tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21875550350881527912024-03-12T22:10:23.084-05:00Inside Bell's BrainMy mission statement: Be original. Be authentic. Be fearless. Be divergent.Erika Turnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339520374520282937noreply@blogger.comBlogger120125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187555035088152791.post-86061275017813502312021-06-27T08:00:00.011-05:002021-06-27T08:00:00.215-05:00Wives of the Bible: Priscilla<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXoAes_B2btOFmpa-djKyvQ6bKYRS_k-tKkkwVSj-LADkmjpysgTq7J1KtVMSWc-zeJWKqx7MoxLiHm680R8jXZLt8KA9h8n9Q9hq4FN4Mb3eYzR3oTV-p2l9BqeZYI88YtovGjbLakxU/s2048/IMG_1758.PNG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXoAes_B2btOFmpa-djKyvQ6bKYRS_k-tKkkwVSj-LADkmjpysgTq7J1KtVMSWc-zeJWKqx7MoxLiHm680R8jXZLt8KA9h8n9Q9hq4FN4Mb3eYzR3oTV-p2l9BqeZYI88YtovGjbLakxU/w400-h400/IMG_1758.PNG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It's been almost an entire year (woah!) since I wrote another post in my Wives of the Bible series. I've been studying Gomer in Hosea off and on for a while, but I recently felt a strong connection to the Biblical accounts of Priscilla and her husband Aquila. Just a short while back, my husband and I had what I think was our first "Aquila & Priscilla" moment of our marriage. Of course, we enjoyed our time spent on the mission trip to Jamaica the first year we were married, but our roles there were different, so we didn't get to teach in tandem. I worked with the children's classes and personal Bible studies, and his strong & handsome self worked on the construction team. :) So my heart sort of fluttered inside when we recently had our first moment to teach and evangelize together... because I still remember the days I prayed for and longed for a Christian husband by my side. Ironically enough, I had just been studying Priscilla in preparation for this post shortly before the opportunity, and I couldn't help but be thankful such a time presented itself. God's timing is beautiful. </div><br /><p></p><p>Here are some ideas that we can learn from studying about Priscilla (and Aquila): </p><p>💜According to Acts 18:2, <b>we learn that Aquila and Priscilla dealt with difficulties in their marriage</b>. It states that the couple had relocated to Corinth because of persecution in Italy. We don't have extensive details, but we can draw some logical conclusions. Persecution -- by definition -- is painful, tragic, and difficult. It can be trying to the strongest of individuals, couples, and families. Together, they faced the storms before them and made the -- what had to be difficult -- decision to move. Whether she was active in the decision making process or whether she merely supported her husband in his leadership, they traveled TOGETHER to escape the persecution and build a new life together in a new place. <i>Do I support my husband when times are tough? Am I easy to lead? Do I make it easy for him to come to me if he is facing temptation or persecution? Am I his biggest fan? </i></p><p>💜Further reading in Acts 18 teaches us that Paul stayed with the couple because <b>they shared the same secular profession as Paul: tent making</b>. They were hardworking and industrious together. Their profession even provided this opportunity to connect with someone influential, which led to furthering the gospel. <i>Am I ambitious with my husband? Do we work well on projects together? Do I look for every opportunity with him to advance the gospel? </i> </p><p>💜<b>They hosted Paul in their home for a LONG time. </b> This speaks to their hospitality and "team spirit." To me... it also speaks to their bravery because if I'm honest, even though Paul was demonstrating his changed heart to all those who listened, I can't assertively say that I wouldn't still be scared or skeptical of him! Yet they opened their home to him, and no doubt they were blessed for such hospitality and generosity. <i>Do I open my home to other Christians? Or even to others who I may hastily judge? Do I join my husband in wanting to make my (our) home a hospitable and inviting place for others?</i> </p><p>💜Around Acts 18:18, we read about Paul's departure for Antioch. <b>It appears that the couple traveled with him on this journey. They uprooted once more -- together -- for the advancement of the gospel. </b> Wherever her husband was, she was there. And I don't mean this in the creepy stalker way... you know what I mean. <i>In a world that calls good evil and evil good, in a world that calls mutual respect and submission "being whipped", am I right by my husband's side to serve at all times? </i><i>Wherever my husband goes, can I be found nearby? </i><i>Am I willing to break worldly ties and go anywhere in the world with my husband to advance God's message? </i> </p><p>💜In verses 24-28, we read about the couple engaging in an intimate study with a man named Apollos. <b>The couple was ready to teach together. They were eager to correct -- gently and in agape love -- the misunderstandings of another. </b> They were discreet in how they handled this study too: the Greek words for "took him aside" in verse 26 can mean "to take by the hand to lead; to receive into one's home with kindness; to take into friendship". They were AWARE of the opportunity when it presented itself, they didn't ignore it thinking "someone else will deal with this", and they didn't publicly humiliate the man but rather gently corrected him and "explained to him the way of God more accurately". No doubt they were putting time spent with Paul to good use here... could you imagine what all they probably learned from him by hosting Paul in their home? <i>Am I ready to teach others with my husband? Am I studying to be ready for such an occasion? Am I gentle or overbearing in how I try to lead others to Christ?</i> </p><p>💜In Romans 16:3-4, <b>they are referred to as "helpers in Christ with Paul."</b> They apparently had risked their own well being for Paul's protection and for the advancement of the gospel. <i>Am I a "helper in Christ" with my husband? Do we have such a reputation together? How can I build upon that reputation? </i></p><p>May God grant us many more opportunities to be more Christlike in our days on this earth and may He give us opportunities and bravery to cultivate the attributes of this couple and lead others to the Way. </p>Erika Turnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339520374520282937noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187555035088152791.post-7378190506946108502021-06-25T16:16:00.003-05:002021-06-25T16:21:29.526-05:00A Flower in God's Garden<p>Never have I ever... had a green thumb. Year after year I've tried to cultivate the habits and attributes of a good gardener. But the truth is that I'm an imposter. I use an app to tell me when to water my plants, I have no idea what the ideal growing conditions are for most of my flowers, and at the end of most summers, there are more dead plants than live ones. </p><p>But I have come to realize how much I enjoy it. The older I get, the more I want to appreciate the beauty and variety of flowers and the more I want to put in the effort required to grow something with my own two hands. A few weeks back, my mom told me that's a pretty common theme as we grow older... the need and desire to care for something beyond oneself... especially something in nature.</p><p>I think my husband brings that side out in me too because I've long been a "city girl." But at least I take my head out of a book long enough to enjoy fresh air these days. </p><p>The truth is that we were charged to be caretakers of nature from the beginning (Gen. 2:15), so it shouldn't be any surprise to find that desire awakening in me. This summer, the more I've cared for my flowers and plants (especially since my accident), the more I have come to realize some pretty powerful truths about humanity -- especially womanhood -- through my observations of these little treasures. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTrHnYMe9KBEkKwOuByE1JdhadUbjMjjr8iHeedLyVoKApW2nNg5Alj9p1GtZL9b_U7TjSoXlUS6iybeQ7JPJudhQFPkzq-Cgy8rdG1e5rdHwcBc3u8x11csJEahFWsBuG0EfAdZOrVJo/s2048/IMG_6218-%2528W%2529.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTrHnYMe9KBEkKwOuByE1JdhadUbjMjjr8iHeedLyVoKApW2nNg5Alj9p1GtZL9b_U7TjSoXlUS6iybeQ7JPJudhQFPkzq-Cgy8rdG1e5rdHwcBc3u8x11csJEahFWsBuG0EfAdZOrVJo/w300-h400/IMG_6218-%2528W%2529.HEIC" width="300" /></a></div><p><b><i><span style="font-size: medium;">First, God used a LOT of metaphors and parables about plant growth and cultivation to teach us about our walk as Christians</span></i></b> (think: the parable of the sowers, faith as a mustard seed, and planting and sowing of the gospel message). Even the very beauty of plants and flowers is a nod to intelligent design and a reminder of His love in creating and designing us (Gen. 2:9). </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiPCczf0i5DrBFD7xcrhMNaouR-6ZEL4NAaFi8-WdTRhl4H6HNWMhbezaJh2zosGz6S0zxWQ-lqk-mrp6NXuDJoVCNnMbnJ5jHZPLA27RYI92G84O2qkC2WRZ6sQkxCot7K0UZcL3zSTI/s2048/IMG_6219-%2528W%2529.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiPCczf0i5DrBFD7xcrhMNaouR-6ZEL4NAaFi8-WdTRhl4H6HNWMhbezaJh2zosGz6S0zxWQ-lqk-mrp6NXuDJoVCNnMbnJ5jHZPLA27RYI92G84O2qkC2WRZ6sQkxCot7K0UZcL3zSTI/w300-h400/IMG_6219-%2528W%2529.HEIC" width="300" /></a></div><p><b><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Second, each plant and flower has a specific set of needs and conditions under which it reaches its maximum potential. </span></i></b>Humans are no different. In the right set of circumstances, we bloom and thrive. In the wrong set of circumstances, we are stifled and even die. Change the conditions, and you could change the outcome for the plant (or human). Sometimes its environment has to be "tweaked" to discover a plant's optimum conditions, and sometimes those discovered "tweaks" might not even align with the instructions on the special little card that arrives with each plant. (This actually reminds me of teaching because we have to see the same parallels with our students... each one's unique personality and exposure to environmental factors feed into his or her growth.) What is helpful for one plant may be hurtful to another; neither plants nor humans are "one solution fits all." You have to be an <u>active</u> observer and participant in the lives of both plants and humans if you're going to make a difference.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE4SfrfEu05f40xmN1df83WHHByRqhHJT1cZqtDiIwz7OCravlvMI9Qljnaaf6vhL8-QWSfTOzHjl4jy7Pp5ngebHKKbnuNCnTslrdWoG03FMKOk2euKQsbQ0Vm1O1uKBGXpPt97QB7qA/s2048/IMG_6604-%2528W%2529.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE4SfrfEu05f40xmN1df83WHHByRqhHJT1cZqtDiIwz7OCravlvMI9Qljnaaf6vhL8-QWSfTOzHjl4jy7Pp5ngebHKKbnuNCnTslrdWoG03FMKOk2euKQsbQ0Vm1O1uKBGXpPt97QB7qA/w300-h400/IMG_6604-%2528W%2529.HEIC" width="300" /></a></div><p><b><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Thirdly, each plant or flower serves a different purpose. </span></i></b>Some bring us joy and gratitude from their beauty, some are meant for food consumption, some have medicinal values, and still others keep away pests. If you expect, for example, medicinal value from a plant purely meant for beauty, you're going to be sadly mistaken. (This isn't a strict metaphor to say that some people only have aesthetic value, but you get the point, I hope...) We cannot bind "reasonable expectations" for one upon another because they are each here to serve different purposes. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0axQPWi-w91HKX4HbZoqmE8YsDKEow59ZcfXI8omjxo3by2hz6AasLB_-Em0pyeqjh48pVxdziTU8hI4qNNUBZ2K6A9wpcvp36o0YLmYgcdEoLafZga3AmTXIY-98pKrHTaAtWIfVRqc/s2048/IMG_6607-%2528W%2529.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0axQPWi-w91HKX4HbZoqmE8YsDKEow59ZcfXI8omjxo3by2hz6AasLB_-Em0pyeqjh48pVxdziTU8hI4qNNUBZ2K6A9wpcvp36o0YLmYgcdEoLafZga3AmTXIY-98pKrHTaAtWIfVRqc/w300-h400/IMG_6607-%2528W%2529.HEIC" width="300" /></a></div><p><b><i><span style="font-size: medium;">And lastly, and perhaps most importantly to me right now, each plant has a unique timeframe for growth and maturity. </span></i></b>As a woman, I struggle with envy. It is so hard for me to appreciate the successes of other women without somehow criticizing myself in the process. I worry that I don't measure up because my "progress" or my "end goal" looks nothing like that of the woman next to me. I have a hard time extending myself grace for the journey. But growth isn't linear, and everyone's growth is different. Some plants shoot up tall quickly and "stall out". Some plants grow deep roots, but their visible growth seems quite shallow. Some plants grow slowly and steadily. Some plants may seem to be dead, but with a little pruning and extra attention, they can bounce back fuller than ever. (After the events of the last couple years, I'd personally like to think I'm this last flower, and I'm just waiting for that re-blooming season!) But you cannot CANNOT CANNOT! compare one flower's growth to another's. Who are we to really say that one's growth is "better" than another's? Aren't the two merely different? So are we. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6qMrKnt646eGwlfLbHjVBzpAhvILqG_9pCgAUACJb5-CnYqz9_5mwyp9BZejwdo_Tmn68zoG8SFKV5irHJXpYtDKQan4SCkMYPZqMFrQruJaGyuX2Nl_MtlCLwHZWmThvspklxHatXXE/s2048/IMG_6609-%2528W%2529.