like certain things because they are handy products, or useful, or pretty. In my grandma’s case, I think she probably just appreciates the look and function of the quilted bags.</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal">I am learning that simplicity is a delicate balancing act—like most aspects of Christian life. A holier-than-thou attitude about simplicity is just as sinful as a life consumed by consuming. My revised resolve looks more like this: I will continue to resist clever advertising while I pray for sincerity in my endeavors. I will seek comfort and fullness only from my Creator, and be a wise steward of the resources He provides. And I’ll probably buy a lovely quilted bag for my grandma this Mother’s Day. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></div>Catherine Kaysehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02901093296849847226noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2570866455226493701.post-48323721508787752342010-04-12T10:12:00.001-04:002010-09-18T09:32:26.923-04:00"Good news, Pepper died!""Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: rejoice. Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Jesus Christ." Philippians 4:4-7 (NIV)<br />
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Lisa, my husband’s younger sister, has Autism. Experts say if you have known one person with Autism, you’ve known <i>one </i>person with Autism. Classified as a “spectrum disorder”, the symptoms vary widely, and each individual case comes with a multitude of obstacles to overcome. Put very simply, my sister-in-law’s brain is wired differently than most other’s when it comes to verbal communication.<br />
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Doctors told her parents when she was very young that she would never speak, but they were wrong. She loves to talk, but long sentences are a chore and sometimes she doesn’t find the right word for the right emotion. So when we went to visit my in-laws one weekend shortly after the death of a family friend’s dog, Lisa blurted out to us, “Good news: Pepper died!”<br />
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My mother-in-law gently corrected her, “No sweetie, that’s not good news”. It seemed to us that Lisa was confusing her excited emotion for seeing us with the thing that had been weighing on her heart. She loved Pepper, loves all dogs for that matter, and was consumed by the loss.<br />
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Months afterward, I kept thinking about that phrase for some reason. During a bit of a dry spell after moving from Chicago to Columbus, filled with employment rejection for me, homesickness for my husband, and a less than abundant bank account for both of us, we decided that we just needed something to pick us up. We joked that “most of our good news has been more like, ‘Good news: Pepper died!’”. On our way to church one Sunday I used the tired, sarcastic joke one last time.<br />
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God must have anticipated my unflattering show of self-pity as He worked with our pastor on that Sunday’s message where he referred to the Gospel repeatedly as—you guessed it—“The Good News”. The best news there could be, really!<br />
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How foolish the Gospel makes my ego look. Decorating a home is inconsequential. My career goals are unimportant when I’m truly living to serve God. How easily I lose sight of what this life is really about.<br />
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At the moment of the ego-check I recalled hearing the story of Horatio Spafford’s hymn “It is Well” too many times to count during the past few months. For those of you who don’t know the story, here is a video: <br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; white-space: pre;"><object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/T8_EfDqF7YI&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/T8_EfDqF7YI&hl=en_US&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
Did I mention that one of my goals has been to become a better listener to God? Sometimes He speaks, and speaks, and speaks before I understand how His word applies to my life—and my bad attitude. <i>Oh, thank you, God for your patience.</i><br />
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It is so easy to allow ourselves to be swept into the current of cultural expectations and the subsequent feelings of failure when we don’t measure up. (Hint: in a consumerist culture, we will never measure up. We will never be fulfilled.) The more I think of the world as a spiritual place, the easier it becomes to measure success.<br />
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When we get to heaven and all of our ailments fall away I wonder if Lisa will explain that she meant to say, “Pepper died, but it is well with my soul.” </div>Catherine Kaysehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02901093296849847226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2570866455226493701.post-65875085034733297332010-02-21T20:04:00.003-05:002010-09-12T20:35:24.047-04:00A Book Review<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo3uDocUKQ-jeEPJsj6qslaMseXv12FkgxEHQF808DzF85lbJ5eRxWqQs4eBMhau9ijkDGT9mygLStuC4Q9xtnaPSeixza3F2FfoH_RxSE39FGr8Bj2Fl5plLWpIfqqbO9f75W1vdONUTU/s1600/Thin_Places_copy_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo3uDocUKQ-jeEPJsj6qslaMseXv12FkgxEHQF808DzF85lbJ5eRxWqQs4eBMhau9ijkDGT9mygLStuC4Q9xtnaPSeixza3F2FfoH_RxSE39FGr8Bj2Fl5plLWpIfqqbO9f75W1vdONUTU/s320/Thin_Places_copy_2.jpg" /></a></div><em>Thin Places</em><br />
Mary DeMuth<br />
Zondervan $14.99<br />
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Mary DeMuth’s memoir <em>Thin Places</em>, released February 1, will break your heart then mend it better than it was before. As gritty and painful as it is inspiring, <em>Thin Places</em> is the story of DeMuth’s traumatic childhood and rich spiritual journey into adulthood. The details of her abuse, neglect and eventual redemption seem to unravel naturally, yet this is the work of a truly gifted storyteller.<br />
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DeMuth gives order to her helter-skelter upbringing by anchoring scenes in the moments when she came closest to God: thin places. According to the author, thin places are “snatches of time, moments really, when we sense God intersecting our world in tangible, unmistakable ways.” A little girl alone in a world of divorced and drug-addicted parents, a careless babysitter, and sexually abusive neighborhood boys, Mary DeMuth triumphs because of the still small voice she encountered in even the darkest moments.<br />