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6qMrKnt646eGwlfLbHjVBzpAhvILqG_9pCgAUACJb5-CnYqz9_5mwyp9BZejwdo_Tmn68zoG8SFKV5irHJXpYtDKQan4SCkMYPZqMFrQruJaGyuX2Nl_MtlCLwHZWmThvspklxHatXXE/w300-h400/IMG_6609-%2528W%2529.HEIC" width="300" /></a></div><p>So I'm leaving this post with a few more pictures of my beautiful flowers, and an INTENTIONAL post of a photo I'm struggling with. I don't like where I am in the journey right now, but I'm challenging myself to be <u>intentionally</u> uncomfortable in an effort to grow. I am not particularly proud of my physical appearance right now, but the picture represents an afternoon enjoyed with good friends, good food, and good flowers at Bennett Farms. It's a reminder of getting out and living my life after my accident and of making memories with the husband I love so much. I'm sharing it as a reminder of that last point... this just happens to be where I am in the journey... on this particular day, but thankfully... just like my flowers... my growth is unique, and <b><i>it isn't finished yet</i></b>! But because I'm a flower in God's garden, I am confident He isn't finished tending to my growth and that He's still pruning me where He sees fit. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYnPYRXvz8rQ7sqF3gIEpT3B6VWvwZrm43LsTVEuQ-LEl4L6vDwQ-q0GvSaDDvdvl6_8EL8_Z8WYcFVif3KIZww0xELpawVjcokfF0fekWidqwRDYq_aTjrXi7rvvssDpIatXZsR-owdg/s2048/IMG_5706-%2528W%2529.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYnPYRXvz8rQ7sqF3gIEpT3B6VWvwZrm43LsTVEuQ-LEl4L6vDwQ-q0GvSaDDvdvl6_8EL8_Z8WYcFVif3KIZww0xELpawVjcokfF0fekWidqwRDYq_aTjrXi7rvvssDpIatXZsR-owdg/w300-h400/IMG_5706-%2528W%2529.HEIC" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO5F6i4SZrUS4i_VX9x57iADdn9xgChyphenhyphenTKeLAcNUydGSNL1ejAyBypTjQpDQUwChXBs4BPGEbQWFHTsAmgUBW2-pz-FpZ2CklokzUUfMcRuoeERlCGQqHmfFMmxRAfYPlczDcciPQKA4Y/s2048/IMG_6217-%2528W%2529.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO5F6i4SZrUS4i_VX9x57iADdn9xgChyphenhyphenTKeLAcNUydGSNL1ejAyBypTjQpDQUwChXBs4BPGEbQWFHTsAmgUBW2-pz-FpZ2CklokzUUfMcRuoeERlCGQqHmfFMmxRAfYPlczDcciPQKA4Y/w400-h300/IMG_6217-%2528W%2529.HEIC" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxcR2J8PgeC_kxMAgLCRYwleORWR6Z-JmKveRVVTniwa6wd_CCTmVGxlmbsiovtrSWhC7EWRP4xbPo9JkXoXdoZJPqy7gZEV3p5RDnTimW7re6DqS_e-O5qIvcS0uAxq8h9q1V476H5S4/s2048/IMG_6601-%2528W%2529.HEIC" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxcR2J8PgeC_kxMAgLCRYwleORWR6Z-JmKveRVVTniwa6wd_CCTmVGxlmbsiovtrSWhC7EWRP4xbPo9JkXoXdoZJPqy7gZEV3p5RDnTimW7re6DqS_e-O5qIvcS0uAxq8h9q1V476H5S4/w300-h400/IMG_6601-%2528W%2529.HEIC" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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text-align: center;"><br /></div>Erika Turnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339520374520282937noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187555035088152791.post-5814758164226357322021-05-22T18:27:00.007-05:002021-05-22T18:28:56.952-05:00Idle Hands<div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>One of the most difficult “longer term” things about being incapacitated at this time of the year has been not being able to fully enjoy this opportune time to dive into fixer upper projects. I am a sucker for crafty stuff and every spring/summer I like to busy myself with these little projects and spruce up the deck, porch, and occasionally even the inside of the house too. </div><div><br /></div><div>But since recovering, I mostly just sit. I’ve been so frustrated depending on everyone else for my care and not being able to do anything I deemed “productive”. Probably in the last two weeks or so, I’ve gotten back to walking for short bursts, especially if my back isn’t bothering me. I have also gotten comfortable enough that I can sit at the computer for a while or do a little craft if I already have all the materials at waist height. So the other day I had all I could take of feeling helpless and hopeless and wanted to busy my chubby little fingers. So I had my husband organize my materials for me on tables so they were within my reach so I could work on something, even if it wasn’t my best work. </div><div><br /></div><h4 style="text-align: left;">First project: The Dresser</h4><div><br /></div><div>The hubs has this compulsion... I mean habit... of picking up things on the side of the road, so he asked me if I wanted this junk thing. He saw it on his route and knew I had been wanting a dresser of sorts to put flowers and stuff in on the front porch. Honestly, he found it when I was still woozy with pain killers, so I just told him to bring it home rather than put up the fight lol. But I’m glad I did now because it turned out to be the cutest little addition to our front porch. </div><div><br /></div><div>Here’s the picture he originally sent. Definitely in need of TLC. But one man’s trash is another man’s treasure. </div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_d5a6_3ec1_2c0e_5094" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/ZyH1tCTHfzkkRnnKMqkYOC6J0sg2s8LGRqECx_4rKC2nwIdKLgXuXhfrYW5pUpdtgl4" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></div><br />He set up the piece and the materials I would need on tables and wooden spools on the back deck so I didn’t hurt myself trying to bend. (Incidentally, we really don’t realize how much we engage our core muscles trying to do every day tasks and how long that core takes to heal after something like what happened to me.)<div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_c6a_af02_ecea_3a37" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/63kVgkKRD4xiEFlnlYWq-WFdH33yheYvS4orjJ5Lhs9KjX2Ct1ft4ilOlbVm4Uziy6c" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_1a88_48f3_6e1_af13" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/LulXW9zr1iccsj3AwjnILSyPN61h--MEb17Z0wUxkvYkU0drFC7nTMO74rsVuf4AIu0" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></div><br />I decided to go with gray chalk paint, primarily because I had it and I couldn’t make a decision about a blue/turquoise color. </div><div><br /> <div><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_e3ec_be63_3ed9_d8ec" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/0RnZ2SFSPW_4AKbbA_Y1GKqD_sP3x7sY9BUWc5w7h1ypmW2Le9piHKhrSxgdmJirk_g" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></div><br />I used the antiquing glaze once the gray chalk paint was dry to give the piece back it’s weathered look. This was just the start, so it’s easy to compare the two finishes, and I’m glad I went with the glaze. It would have been too “plain” without that extra little boost of character. </div><div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_e39f_f3ed_8ab3_df2f" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/yqaHJxtpWgBO_g9uo4TcblfIwQyqJy0d1EVEqrlvRfV5ZRubr-JdhlfbEkQR6ZZ-GYA" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_5e97_862e_c541_334e" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/ApvK8JoewD0dAtCmVLJyCUpNrfCkgHdBJ6d8sahifV2n75ilzuHEqzDX1mRyCC6WB88" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></div><br />I waited for my delivery of the cutest little knobs and some yellow chalk paint to finish up the drawers. As soon as I saw these knobs, I knew these were the ones I had to have. Unfortunately, two of them kind of broke so I’ve gorilla glued them back together. They’re continuing to set as we speak and I hope they can be salvaged. </div><div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_913e_8404_11f5_fc63" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/WtaPC-kQw9k3pqE6aTMMV_8dem09-TwAK8f2tTD0rhgjeDMqvbvYdabbGeVmaIzPjI0" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_4e6d_6bc0_2c06_7202" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/KW3Qjas4J_WODEK4GgZ-GyCJd-X36UAQeXRD_X1QL-PwFe5d4tkhXrYDy3n2_ytN6k4" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_3844_7dc9_cc82_10e7" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/X_XHWurrPh-xdBtXJ31UfCGbDH-fpztnardSN96Et_YxmyDOBnDPwAmctUdFPy8BkFg" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></div><br />So we added the piece to our front porch and turned one of the drawers into a little snack keeper for our delivery personnel. Some drivers who leave our boxes on the front porch never realize they can get some snacks and drinks if they would just come to the carport! So we hopefully solved that problem. I also plan to get some seasonal artificial flowers to make arrangements so I have something ready to decorate for each seasonal change of the porch. I’m also pretty stoked about how our new address block turned out though I failed to take the step by step pics of it. And I can’t be more excited about my new Est.1776 pillow cover I bought to go with my other Americana pillows. They go perfectly together!</div><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" height="480" id="id_59d2_b823_dd0_d429" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/FW7z5rh4EY3v6tL-bVLZlx43VTOG0T2t_Ls2n-GdRWpITYZz7VwmGPTRD7C61aEOkaw=w640-h480" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" width="640" /></div><br /><h4 style="text-align: left;">Second project: The American Flag Porch Leaner</h4></div><div><br /></div><div>I didn’t get pictures of the initial work my hubs did, but he used some scrap wood to fashion a porch leaner for me. We “mathed” for quite a while to figure out the best way to go about handling the stripes. With the help of some painter’s tape, 2 measuring tapes, and some other triangle-y tool I don’t know the name of, we were able to get it pretty even! I was pleased at least. </div><div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_84a2_a94f_ef97_8a4d" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/YDwzdhvDYAa8OobBNgIX_1H965X6Y3SK-cCaiT0zCm-tPBog1aMo_0FNRSvLGrWfbMg" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_8c3c_c2b0_8aac_978e" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/xz3p59F2wjDIn2JE_-SXQ_THZ33HPtnTlJRmcZrtaDJRfwbQP8sdm2ciugE3M4w2eRE" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_54a2_814e_39f1_45a" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/Mb2z6nxr65LnCp2Nfb8jHe_anTVbMeT73lABiherNg_w3Cp64p5hAZYvfIfMqSll3kQ" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></div><br />I thought it might be neat to use something to break up the contrast between the blue and the stripes, so I remembered some leftover ribbon I had from working on a baby door hanger for one of my friends. I crafted the bow after looking up some tutorials on Pinterest, and I tied some twine around the boards, added the bow, and **dreamy**! </div><div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_20e0_2b0a_17ed_7ffc" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/nvcaFYmNn-EWx_A8tidHNWodREgiVxhZSV3znVUxDmENFCqH9fwOp9qHN24qTk9cUP8" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></div><br />This picture is just an interlude haha. Between paint retouches, I enjoyed sitting on the back porch under the shade sail my husband put up for us. </div><div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_10f0_92f3_78f4_bbdd" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/vJ5ifC2_HLIfvdsQcnpR8z3RkvR3xN34iLPiIKrzRzu3QVCZC8vK9fKAdYEwFI-Izh8" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></div><br />Now all I have to add are my stars, and as I write this, they should be delivered tomorrow. So with a little paint and hot glue, the leaner should be complete and ready to introduce to the world on our front porch. </div><div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_a12a_5bff_f09d_48a4" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/ylayhUuhsSpTmTZhIs26bL41DKvIUDCfH7MXSJeTb0TIvBsUi-hxl7bmZQsOd4oeeU8" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /></div><br />And now... the finished product! </div></div><div><br /></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipwsbvtEMTVefJUdpRtTtRpDd5WutzqbeUhWcl_zwmtMjjmf4QQp7icWih4A3-XnqBk9RtFjtuauqkZKLfLsYNV-Irydg7uNva8BpKksXlKsDkXPqnOVckQhHzidjV7UU0elJT_qA_6G0/s2048/ECC352F4-AACC-472B-BE0F-370898392F65.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipwsbvtEMTVefJUdpRtTtRpDd5WutzqbeUhWcl_zwmtMjjmf4QQp7icWih4A3-XnqBk9RtFjtuauqkZKLfLsYNV-Irydg7uNva8BpKksXlKsDkXPqnOVckQhHzidjV7UU0elJT_qA_6G0/w480-h640/ECC352F4-AACC-472B-BE0F-370898392F65.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Erika Turnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339520374520282937noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187555035088152791.post-7793841030289178952021-05-13T23:35:00.000-05:002021-05-13T23:35:21.695-05:0035 and alive<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWUClss8E2Q6-OpvDHOyKdv8kmHtHj4_qkYlxkPbpyRPnjoBPFeqJuQd_cNwABVc_5-dL3wr3wCC4eUWveTEitpSOKGMe4XlrbPtdUWcTfZsq2TLh3Gqa1-cS6PorNMOOSChgUdqAwaq4/s2048/F1A7482F-04AB-4F6B-824B-E7CE3A7377AE.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWUClss8E2Q6-OpvDHOyKdv8kmHtHj4_qkYlxkPbpyRPnjoBPFeqJuQd_cNwABVc_5-dL3wr3wCC4eUWveTEitpSOKGMe4XlrbPtdUWcTfZsq2TLh3Gqa1-cS6PorNMOOSChgUdqAwaq4/w400-h225/F1A7482F-04AB-4F6B-824B-E7CE3A7377AE.png" width="400" /></a></div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px;"><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px;"><br /></span></p>I saw something the other week while scrolling Facebook, and I can’t even remember what it was now... but I immediately realized that I needed to record a list of all the things I’ve missed and/or want to do when my recovery is complete. Celebrating my milestone 35th birthday in the hospital was NOT anywhere on my lifetime bucket list, but it has reminded me that things could have turned out way differently for me. And that I want to live the second half of my life much differently than the first. Some of these things are one time deals, some are just things I’ve missed, and some I may spend the rest of my life cultivating. But I want to do that with intention now. And I want it transparent so that my friends and loved ones can enjoy the journey with me or can at least cheer me on from the sidelines!</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px;"> </span><p></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><ol class="ol1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Take a ridiculously long shower... by myself</span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Sleep in the same bed as my husband, especially without this tube coming out of my back </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Go on the anniversary trips/vacations we had to cancel</span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Take our dogs for walks at the lake </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Get my weight under control</span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Stop speaking negatively about my body </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Master my trauma responses without them mastering me </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Go hiking on Saturday mornings with my husband </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Practice POUND, yoga, and Zumba again </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Teach POUND again</span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Water and care for my own flowers </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Eat at the Cheesecake Factory</span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Sit and talk in the coffee shop</span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Attend a concert with my husband </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Host a game night or cookout at our house </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Be intentional about service opportunities for others in need (like I was) </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Run in another 5K (especially a color run) </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Train to run in a 5K so I can get my stamina back up after all this </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Go to the beach </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Enjoy a very long massage (I’m talking like 90 minute or 2 hours)</span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Learn how to put on false eyelashes </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Enjoy another Braves baseball game at Suntrust Park</span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Go on a train ride</span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Pick strawberries at Bennett Farms (or somewhere else)</span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Go back to an Alabama football game</span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Go back to watch a movie at the drive in, maybe even Quiet Place 2</span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Play putt putt with my husband </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Swing on a swing set and a porch swing </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Pick pumpkins at the pumpkin patch</span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Stroll the botanical gardens </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Get frozen yogurt on a hot summer day, even if it’s only at Sam’s food court </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Enjoy a snowbiz by the lake and ballparks back home </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Do one of those dates where you randomly pick things around the superstore </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Go kayaking again (I may regret this one) </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Smash things in a rage room (I hear there’s one in Huntsville) </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Learn to throw axes or at least try it one time</span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Enjoy date night at TopGolf again </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Take a ballroom or salsa dancing class with the hubs </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Lift 15s easily again </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Get my hair styled, make up professionally done, wear a fancy dress, and go out somewhere nice </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Go back to where my husband proposed and hear him tell me about that day</span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">See a Broadway show (even if it’s local)</span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Practice shooting again with a gun that makes me feel comfortable and confident </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Get my nails done on the regular again </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Worship on Sunday mornings again beside my husband </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Attend a marriage retreat with my husband </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Visit the Beltline in Atlanta </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Eat donuts at Five Daughters Bakery </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Take my husband to the Georgia Aquarium and World of Coke</span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Go to Homestead Hollow and finally get a chocolate covered apple again</span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Go antiquing (preferably with my husband) </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Build Christmas projects with my man</span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Put up the tree together {early this year!}</span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Try Cookie Magic for the first time </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Eat pizza, pretzels, and froyo on a date to Sam’s </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Take a kickboxing class</span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Use some really good self tanner to look all summery </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Plant a raised bed garden </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Leave random anonymous gifts for people just to brighten their day</span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Give blood</span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Take my husband to his first ever hockey game </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Go to Calloway Gardens</span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">See a hot air balloon race/festival</span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Solve a murder mystery box </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Sip Sonic drinks at the top of Mountain Street again on a Sunday afternoon</span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Eat Bubbarito’s </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Have a fire in the backyard </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Watch the fireworks in the back of my husband’s pickup truck </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Get sushi and spill the tea with my crew </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Have a romantic picnic </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Enjoy a hot bubble bath or a hot tub when I get this tube out of my back </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Go to a craft show with mom</span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Take my nephew to McDonald’s to get a Happy Meal</span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Take a road trip to visit my best friend </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Plant wildflowers on the front bank</span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Repaint the kitchen table from where my nail polish remover ate the paint off the table and other little household projects </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Remodel the laundry room</span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Tackle trivia night at Mellow Mushroom</span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Visit new waterfalls </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Watch the new Fast & Furious installment with mom </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Lose enough weight to feel comfortable and confident returning to a theme park... preferably the Wizarding World of Harry Potter </span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Play Bingo at Struts with mom</span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Renew my National Boards (eek!)</span></li><li class="li1" style="font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Throw a pizza party for my students for all the things they’ve been thru since the pandemic </span></li></ol><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">I’m sure I can keep adding to this list, and I may do it just to keep it going and to keep it all in one place. I wanted to reach 35 things (for turning 35), and then 50, and then 75... and now I want 100 things on the list! <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Wouldn’t that be something? <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>But I’m stuck now, and it’s late as I’m writing this. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>And it’s probably good for my perfectionist and compulsive nature to intentionally stop on a non-multiple of zero or five. (If you know, you know...) </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Truly I guess it doesn’t matter how many things are on the list or how many things I accomplish off the list, as long as I <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>remember how blessed I am to keep working on the list... BECAUSE I’M STILL ALIVE. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">And I guess after all I’ve been through lately, 35 is a great year to be alive. </span></p>Erika Turnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339520374520282937noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187555035088152791.post-17663513347578871792021-05-06T23:28:00.001-05:002021-05-06T23:28:26.490-05:00Finding Your True Tribe<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjPcFgb-nGSCev4RvNQlwrFfsU9MGT2vkHJ2x-_wKgEP4lIsBCqArWRTYODdC4Pko_9Q7CCQ3B8rPRiAf9kpGMYmh8quGnZDlsdylSItzLZwR7tq_wd8vQrutBPk5yfeFiYssRF80t9-M/s2048/512705D0-DEAA-476F-9526-6F1BB85FC8E8.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjPcFgb-nGSCev4RvNQlwrFfsU9MGT2vkHJ2x-_wKgEP4lIsBCqArWRTYODdC4Pko_9Q7CCQ3B8rPRiAf9kpGMYmh8quGnZDlsdylSItzLZwR7tq_wd8vQrutBPk5yfeFiYssRF80t9-M/w400-h400/512705D0-DEAA-476F-9526-6F1BB85FC8E8.png" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">One thing about medical trauma and/or prolonged illness is that you learn who your true tribe is. I suppose the same should be true for other tragedies in life (though for some reason, mental health issues still seem to scare most people away from helping and nurturing at all). </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">But it’s true. In any and all of those situations above, you learn quickly who you can depend on. You learn quickly who comes to your rescue in your time of fear and desperation. You see it in text messages and phone calls. You see it in dinners cooked and gift cards offered. You see it in baths given and rear ends wiped. You see it in tears dried and prayers offered. In visits, errands, deliveries, surprises... an endless list of acts of service. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">But the 80/20 rule pervades even that. It’s true in life that 80 percent of the work is done by 20 percent of the people. And it’s also true, 80 percent of the things that need to be done in a situation such as this are done by a mere 20 percent of the people you know (if even that many, to be honest). Sometimes it will surprise you who reaches out to you. And sometimes you’re equally surprised at the people who didn’t or don’t. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">You learn who you can count on. You learn who has your back. You learn who’s not afraid to get their hands dirty. You learn who cares about your mental well-being. You learn who would truly miss you if something worse had happened to you. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">It’s a double edged sword though because it’s easy to become bitter about the people who don’t reach out. It’s hard to remember that they need grace too. Or maybe you just aren’t their favorite person, and that’s okay too. It’s just essential to remember not to let that bitterness or disappointment dictate who you become on the other side of the struggle. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">I will always remember those who reached out to me, or those who in some way attempted to bless my family during this burden. My challenge now as I heal is to remember to BE one of those people in my future. To seek opportunities to serve others in the midst of their trials. To remember to be part of the 20 percent. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">I hate that I’ve been through this. I hate what it’s done to me personally and to my physical and mental health. I hate what it’s done to my husband. I hate what it’s done to my mother. I hate what it’s done to my extended family, even our fur-babies. But the worst thing of all would be if I let that hate and anger consume me to the point that it overshadows my compassion. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">I realize how blessed I am to be this far in the healing process. I don’t want to forget from where I’ve come. But it would all be in vain if I don’t learn the importance of Christian servanthood as a result. You THINK you understand until it’s you or your family in the fire. Now I see my responsibility more clearly. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">So thank you to my tribe. And thank you to those not in my tribe. I’m choosing to learn beautiful lessons from this nightmare, and I pray I carry those lessons with me all through this next half of my life, Lord willing. </span></p>Erika Turnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339520374520282937noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187555035088152791.post-88700757234737711582021-04-22T18:52:00.003-05:002021-04-22T18:52:40.069-05:00Giving Glory in the Valley<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdH_C2yvG5Ie5twOWeKeBrjWtQK71VKscQbVTRm5SgA3GspMhrFc04zh5d37bjiIG6k9_Bs_hKkC-NCfa8AwcZGAujAkZRODkB3hZmqtBk9xNkhBLM4_xfMFsNDzqPJ6RNjI4QKN4QREM/s2048/9D41D69D-579C-4BA2-A36D-E8F12F96B3AF.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdH_C2yvG5Ie5twOWeKeBrjWtQK71VKscQbVTRm5SgA3GspMhrFc04zh5d37bjiIG6k9_Bs_hKkC-NCfa8AwcZGAujAkZRODkB3hZmqtBk9xNkhBLM4_xfMFsNDzqPJ6RNjI4QKN4QREM/w400-h400/9D41D69D-579C-4BA2-A36D-E8F12F96B3AF.png" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">I had a conversation with someone a good while back in which we were celebrating someone else’s victory. The person we were discussing had recently received what appeared to be answered prayers! <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>My friend was so proud of and inspired by this person’s journey and how all this person has been through was always used to glorify God. We discussed how this person never lost faith and gave God glory throughout the entire ordeal. I thought a lot about that. About how publicly, this person has done and said all the right things. That’s genuinely admirable and certainly a trait to cultivate. I do not think for one second that this friend meant anything toward me by the statement - that wasn’t the purpose of the comment at all - , but as an introspective person, I was quickly convicted that the same compliment probably wasn’t being said about me somewhere. Instead, I have publicly and transparently struggled throughout my nervous breakdown, and now I am struggling through this new physical and mental terrain. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">So the question came to my mind: are only those who never struggle with their faith publicly the only ones we can call “good Christians”? Are they the only ones worthy of praise for how they handled their “valley”? </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">When I thought about Bible accounts in which I knew real people, real believers had struggled - even wrestled - with their faith and doubts and unbelief, several came to my mind: Naomi in the loss of her husband and sons (Ruth 1:20-21) and Elijah (1 Kings 19) would be two of the first that popped in my mind. A quick search on the Internet, and I was dumbfounded about so many others I had overlooked. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Peter. You see, I really like Peter. Mostly because I’m a Peter. I identify with him so frequently because I say whatever comes in my mind and then think on it (i.e. apologize for it) later. Yet he became one of the most compelling orators in New Testament history. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Thomas. Literally nicknamed “the doubting apostle.” But Jesus was still tender with him as he admitted his lack of faith. And he got to touch the resurrected Savior! </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Mary and Martha. I see every woman, everywhere inside the reactions of these women. “If only you’d been here...” they fire at Jesus after the death of their brother. In the pain of their trauma they lash out at their very Creator, the Lord of all. And they experienced perhaps the most encouraging and glorifying miracle of all: the raising of Lazarus from the dead. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Let’s be real though. I have doubted and lashed out too. A lot. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Public displays of obedience and faith are wonderful. They do bring glory to God and can inspire others to renew their faith and zeal during trials too. But praise God that I wasn’t made to be perfect all the time because perhaps I have lived the exact opposite of that kind of a praiseworthy attitude. Does that make me lesser? <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Does it make my Christianity in vain? <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Does it mean I still won’t experience God’s greatness and fullness and blessings in spite of and on the other side of my trial?</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">NO. A resounding no. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">I know that conversation was never meant to make me question my faith and my public display of it. But as a reflective person, that’s where my mind went. It’s made me challenge what I share on social media - particularly during this latest trial of my surgery - to make sure I’m still “fighting the good fight” to the eyes of those around me. Though I still want others to see authenticity in the fight. (Hence this post, really.) </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">But... an honest moment? Behind closed doors, late at night, I’ve cried huge, angry tears that this has happened to me. I’ve screamed ugly screams and said horrible things in my desperation to be through this trial. I have tried to remain positive, but I’ve crumbled under the pressure and length of this burden many, many nights. The tides of depression threaten to drown me again, and it feels like no one... absolutely no one... has a life buoy for me. I know that’s neither logical nor factual, yet still the doubts and fears swallow me whole and war against the logical places of my mind. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">There is irony though... for my friends in a season of depression (or even those as far as experiencing their own trauma response or nervous breakdown), I’ve learned those “social media” cries for soothing a weary soul yield little response from people. At best, they produce superficial comments from people who don’t know what to say... at worst, no one says anything, but they keep scrolling. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">My point is that we cannot all be “Daniels” all the time (Daniel 3:18). Whether you are public or private, transparent or hidden, the pain is still the same. And whether you share it and bare it to the world or you keep it completely covered, it does NOT make you a worse Christian. It does NOT mean you will not rise up to glorify God again. It only means that you are human. And delicate. Fragile. Hurting. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Just like Peter. Just like Thomas. Just like Mary and Martha. Just like many others before us. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">You are human. I am human too. And that is okay. </span></p>Erika Turnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339520374520282937noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187555035088152791.post-50485402566604302782021-04-21T18:48:00.005-05:002021-04-21T18:50:43.220-05:00Walk This Way?<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNs3WHzTPIrOL8KyWr2F3jPyjiSUnQsLaA722KzNVuUmeKLwxfRArOYHu6agP05Y6aj9-aXM3QoplENJKRTH5c0X87j2L-rcqDuM2jlV309s_0QxJdoqctsa1pR3E4_X_wjHYNTJiNudE/s2048/332601F7-0AB4-437B-BE8E-071B66837B34.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNs3WHzTPIrOL8KyWr2F3jPyjiSUnQsLaA722KzNVuUmeKLwxfRArOYHu6agP05Y6aj9-aXM3QoplENJKRTH5c0X87j2L-rcqDuM2jlV309s_0QxJdoqctsa1pR3E4_X_wjHYNTJiNudE/w400-h400/332601F7-0AB4-437B-BE8E-071B66837B34.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px;">I am exceptionally grateful to have gotten a good report today. I pray I am on the mend to a full and complete recovery, but there are so many things about this experience that I never want to forget. One of those things happened today before I ever got in the doctor’s office.</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px;"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">We arrived at the clinic, and the parking garage was an absolute nightmare. They have a designated drop-off spot for patients, but it was very confusing, so we just proceeded to the first available spot on the next level up. My husband carried all our accoutrements with us, so all I had to transport was myself and my walker (including all my pee bag tubes). </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">My walker. At 35. This has given me a glimpse into what it is like to need adaptive technologies. It has shown me what our elderly must go through daily, and I don’t ever want to forget that. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">My husband tried to slow his long-legged pace and still stay far enough ahead of me to open doors and not let elevators close up before I could inch my way there. But as we approached the entrance (where you have to be screened), an older man carrying a paper with the details of his appointment cut me off (quite closely, I might add) and headed toward the table of temperature-takers. The attendant stopped him and told him that he’d gotten out of line and tried to show him that we were next. He stopped, looked quizzically at the attendant, and said, “I didn’t see them. I’m sorry... can I go now?” I sort of nodded to the attendant to acknowledge that I knew he tried, and it wasn’t his fault. This man hurriedly stepped up to the table declaring his appointment was in just a few minutes. (We were already late to mine because of my temporary mobility issues.) But I will extend this man some grace here. Who knows what results he was awaiting and whether or not he was as scared as I was? <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I understand that anxiety and worry can “blind” someone to what others see as obvious. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">So we “passed inspection” with the temperature-takers and walked toward the elevators to get to the designated floor. There must’ve been a dozen or a couple dozen people there, but it seemed like so many more. With about three or four elevators on each side of a little foyer, we kept waiting for our turn. The “doorman” only allowed 4 people per elevator, but there were 2 of us so we had to wait until there was availability for us both. We must’ve been there for over 5 minutes waiting because each time we thought we were going, someone else cut around us at a dizzying pace. Person after person had to have seen us there and scattered around us to secure their spot on the next “ride”. Were they all blinded too? </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">My heart sank, and I absolutely teared up. I became frustrated because we were late to my appointment. I felt invisible. I felt like I couldn’t move fast enough for everyone around me. I felt insignificant. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">It made me stop and question how we treat our elderly. We are so hurried that we skirt past their walkers and wheelchairs. We hope to “beat them there” because we know they’re moving slowly. We dismiss them as insignificant or confuse them, bypassing with such a daredevil pace. Today reminded me that I never want to make someone feel the way I felt today. It wasn’t my fault I couldn’t move fast enough, yet I couldn’t get where I needed to go without someone making a bit of a sacrifice to wait his or her turn. May I never again be so self-involved that I cannot hold the door for someone, secure the elevator for them, or even give up my place in line for another’s comfort or respect. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">We love the “new and exciting” as a society and are quick to discard anything that no longer shines and shimmers as it once did. Does the way in which we conduct ourselves communicate to the elderly or immobile that they aren’t worthy of “being kept or treasured” either? <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I see a light - albeit a small one - at the end of my tunnel, but for some others... walkers, wheelchairs, canes, etc. are a permanent way of life. And that could be me or my husband one day. I pray I mark today down as another lesson learned in this experience and carry it forward with me, always remembering to offer the respect that others deserve and to never be in such a hurry nor so “blind” that I can’t simply wait my turn. </span></p>Erika Turnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339520374520282937noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187555035088152791.post-87873837423224253672021-04-14T22:34:00.003-05:002021-04-14T22:34:13.561-05:00Reality<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL0LvVSyWPH2Gqj7czC-dKGp-4I4azNOP1GOZYwx6xa0ulGrKjnIO2Ef14DLd86GsepE24E01V32lz9t7pa2E-BWt_JGVMQ31ZWTq7MFeuN5LPfjJDnjKbzSeGsfPXDbqXb2UVwCjxgog/s2048/FF47CDCB-6BD0-4C2A-AF99-BB847D44F5BB.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL0LvVSyWPH2Gqj7czC-dKGp-4I4azNOP1GOZYwx6xa0ulGrKjnIO2Ef14DLd86GsepE24E01V32lz9t7pa2E-BWt_JGVMQ31ZWTq7MFeuN5LPfjJDnjKbzSeGsfPXDbqXb2UVwCjxgog/w300-h400/FF47CDCB-6BD0-4C2A-AF99-BB847D44F5BB.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><p><br /></p><p>I could sugar coat it. I could “doctor” the images and go on and on about how fabulous my husband is for helping create this little garden nook for me. I could position the lens so you can’t see all the “extra” stuff, but that’s not my reality. </p><p><br /></p><p>My reality? 