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True to her storytelling nature, DeMuth builds an artful and detailed narrative, and delivers the kind of startling honesty many of us aren’t brave enough to offer ourselves. The Christian answer to essayist Annie Dillard, DeMuth’s recollection of her past is grounded yet ethereal, orderly yet poetic.<br />
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Unlike most essayists, DeMuth’s memoir is absent of self-pity or narcissism. In a self-indicting tone, the author continually asks, “Does the world revolve around me, or do I think it should? Am I a person of sacrifice or selfishness?” (104). This practice serves her writing well by creating a humble voice and welcome space for her reader.<br />
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Contrary to self-indulgence, the author labors through her own pain with the aim of encouraging others who feel alone. In the press leading to the release of <em>Thin Places</em>, DeMuth made her intentions for this cathartic work clear. “It’s my sincere hope that my story will stay with readers, not because of its sordidness, but because the Light of Jesus has shined so brightly upon it.”<br />
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About her memoir, DeMuth said, “I’ve sensed God’s hands on this book from the moment I started writing it.” Clearly He carried her to this place of understanding. <em>Thin Places</em> is a shining example of God’s unfathomable, illogical, and unfailing love, and how He communicates to the least of these through the most unlikely circumstances.Catherine Kaysehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02901093296849847226noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2570866455226493701.post-4278724521633338162010-01-29T12:21:00.000-05:002010-02-22T06:31:30.124-05:00Inaugural Blogural: Defining Ragamuffin Scrap Craft<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf59lVvS6rQq_biW92w_U8L7GXPvQzhZ01X8dISiM61wlBongn6OE9-jiRSXfgG52dvEXnLCgt8RvnrqfoAGCGZQfoGpUFjF0YZJtEnBOdkMV5c_XjeACCCGX-gXP0G92i3SKDWY6ajQxL/s1600-h/me+4.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432216320538422946" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf59lVvS6rQq_biW92w_U8L7GXPvQzhZ01X8dISiM61wlBongn6OE9-jiRSXfgG52dvEXnLCgt8RvnrqfoAGCGZQfoGpUFjF0YZJtEnBOdkMV5c_XjeACCCGX-gXP0G92i3SKDWY6ajQxL/s320/me+4.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><div><strong>Ragamuffin<br /></strong><br />Once when I was four my mother called me a ragamuffin. Using my limited context, I tried to make sense of the word.<br /><br />Grover on Sesame Street taught me to take words apart when I didn’t know what they meant. The “rag” part of the new title conjured images of the shirt scraps my mother squirted with lemon Pledge to dust the furniture. The “muffin” part made me think of Strawberry Shortcake’s muffin-shaped hat. A ragamuffin then must smell delicious—like lemons and strawberries. What an honor!<br /><br />Now I realize she was lovingly teasing my unkempt appearance. Hand-me-down play clothes and a terrible haircut were of no consequence to this contented child. My mother gave me the choice for my thick, coarse hair: engage in battle each day with my mangled mane—combs with bent teeth and bottles of ‘No More Tangles’ as our weapons. Or, simply cut it off. Preferring playtime to torture, I chose the latter. Between the ages of four and seven, I sported several terrible short hair styles, quite contentedly at that.<br /><br />In college I encountered the word ragamuffin again, this time in my Medieval English Literature class. Rather than relying on my Sesame Street etymology practices, I employed foot notes and the Oxford English Dictionary Online to understand words not already part of my vocabulary. (Medieval English required more looking up than actual reading.) In <em>Piers Plowman</em>, the ragamuffin was the demon character. Oh, crushing blow! Surely, my mother meant the less severe definition for me.<br /><br />I’m somewhere on the spectrum of ragamuffinness, with God’s help, constantly striving for the charming, child-like end.<br /><br /><strong>Scrap Craft</strong><br /></div><br /><div>This definition comes more easily—I will lift it from one of my favorite new books. In <em>Garden Anywhere</em>, Alys Fowler calls scrap craft “when you reuse or recycle unwanted items into something useful” (9). Fowler, a gardener and writer, adopted the practice of scrap craft as a means of protest against mass manufacturing, and a way to save money. It didn’t take long for her to feel the intrinsic reward of making something lovely and useful from trash.<br /><br />In my upbringing Scrap Craft was called resourcefulness. The Green movement and the current state of the economy could be catalysts for a Scrap Craft movement, but my grandparents have always lived this way: the vegetable peels are saved for garden compost, the Ziploc bags are rinsed and hung on the clothesline to be reused, junk lumber is made into an end table.<br /><br />The Bible would call this “Stewardship”, a wise use of resources. After all, none of this—not even a Ziploc bag—is ours. We should make good use of what God gives us. Our Creator Himself is the Master Scrap Crafter, taking the brokenness that we are, and making something lovely of it when we allow ourselves to be scooped from the dumpster that is this fallen world.<br /><br /><strong>Ragamuffin Scrap Craft</strong><br /><br />One of the most difficult aspects of authentic Christianity is admitting our brokenness, recognizing the fact that without a loving Creator to change us, we are worthless. Without that admission, there is no need for God, no need for the crucifixion and resurrection of Christ.<br /><br />Wherever you find yourself on the spectrum of ragamuffinness—more like a playful urchin or an utter demon—I hope my writing draws you nearer to the authentic love of God and his never-ceasing desire to use us in His beauty. Even broken, even used, even with bad haircuts.<br /><br /><em>Heavenly Father,<br /><br />Bless my writing so that it may draw others to your freeing Truth and renewing love. Give me understanding of Your works that I may share with others. Help me to be courageous in writing what are normally only my inner thoughts or conversations I have with my husband.<br /><br />In my vanity make me like my four-year-old self.<br />In my dealings with others, make me like your Son.<br /><br />Amen. </em></div>Catherine Kaysehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02901093296849847226noreply@blogger.com1