52 abdominal staples. A walker (see featured photo). A nephrostomy tube running out of my left kidney through my back. A catheter that hangs from said walker just to give it that extra glamorous touch. A stint that’s supporting my bladder while it fashions a brand new ureter for me out of my existing tissues. Hospital gowns. </p><p><br /></p><p>My reality? Friends tell me it’s more intensive than their C-sections, and from what I understand it was/is. I could’ve lost my kidney completely. I almost went septic in the hosptial. </p><p><br /></p><p>My reality? Today is the first day of no pain medicine (not no pain, but no pain meds) and even remotely being able to do anything for myself. I still cannot enjoy the basic pleasures of showering and going to the bathroom, of making my own meal or picking up something I dropped in the floor. </p><p><br /></p><p>I could put forth those beautifully positioned images that hide my reality (including said walker), but those images wouldn’t be my reality. They wouldn’t be the truth about what I’ve been through... what we’ve been through... since this nightmare began. </p><p><br /></p><p>Social media tempts everyone to share only their highlight reels. I’ve never ever wanted to be *that* woman, but I know I’ve also swung too far to the other side at times and shared too much, been too transparent. (It’s certainly hard to find the right balance.) ...but doctored photos, partial stories, and peeks into a highlight reel are not anyone’s reality. And they’re not who I want to be. </p><p><br /></p><p>But that doesn’t mean my reality hasn’t been worth anything without the perfect pics and accompanying narrative. Oh, it’s truly been a nightmare! But even that’s not the full picture of my reality...</p><p><br /></p><p>My reality? I didn’t die. I could’ve. I might’ve. I certainly wanted to. But I didn’t. </p><p><br /></p><p>My reality? A group of family (and friends as tight as family) who dropped everything to offer the support I needed to heal. From literally bathing and wiping me, to dog-sitting, to cleaning, to taking over my work load at school... no task has gone undone. </p><p><br /></p><p>My reality? Christian brothers and sisters who’ve prayed HARD for me, cooked for us, and sent spontaneous gifts. </p><p><br /></p><p>My reality? Yep... I’m going there... the aforementioned fabulous husband who has helped create and tend to my little garden nook so I have a retreat when indoors is just too much for me during these long days. (And this just among the many other less glamorous tasks he’s been charged with during all this.)</p><p><br /></p><p>See, the *whole* picture isn’t perfect. It isn’t just the flowers and furniture. It isn’t just a freshly mown lawn and birds chirping. The whole picture includes the walker right now. It includes the tubes and bags right now. And I’m not going to share any less than my whole picture. </p><p><br /></p><p>And when this shows up in my memories years down the road, I want to remember this time that has made me bitter, better, and stronger. I want to remember the whole thing: the feelings, doubts, insecurities, praises, and blessings. The scare and the triumph, and how you’ve been there for every second. </p><p><br /></p><p>And if God sees fit for us to grow old together - and I pray He does - then maybe years down the road, we can take a new “reality” picture... another undoctored photo where both our walkers sit side by side on a deck at whichever abode we call home. One where your wrinkled hand still holds mine. One where we are still doing the “in sickness and health, for better or worse” thing. One that shows *our* reality, no matter how perfect or imperfect it may be. ❤️</p>Erika Turnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339520374520282937noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187555035088152791.post-56096286562815341312021-03-06T13:02:00.000-06:002021-03-06T13:02:03.230-06:00What I Didn't Know I Should Pray For... <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifITV2HhysP8yDptVDdS0FwYxjUuo4kQxJy1Cfmxs491tBD6vwlEsEtAGZ9AiCSXy89VHGCQaR5JcL6cKG9KXdqA99u8cQioZh6kSpeZDng_yHD79TQO1mA89Cfm1n-3U4euxA4K0yoV8/s2048/48215A16-F103-4940-9A42-2BE5499DE69D.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifITV2HhysP8yDptVDdS0FwYxjUuo4kQxJy1Cfmxs491tBD6vwlEsEtAGZ9AiCSXy89VHGCQaR5JcL6cKG9KXdqA99u8cQioZh6kSpeZDng_yHD79TQO1mA89Cfm1n-3U4euxA4K0yoV8/w640-h480/48215A16-F103-4940-9A42-2BE5499DE69D.png" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>Earlier this week, an acquaintance posted a provoking quote on Facebook that I'd never considered. It resonated with me so much. It hit on those memories of praying for so many years for a godly husband with whom to share my life. But it also made me realize that there were SO many things I didn't even pray for during that time. Because I just didn't even know I needed to! </p><p>Obviously, marriage is hard. Transforming two souls into one flesh is beautiful, but at times it's raw and painful too. I think it's harder the longer you wait, the older you are too... primarily because independence (read: stubbornness) and autonomy have to give way to mutual submission as brother and sister in Christ. </p><p>I distinctly remember the night (or really early A.M.) of January 13, 2018. I had been to a hockey game with one of my gal pals, and we'd had such an amazing night! I knew my *date* was the next day after morning worship service, and I was nervous! I had been on a couple casual dates since my divorce, but I had not been in a relationship since that one that broke me so badly. A decade of singleness... in other words, a really long time to become even more stubborn, aggressive, and anxious about the whole dating process and men in general. But when I returned home in the wee hours of that morning, I remember sitting down to talk to God about the next day. I "wrote" (i.e. typed) out the things on my mind and prayed to God about this man I was about to meet. (If you know our story, you know I had actually already met him, but we didn't remember each other.) I prayed for so many things that night. And I had been praying for God's man for me for that decade. But looking back, I didn't even know the half of what I would have been wise to pray for. </p><p>Prayer is no doubt the most powerful, yet underused weapon in our Christian arsenal. And I have to admit that I underuse it even now. I have no idea the blessings that could unfold for me if I could really practice this communication and meditation with God to the degree and depth that I should. I intend to get better at it daily, but there are so many things I don't think to pray for! And that little Facebook post I saw made me realize upon reflection that there are so many things that I never even dreamed of praying for before I ever met my mister. </p><p>If you're in that wait, sis... here's some collective advice from my own experiences and from those of a few trusted girlfriends who I asked to weigh in with me on this idea. </p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b>Your body image. </b> We are put upon hard by this society we live in. Magazines, movies, music, and societal standards tell us that to be "wifed" we must be the "right" kind of thick, the "right" kind of thin, sexy but not slutty, provocative but not promiscuous... and so on. Whether you have fallen prey to these LIES from Satan or not, you have likely struggled with your body image. I think that's a universal issue for women that defies age, race, or religion. <i>But you are intentionally designed and created by God, and your beauty is moving to Him and it should be to your husband as well. </i> Admittedly, I have struggled SO MUCH in this area and still do, so I'm not saying I have all this figured out. <i>But I know that a healthy body image has to be worked at... it doesn't happen by accident. </i> And without it, you can have a "good" marriage, but I believe that - because of how our husbands are designed and our own sexuality is designed - when we have a healthy body image, our marriage health can <i>transcend to incredible new heights</i>. <b>I have seen and felt how my low self esteem affects my husband, and if I had it to do over again, I would pray fervently for my own confidence and body image</b> so that 1) I would enjoy my own body the way God intended, 2) my husband would benefit from my confidence and enthusiasm, and 3) our intimacy would grow to never imagined heights. <i>You <a href="http://insidebellsbrain.blogspot.com/2021/01/a-healing-wifes-affirmations.html" target="_blank">hurt your husband</a> when you cannot appreciate your own beauty and allow him to do the same.</i> </li><li><b>His (and your) sexual purity (or strength against temptation of any kind). </b> I think we pray about this one from time to time, but I didn't pray as much as I should have. <i>While we are bombarded to BE perfection, our husbands are bombarded to EXPECT perfection. </i> Our society is trying to set us both up for failure. By the time of your marriage (even if you marry young), your husband - and statistics say YOU now too - will have been exposed to pornography or at the very least "soft porn"-like advertisements and immodesty at every turn. <i>PRAY FOR HIS FIGHT.</i> I've <a href="http://insidebellsbrain.blogspot.com/2020/07/dear-sister-who-wont-keep-your-clothes.html" target="_blank">written before</a> that I do not understand it, but I now have at least a somewhat better understanding of how hard this fight is for a man. That fight is one of the reasons the blessing of sexuality in a scriptural marriage is such a wonderful thing... because it is a God-ordained healthy expression of this sexual gift from God. But the world is trying to sabotage the purity of the marriage bed before our children are even out of grade school now! The assault is repulsive and burdensome. <b>Pray for your future husband (and YOU) to remain strong in the face of sexual desire and temptation. Or any other temptation that may or may not coincide, like drugs, alcohol, gambling, etc. Pray he would be surrounded with godly male influences to hold him accountable in this battle, and pray the same for yourself for female influences. </b><i>Then also pray that once you two are in a relationship that you will maintain that same level of purity with one another and that you would both know when the time is right to make that commitment toward marriage so as not to postpone your union, risking a sexual stumble on both your parts. </i> Both sides of this battle are difficult and deserve our attention in prayer.</li><li><b>Unresolved trauma. </b> This is another one that hits close to home for me. All of us have experienced trauma to some degree, and it's quite a relative concept. (In other words, what's truly physiologically and psychologically traumatic for one person may not be for another. Circumstances can be relative and cumulative.) Either way, you're bringing some baggage into your marriage. <i>Whether it's a traumatic childhood, previous physical/emotional/sexual abuse, a significant loss or death in the past, or anything that affects your attachment style, these wounds will affect your marriage. </i> The only thing you get to choose is HOW they affect your marriage, and for someone who's experienced trauma (and the reshaping of the brain that accompanies it), that's an almost insurmountable challenge. <b>We should pray to be in tune with our pasts so that we know our triggers and our potential areas of weakness and also be mature enough and ready to discuss those vulnerably with our future husbands. Be ready to understand and receive his unresolved trauma too</b> (though it's likely that he may not be as reflective or as articulate as you, so this may take some perceptive work on your part). Pray that God would completely heal those wounds so that they could not be used to infiltrate or damage your marriage. </li><li><b>Communication and intentionality. </b> I find this to be an area where our societal norms for men damage our relationships before they even begin sometimes. Men are, by design, less communicative than women, but that doesn't mean that they cannot learn to be communicative. <i>Pray that God helps you to boldly and confidently be able to share yourself openly with your future husband and that God would give him the words and unity within himself to be able to exchange his thoughts and feelings with you too. Pray he is self-aware enough to be intentional and to recognize his feelings for you. </i> When a man knows what he needs, wants, and desires, and you know your own needs, wants, and desires, open communication and intentionality can save a lot of wasted time and hurt feelings. <b>Whether that means you meet someone and realize you aren't compatible with one another and decide to part ways, or whether you meet someone who absolutely adores you, but he cannot find the words to say it or was raised that the idea to communicate such feelings is indicative of weakness... you WANT communication and intentionality. </b> It will keep you from spending time with "the wrong one" and wasting time being insecure and dragging your feet to commit with "the right one". </li><li><b>Mutual growth. </b> I love this idea. One of the purposes of marriage is to make us more HOLY. To bring unity between two halves, two complements, and to strive together toward heaven... the ultimate goal. So how foolish is it that we wouldn't pray for this from the beginning? Or even before you even meet your mister. <b>My counselor once said that God has a way of bringing you together with someone to push on one another's buttons and issues to resolve hurts or issues from the past. In this way, you make one another better and more complete.</b> I couldn't love that idea more! It gives purpose to our past hurts. And I've found it to be true in my own marriage. <i>That makes for some very painful moments of growth at times, but it can result in our ultimate strength and unification if we let it. </i> Even when you commit your life to your spouse, chances are life will hit you hard at times. <i>We as humans grow and change over the course of a lifetime even without facing tragedy and difficulties, but pray in advance that God would have you all the way through those times and that ultimately your marriage would be one of mutual growth, no matter what comes your way.</i> </li><li><b>Selflessness and submission.</b> Yep. I went there. I am a self-proclaimed stubborn independent woman who's greatly struggled with submission to my husband. And I know I must give him fits at times. Bless him for all he has put up with from me. But he is so Christlike in his meekness that when I climb down off my independent high horse, I realize how much he shows the love of Christ in how he uses his authority in our marriage. I'm so proud of him for that. But it took him a while to learn and cultivate that strength. Oh, how I wish I'd been praying over that for him before we'd even met! Regardless of your future husband's personality (or yours for that matter), being a leader is hard and comes with heavy responsibilities. <b>He needs your prayers for strength and wisdom before you even meet him! </b> Pray he's out there right now doing and studying the things he needs to do to become a selfless yet strong leader for your family unit. Pray for yourself to have the humility and desire to submit to him. And pray that - in a different sense of submission - that you both are cultivating the attitude of proper and holy mutual submission (i.e. respect and sacrifice) for one another, even before you're joined in marriage! Oh, what a powerful marriage you could be building before you ever say, "I do."</li><li><b>God's will, not your own.</b> This one may seem painfully obvious. But how often do we - not just in the sense of relationships, but in every area of our lives - tell God what WE want and then try to justify and puppeteer the situation until we get what we want. We think we know best. <b>So we try to tell God to make this person (i.e. this "crush" or whomever we have our eyes fixed on), right for us, instead of asking, "God, is this the person you have for me?" </b>Trust me... you don't want to commit your life to someone and realize that you likely forced that situation into being and that it was never in your best interest. That is a lifetime of regret, sister. <i>Pray that you have discernment and patience to know and accept God's will for you. </i> </li><li>And finally... the one that inspired this post... <b>his family and their relationship with you. </b> As much as we want to think about marriage being just between the husband and the wife, there's a reason God addresses the structure of the family design even before Adam and Eve bore children. <i>Think about it... God declared that a man was to leave his father and mother and cleave to his wife BEFORE Adam even had a mother and father to leave... in his omniscient design, God knew this one would be hard for generation after generation. </i> Joining two families disrupts the existing dynamic and can make for volatility. Pray that your future in-laws can love and accept you, that they desire to understand you and support you in your marriage and in your spirituality. Pray for your future husband to be strong enough to exercise needful boundaries for your marriage. And pray the same that your family loves and honors him as well! </li></ul><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUJUICsAcvBeMysujImBT2KIs_D_tMUXfKYds3r7R5ZDmhjYtSPh9Hys2-Po2itd8B1wXfBoovrVy8dY8B382BWJIgWLLxvNsArZhJ_SGCo_jL6Xukq_cdCPXiNTW_EJI31hEA5sMW9Rg/s720/7C30C62E-37CC-485F-8DFF-53656ECDC086.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="576" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUJUICsAcvBeMysujImBT2KIs_D_tMUXfKYds3r7R5ZDmhjYtSPh9Hys2-Po2itd8B1wXfBoovrVy8dY8B382BWJIgWLLxvNsArZhJ_SGCo_jL6Xukq_cdCPXiNTW_EJI31hEA5sMW9Rg/w320-h400/7C30C62E-37CC-485F-8DFF-53656ECDC086.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><p></p><p><br /></p>Erika Turnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339520374520282937noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187555035088152791.post-60058606477248896922021-02-25T13:01:00.003-06:002021-02-25T13:01:57.712-06:00So I Had a Nervous Breakdown... <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaDoQv8E1Xs7GEWbTZrcRKh62EkEHrTuNI3joHWDOY_4eNW1uniOqSlSFGUelQngrXp32xos6bGv3ynkTRHeqkC7tNQ8cwzkcF-VtKksBY7f4z4003TxOhdY4oG_a44STpNg1HTzfAC-Q/s2048/IMG_4965.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="427" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaDoQv8E1Xs7GEWbTZrcRKh62EkEHrTuNI3joHWDOY_4eNW1uniOqSlSFGUelQngrXp32xos6bGv3ynkTRHeqkC7tNQ8cwzkcF-VtKksBY7f4z4003TxOhdY4oG_a44STpNg1HTzfAC-Q/w640-h427/IMG_4965.PNG" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><div style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial;">We use the phrase more flippantly than we should... "nervous breakdown". And while it may be a contextually appropriate expression when we feel overwhelmed or stressed, it's not always a truthful statement - by definition - of the person using it. (It's certainly not the most politically correct terminology in 2021, but I'm more into being kind and considerate as a practice than being PC.) </span></div><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I've reflected A LOT on my mental health in my healing months, and I've come to the conclusion that that's what I'm going to call it. My nervous breakdown. It's my truth. By definition, it includes the <a href="https://www.healthline.com/health/mental-health/nervous-breakdown" target="_blank">following symptoms</a>...</p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 20px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b><br /></b></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 20px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNRfMBEj4ax8hqlg0azMNNHJ_jCjefI1-EKSNQzy8EzoSo5gk_YKmiYjbo7FrtxuhT5Yq1MujW1S9rAAE8Ed_5y9tFBD_ME6ca8VFPoiqSJfZObDOdfzc4tMkg27Lg7TdGCZCVjOc64qY/s2048/IMG_4980.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1108" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNRfMBEj4ax8hqlg0azMNNHJ_jCjefI1-EKSNQzy8EzoSo5gk_YKmiYjbo7FrtxuhT5Yq1MujW1S9rAAE8Ed_5y9tFBD_ME6ca8VFPoiqSJfZObDOdfzc4tMkg27Lg7TdGCZCVjOc64qY/w216-h400/IMG_4980.jpg" width="216" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0PRtx3cUYD5RyQ6hyphenhyphenvrwAQU5pjYe8WbBJSrMS3o863C6dqWSujYzkp8h43z_HKI00E-EONpyie3We8rNxAKkHkZIAMco-FNDMAR20zKUjzLWghlOOby79qjMXXfrKlR8KzoF5i-PRVlo/s2609/IMG_4979.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2609" data-original-width="1205" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0PRtx3cUYD5RyQ6hyphenhyphenvrwAQU5pjYe8WbBJSrMS3o863C6dqWSujYzkp8h43z_HKI00E-EONpyie3We8rNxAKkHkZIAMco-FNDMAR20zKUjzLWghlOOby79qjMXXfrKlR8KzoF5i-PRVlo/w185-h400/IMG_4979.PNG" width="185" /></a></div><br /><b><br /></b><p></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">If that doesn't describe my life over the 2019-2020 season, I don't know what will. So I'm owning my truth and moving forward in it. But in my recovery and reflection, I have a lot of things to say that need to be said to continue fighting against the stigma of mental health issues.</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: arial;">You see, people throw the expression around, including other related expressions like “I’m so OCD”, which admittedly, I’ve been guilty of saying before... but the difference is that <i>I’ve been officially diagnosed as having obsessive compulsive disorder</i>. Stop claiming a trait as your <i>identity</i> when you know <i>nothing of the true suffering of either diagnosis</i>! Some others - including other Christians I’ve known of - have not been so lucky in their fight. They succumbed to the darkness of their compulsions and left this earth. I attest that it must have truly felt like their only option. I have stood in that darkness, my friend. I have honestly felt that my husband, my family, my friends, this whole world would be better off without me. And people claim in Pharisaical superiority that they’d rather listen to your story than your eulogy. <b><i>But don’t you dare share that or say that unless you mean it. </i></b>Because in my observations - as a mental health sufferer - people are only comfortable when sufferers share the “right amount” and “within the right parameters”. </span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: arial;"> </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: arial;">We "applaud" people who are being brave in their fight... as long as they're fighting silently and privately. If their outward struggles and cries for help make us uncomfortable, insecure, uncertain, or convicted... that's right... <i>WE</i> want <i>THEM </i>to stop making <i>US</i> uncomfortable. Our friends and family are struggling to find the purpose in living each day, but we want to judge their every move as selfish, attention-seeking, overly dramatic, or just plain CRAZY.</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: arial;">I, along with many other sufferers, took to social media sometimes to share my wounds. Perhaps too openly. There's not a thing I can do to retract that now. But for myself and others, there should be grace and forgiveness to cover those mistakes. Now granted... d</span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue";">iscerning the difference in true sufferers and those seeking attention can be difficult because there are truly drama queens out there in a "15-minutes-of-fame" kind of world.</span><span class="Apple-converted-space" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue";"> But if we are to err, shouldn't we err on the side of grace and comfort? Let's take someone at his or her word until proven otherwise. </span><span style="font-family: arial;">We cannot judge, for example, that someone is openly sharing and bearing their wounds to be hurtful to someone else or to be attention-seeking. When you want the emotional pain to stop that badly, you'll do anything and everything to try to make it stop. When it's physical pain, that's easier... go to the ER or another doctor and they can <i>see</i> your wounds and help you. When you're in emotional pain, you often cannot get the treatment you need so you try to take matters into your own hands. And this is precisely why we have astronomical suicide rates in this country. </span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 20px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b><br /></b></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 20px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b>Bottom line... we honor someone’s tragedy and trauma as long as it’s visible and tangible to us.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></b></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 20px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b><span class="Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></b></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><b style="font-size: 20px;"></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b style="font-size: 20px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxZ1zYPW2Q-KgU8CnSmwiMOQz6xvzo86Hy8K46EZ0LkSd0Vgwlnd1Yfqjz8aVsSjE_wQZVur3g1VZr1yePi5cPyiY3q8DsZquKIflZcWD56glgrB4i08gKLSy7SnAwDNctHqxdSzakVFk/s1080/FF0884B0-24AC-4D19-8F32-DCE7637FD533.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxZ1zYPW2Q-KgU8CnSmwiMOQz6xvzo86Hy8K46EZ0LkSd0Vgwlnd1Yfqjz8aVsSjE_wQZVur3g1VZr1yePi5cPyiY3q8DsZquKIflZcWD56glgrB4i08gKLSy7SnAwDNctHqxdSzakVFk/w400-h400/FF0884B0-24AC-4D19-8F32-DCE7637FD533.jpeg" width="400" /></a></b></div><p class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 20px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-size: 13px;"><br /></span></p>But by selecting which traumas we validate and which we don’t, we rob ourselves of the opportunity to learn from others and to grow ourselves better, wiser, and stronger for an unknown future that <b><i>we might even face ourselves one day</i></b>.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> Because you just don't know. Even I used to be fine, until one day, I wasn't anymore. </span><p></p><p class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 13px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 15px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Then let's consider the lack of support in the church for mental health, and it’s heartbreaking. We are to be among the most compassionate, servant-hearted people on this earth, but we can be the most back-biting at times. Don't hurt your brethren like that! <b><i>Someone who's suffering so shouldn't have to play mental gymnastics to figure out who is safe enough to be a trusted confidant.</i></b> My husband and I learned the hard way that you have to be so vigilant about the people in whom you choose to confide. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space">And while I'm talking about being "judgmental" (think also: quick to hear, slow to speak), I want to be inclusive of every sufferer, no matter how they're coping, because I wanted that so badly when I was in the throes of the abyss. Someone posted the following quote the other day, no doubt well-intended or a reflection of her own circumstances, but I wanted to scream and shout, "THAT'S NOT THE ONLY WAY!"</span></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixz-ag5Mo2xRtAQKdBSxFIzajqm0p4x4oSfWQTT3IPCw_pwtCAEau95DE_xTUP5kMe6p7bMFtCcmGWxyL4Jw462DRj74ENDupaBAE6iBqIRqWwD42YmXf9jKKqMMwx_EKV34ZTEBQxEas/s960/IMG_4901.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="912" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixz-ag5Mo2xRtAQKdBSxFIzajqm0p4x4oSfWQTT3IPCw_pwtCAEau95DE_xTUP5kMe6p7bMFtCcmGWxyL4Jw462DRj74ENDupaBAE6iBqIRqWwD42YmXf9jKKqMMwx_EKV34ZTEBQxEas/w380-h400/IMG_4901.jpg" width="380" /></a></div><br /><span class="Apple-converted-space">A strong woman is also the woman who cannot smile in the morning, but she wipes her eyes as her tears continue to fall and goes about her day. A strong woman is also the one who posts on Facebook how badly she's hurting and wants complete healing more than anything. A strong woman is also the woman who cannot leave the house or go to work in her despair because she is too mentally and functionally compromised to be "at herself." And a strong woman is also the woman who thought about taking her life, but she chose to fight one more day. Strength comes in so many different shapes and situations. Who am I to say that some other fighter isn't strong because her mascara stains give her away?</span><p></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="Apple-converted-space">So yep. I am calling it what it is. I had a nervous breakdown. And now I'm finding myself again. Hopefully there's a new and improved version of Erika waiting just on the other side of this valley. I can't wait to meet her, and I can't wait for you to get to know her too. </span></p>Erika Turnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339520374520282937noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187555035088152791.post-91362398882262933102021-02-15T15:14:00.000-06:002021-02-15T15:14:14.544-06:00Pour Out<p>This post has been a long time coming. Maybe four or five weeks now? I don't know because I've truly lost track. The hopes that 2021 would be kinder to us all were rather quickly shattered with the start of yet another chaotic and stressful January. This appears to be the "new normal" of nearly everyone I know...</p><p>But I digress... every year I've *tried* to declare a word. A word to define the hopes, dreams, motivation, and purpose of the new twelve months before me. Each year since probably somewhere circa 2015 or so, I've chosen a word... and I've done absolutely nothing with it. I mean, very little, if anything. So I was skeptical to choose another word for myself and have another failed year tick by. </p><p>I had already been thinking that *if* I were to select a word for this new year, it likely needed to be something related to an issue I struggle with tremendously: trust. As I waged that inner "will I or won't I?" struggle, an encouraging sister asked me if I had a word for the year, and if I did, what it was. (Shout out to you, Dede! Much love for keeping me on track.) </p><p>Well... it just so happened that around that time a certain Wednesday night Bible lesson had captivated me. Since then, I've been mulling over a post about it (which has turned into 4-5 posts, we'll see...), and I've been saying the phrase to myself frequently. For the first time, like, EVER, I have actually remembered and rehearsed my word when I've felt anxious or afraid or discouraged! I've wanted to explore several sub-ideas related to it for my own personal growth, so I figured I might as well share them here so my faithful readers (all one of you... LOL, I'm just kidding!) could perhaps benefit and offer me feedback as well. </p><p>The *plan* (and I use that word very loosely these days) is to put my word out there for all to see and then come back to explain and explore the ideas related to it over the next few weeks, as time allows. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvWD5iibZioqaj2qcgir5ZQJHTzx4CoL0wA7FIuPhagQTchH0UPF2grZ1-BMt8iqgtoKFgJpu0FBWR37St8FBxVGXiuxwQkCTvN9CHTVb_Ci1wD13YJPq1wijlGlcZU4ikyFANUOsjfPc/s2048/IMG_4594.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvWD5iibZioqaj2qcgir5ZQJHTzx4CoL0wA7FIuPhagQTchH0UPF2grZ1-BMt8iqgtoKFgJpu0FBWR37St8FBxVGXiuxwQkCTvN9CHTVb_Ci1wD13YJPq1wijlGlcZU4ikyFANUOsjfPc/w640-h360/IMG_4594.PNG" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p>Pour out. My word is more a phrase. Pour out. This year, more than ever before, I want to pour out everything within me. I want to empty myself of myself so I can be filled with God instead. I've too long held onto things I wasn't or never should've been rather than surrendered to the will of the Creator. I like to give things over and then take them back. I like to confess my worries and convince myself I've placed it in His hands only to return to chew it all up again later. I'm really tired living that foolishness. It's done me no good to this point, and to think it would now would be stupid. </p><p>So I want to pour it all out before God. To me, that means I will pour out myself in terms of how I...</p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>communicate: I will pour all my emotions out before God in prayer.</li><li>sacrifice: I will give freely and sacrificially and let God handle the rest.</li><li>trust: I will surrender my need to control things and trust God to be the good God He is.</li><li>commit: I will move forward and not turn back. </li></ul><div>Of course, there are probably a lot of other ways to "pour out", but I felt these four were at least a good start. While I'm not where I want to be, at the very least, I'm trying to tell myself the words "pour out" each time things don't go my way, I don't understand, or I face a setback - whether it's inconvenient or insurmountable. And to be honest? I'm SCARED! I'm fearful! Which is ridiculous, but apparently that's the very illusion of control I've been holding onto for far too long anyway. So perhaps by this time 365 days from now, I will have poured out all that is human and feeble within me to be filled with peace and strength that I've never known before. </div><p></p>Erika Turnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339520374520282937noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187555035088152791.post-32473294792496414452021-02-15T14:45:00.060-06:002021-02-21T22:04:13.754-06:00When will the scale tell me I’m “good enough”? <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGKCSG-r9Ly2PHWupeAfwB7x_rLU8rKBEIadqyjmSOOo6JGTm4nPKt3Ti20-hVOTlhmPphBgGAlX7__o9pgucg2sa7vbTy1Us7MiIDVVK5eGH1KLIX_QOUCzJxxMjFpnp-1y_glquaKAc/s1182/0D02BA0A-D3A5-491B-B851-72F2FC47CD29.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1160" data-original-width="1182" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGKCSG-r9Ly2PHWupeAfwB7x_rLU8rKBEIadqyjmSOOo6JGTm4nPKt3Ti20-hVOTlhmPphBgGAlX7__o9pgucg2sa7vbTy1Us7MiIDVVK5eGH1KLIX_QOUCzJxxMjFpnp-1y_glquaKAc/s320/0D02BA0A-D3A5-491B-B851-72F2FC47CD29.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px;">I feel defeated. It seems like every time I try to make progress (or actually make progress) that something derails me lately. I started eating better and walking again in November... then COVID hit our family. I started again on the workout track after my mom’s intense battle with COVID, only to be crushed again... this time with a kidney stone. </span></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px;">I’m nervous about the procedure and the anesthesia and what comes afterward as I try to pass the fragments. And I’m scared long term of not rediscovering this motivation again once the pain passes. But I’m so tired of spending my life hating what stares back at me in the mirror. I’m so exhausted with the obsession over my appearance and the guilt, shame, and depression it brings me. </span></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px;">I recently polled on Facebook whether an overweight/chubby woman could still be attractive. Sixty-two women commented in the affirmative. But it still makes me wonder if it’s true or if we just tell ourselves that. If we can tell other women that but can’t see it in ourselves, then are we really attractive? Because that suggests to me the lack of self-confidence that everyone claims is essential for beauty. Yet in my experience that’s a totally bogus claim. I once had a ton of confidence, but it apparently didn’t make me attractive. I know I’m not the only woman in this fight. Why is weight (specifically lower weight) synonymous with or rather indicative of beauty? </span></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px;">I’ve been so desperate for God to lift that burden off me. To help me be content in whatever state (i.e. whatever weight). I realize that requires work and effort for me, but what if I can’t ever drop this weight again? Can I ever see myself and not loathe the woman I’ve become? </span></p><p><span style="font-size: 19px;">I was clearing out old digital notes the other day and found this note to self, written some time last year. I think it’s still a worthwhile pursuit though, if I can actually convince myself that these things matter more than the number on the scale or the size on the tag in my pants.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 19px;"><i>Goal weight in 2020:</i></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1"><i>Whatever weight I am when...</i></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1"><i>*I stop looking at other women and saying, “I wish I looked like her.”</i></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1"><i>*I’m not ashamed of how I look in my clothes or of my reflection in the mirror. </i></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1"><i>*I’m not ashamed for my husband to stare at my body. </i></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1"><i>*I can lift weights and feel strong again. </i></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1"><i>*I can run a 5K again. </i></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1"><i>*I can hike without my lungs and back hurting. </i></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1"><i>*I feel like I could kick someone’s *butt* if I had to. </i></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1"><i>*I start wanting to take pictures of the memories I make with my husband and family and friends. </i></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1"><i>*I don’t dread shopping for clothes. </i></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1"><i><br /></i></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">I might add to that list now, when...</p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">*I don’t flinch to have to weigh in front of my husband or tell the nurse my weight if he takes me to an appointment or stays with me. </p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">*I’m not terrified of anesthesia if I have to undergo a surgical procedure.</p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">*I can look at my body happily in mirrors or reflective glass like I used to, seeing the positive and not the negative. </p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">*I can shop easily at any store, not just specialty stores.</p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">*I can celebrate my curves and not feel like others are snickering.</p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">*I can enjoy going out in public and not give a second thought to whether I measure up to any passers by. </p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">*I can relax around others who are dressed immodestly instead of being obsessed whether they have more to offer than I. </p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">*I stop feeling replaceable. </p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Whether I’m looking at the number on the scale or compare myself to either of these lists, I still fall short. I wonder if I will ever feel the curse lift of hating the skin I’m in. I wish I could remember where I got the photo above from to give it proper credit. But it’s certainly convicting... when will the scale tell me I’m “good enough”? </p>Erika Turnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339520374520282937noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187555035088152791.post-63892749184352546922021-02-04T21:02:00.006-06:002021-02-04T21:05:34.647-06:00Being You<p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 31px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 3px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGzcitKshnjsYOipA3bcEafUPncXkRAf60i-HWpeTVhvDneNPRfEcDjX5IsBIAPn0qlCJpglcSU73IcLPmyoNfL6ZXA6D95bXMvyGjK8rGRYVDUm1G0kQM5X6-1u4NxHYL8ur8ptiSdI8/s2048/4A2EB1FF-B7AB-4758-89B3-8EF99F1B06BB.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGzcitKshnjsYOipA3bcEafUPncXkRAf60i-HWpeTVhvDneNPRfEcDjX5IsBIAPn0qlCJpglcSU73IcLPmyoNfL6ZXA6D95bXMvyGjK8rGRYVDUm1G0kQM5X6-1u4NxHYL8ur8ptiSdI8/w640-h426/4A2EB1FF-B7AB-4758-89B3-8EF99F1B06BB.png" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-weight: bold;"><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 31px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 3px;"><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p>Growth isn’t linear. It never has been. Yet sometimes it feels like others expect more of us than is reasonable to give. Sometimes it seems the height of “arriving” to your finish line is just elusive enough to make you feel crazy. I HATE that feeling. Of questioning whether the progress and growth you feel is real or imagined. Of knowing you’re improving but constantly being challenged and second-guessing yourself because of it. </span><p></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><i><span class="s2"></span><br /></i></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><i><span class="s2">It’s been a long time since I’ve written any poetry, but I took to that medium tonight to empty my heart out. </span><span class="s3">❤️</span><span class="s2"> I’m sharing to be brave. I shared my pain so freely, and I need to continue to share the growth journey equally so. Here it goes... </span></i></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">What’s left to do when you’ve run out of “try”</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">When you’ve given until empty and can’t even cry </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">When you’re broken, discouraged, and never enough</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Out of hope and weary with things getting worse</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Knocked off track when you thought you were fine</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Devastated to learn you weren’t towing the line </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">You’ve imagined your progress, no one else can see</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Your loved ones are blinded from hard fought victories </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">You’re the only one who knows the growth that you’ve made </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Your control that you’ve gained or the prayers that you’ve prayed </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">You’re forever defined by mistakes of the past </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">And broken reputations are the only ones that last</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">You can’t seem to overcome what’s long held you down</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Angry words and criticisms endlessly abound</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">You want to break out of this prison inside</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">To make meaning to all of the tears that you’ve cried </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">To know that your efforts have not been in vain</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">And that others can see you bloom from the pain</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Your heart longs for comfort and meaningful praise,</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Words of encouragement to brighten your days,</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">And the peace that could be, if only it were true </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2"></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">That you were just fine, simply perfect being you. </span></p>Erika Turnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339520374520282937noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187555035088152791.post-25425095343859089842021-01-11T16:55:00.000-06:002021-01-11T16:55:00.199-06:00A Healing Wife's Affirmations<span id="docs-internal-guid-418e3db5-7fff-bb66-feb4-bbf0a0a7f56c"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’ve lived pretty openly about my struggles with self-esteem. Perhaps too openly, but that’s not the point of this particular post. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A history of verbal abuse, rejection, insecurity and throw in some re-traumatization for good measure... that all makes for a perfectly *normal* traumatized young woman. (And I can’t emphasize the normal part enough. The more I’ve researched what happens to the brain and body through one’s healing journey, the more I’m convinced that I’m not defined by these feelings, but rather that these are things that happened to me that I’m working through. And my range of reactions is also perfectly normal based on what experts can tell us about the brain and body’s response to those traumas.) </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That said, poor self image is exhausting and debilitating. It can be all-consuming, and it has the power to ignite an obsessive beast within. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">With the help of my husband, I am still trying to reassemble all those broken pieces to figure out who this current version of Erika is. Which pieces to discard, which to keep, and which to mold and adapt or repair into something more beautiful than it was before. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Last year I began working on writing personal affirmations based on scriptures with a group of women from many congregations. (Thanks, Nadia, for introducing this idea to us!) Some chose to share, some chose to remain private, but I believe the end game was the same: trying to view ourselves through the lens of God’s eyes. How does He see us? How does He see me?</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">One month’s study was focused on affirmations related to marriage. It was at this time that I wrestled with some of the truths I found in Ephesians 5, and truth be told I’m still wrestling with them. I’ve committed them to paper and attached them to my bathroom mirror to see every day in hopes of somehow absorbing these thoughts to replace the self-loathing ones I usually have when looking at my reflection in the mirror. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglu0CXSKPPewhSp7D5-DcqKrrCykIfttUUtxWg17jlVoKscLE09gBk9o7I9FIxk8jzmV7wuHVqf1Dtp1QeW0jLTkAcXX1hdAGXjs-VGLUYDLmgEuqVp5jcDs4d9lNBRNlG9jB6iaB678c/s2048/IMG_4280-%2528W%2529.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglu0CXSKPPewhSp7D5-DcqKrrCykIfttUUtxWg17jlVoKscLE09gBk9o7I9FIxk8jzmV7wuHVqf1Dtp1QeW0jLTkAcXX1hdAGXjs-VGLUYDLmgEuqVp5jcDs4d9lNBRNlG9jB6iaB678c/w480-h640/IMG_4280-%2528W%2529.HEIC" width="480" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As a married Christian woman, my body no longer belongs to me. Or at least not exclusively to me. It is jointly shared between myself and my husband. That’s because God designed it that way (Ephesians 5:22-23, 28-29). He (my husband) and I are one flesh, and some things have to change in how I see myself to build that one flesh relationship and make it as strong as it can be (with God’s help and guidance, of course).</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I cannot continue to hate my body and claim to love my husband. If he is an extension of me and I of him, then I jeopardize him when I conclude I’m not worthy. I criticize him when I hate myself. I damage him when I speak negativity into myself. Somehow in my low self esteem, this picture resonates with me more than how I realize I’m hurting myself. It hurts me to think of hurting him more than it does to reflect on how I’m wounding myself. Because of that mutual oneness designed by Our Creator, neither of us can hurt ourselves without hurting the other, and neither of us can hurt the other without hurting ourselves. And perhaps an even deeper consideration that I hadn’t thought of until now, but what if (since we share our one flesh) I can borrow from his strength? What if I can glean his confidence to boost my own? That’s not to say that I don’t need to work on establishing my own proper view of self as an individual, but in my weakness, I can use his strength. I would expect him to do the same in an area in which he was weak. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m closing with a list of the affirmations I wrote, but there are many connected ideas to be explored from those I’ve written here. The marriage relationship is one uniquely designed by God, and it certainly doesn’t come without brand new knowledge, understanding, and growth every day. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">❤️ I love my husband as my own body because we are one flesh. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">❤️ I love my own body as I love my husband because we are one flesh. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">❤️ I love my husband and will therefore love myself. I will take care of myself by loving my husband. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">❤️ I will take care of, nourish, and love my own body because I love (out of love for) my husband. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">❤️ I will not hate my body because I love my husband. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">❤️ Christ loves, nourishes, and cherishes me. He does not hate me.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPdT_NCG_nDkH515e5NC9XyBQMxJEiULK65CWww7MLLgEr6HMg4VqpQa3BHhbThu_a-60adRTHom2pwF08CVDsybEcB7ox3sIo_uKtFYL2cN1VE5AsBSGlEPhjeGJuKUDNV99CxLzfBOA/s2048/IMG_4279-%2528W%2529.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPdT_NCG_nDkH515e5NC9XyBQMxJEiULK65CWww7MLLgEr6HMg4VqpQa3BHhbThu_a-60adRTHom2pwF08CVDsybEcB7ox3sIo_uKtFYL2cN1VE5AsBSGlEPhjeGJuKUDNV99CxLzfBOA/w640-h480/IMG_4279-%2528W%2529.HEIC" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">P.S. And I know I made a transcribing error. I intentionally left it because I still need to learn to be okay when everything's not perfect. </span></p><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>Erika Turnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339520374520282937noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187555035088152791.post-3766396079339733302021-01-10T09:09:00.015-06:002021-01-11T16:34:38.192-06:00A Language Teacher’s Thoughts on Acts 2<h2 style="text-align: left;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-85d269a6-7fff-91e6-6073-a32adf3702f6" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This year, I’ve been participating in a scripture writing study with ladies from congregations all around. It was created/designed by sister Carla Moore. (</span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/u/2/blog/post/edit/2187555035088152791/376639607933973330#" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-decoration-line: underline; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Check out her post and the download here!</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> You can see some of my pictures below, but keep scrolling to read more...)</span></span></h2><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv6_PmdfZJZ_KJJ1b8m0YHMmIfP2GP-0y0fbwSmJ99VncmGF3B8C8BUNni1qxaR1MjC7_I7fsu-Jw-e8atsFx5mUiytgZd8t8nfLQ9ge1mTbFsfvKzSYQCR108tb-0h4V1dWXmHAaWzo4/s2048/E1B88B80-1662-450E-A2A6-011F56C9E2F6.jpeg" style="font-size: medium; font-weight: 400; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv6_PmdfZJZ_KJJ1b8m0YHMmIfP2GP-0y0fbwSmJ99VncmGF3B8C8BUNni1qxaR1MjC7_I7fsu-Jw-e8atsFx5mUiytgZd8t8nfLQ9ge1mTbFsfvKzSYQCR108tb-0h4V1dWXmHAaWzo4/w480-h640/E1B88B80-1662-450E-A2A6-011F56C9E2F6.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 31px; font-weight: bold; text-size-adjust: auto;"></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 3px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 31px; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"><span class="s1"><span style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTBKgdEl-GxHbp6FWU-djAOYrQ1hmVcnJhf-vCezyxNktHGVEw45ZnlbR1ppoCi3OVnHfl0ymGaslOhfl-NRHZb-RxoXNr80VCR3RSmdjrFdEfqK8r8_OkPGgfaCy63s6_w2h1Gn33gMA/s2048/3FC76123-12F4-40B8-9111-BD071A1F256A.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTBKgdEl-GxHbp6FWU-djAOYrQ1hmVcnJhf-vCezyxNktHGVEw45ZnlbR1ppoCi3OVnHfl0ymGaslOhfl-NRHZb-RxoXNr80VCR3RSmdjrFdEfqK8r8_OkPGgfaCy63s6_w2h1Gn33gMA/w480-h640/3FC76123-12F4-40B8-9111-BD071A1F256A.jpeg" width="480" /></a></span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: left;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-e2d50d05-7fff-820f-590f-62d04c0a9712" style="font-weight: normal;"><p dir="ltr" style="font-size: 31px; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p><div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><b id="docs-internal-guid-abf2a783-7fff-cd68-f334-3e00cb13bd62" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This week's reading had us focusing on the Day of Pentecost, the day of the birth of the church in Acts 2. One sister (Sheri Harris) posted something in our shared Facebook group about the clarity of "tongues" being "languages" after reflecting so closely on this passage. It doesn't mean an unintelligent collection of sounds and syllables, a mouthful of unrecognizable words. It means </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>real</i></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> languages that </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>real</i></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> humans used for </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>real communication</i></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. </span></div><div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">While this is knowledge that many of us may have grown up knowing, Sheri is right. This passage demonstrates the true definition of this word and reveals the misunderstanding of so many who -- ignorantly or intentionally -- pervert its meaning. So this week, I studied Acts 2 along with Genesis 11 (the account of the Tower of Babel, in which we see the introduction of languages). As an ESL teacher by trade, I wanted to expound upon what sister Sheri shared. </span></div><div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In every language, there are distinctions between what is considered “social language” and what is considered “academic language”. The first is what I might call “tailgate talk”. It includes our daily social greetings and culturally appropriate pleasantries that we exchange in daily interactions with others. Academic language is that technical jargon one would encounter in less superficial contexts: writing a business letter, interacting with your superior at work, studying for an exam, or pouring over the Scriptures even. It takes approximately 3-5 years to learn social English, meaning that if one of my kindergarten students came to me with no English proficiency whatsoever, he or she could reasonably be expected to speak fluently by second to fourth grade. (Remember: this is only conversational English! I won’t get into the layers of complexity involved in situations when we assume this means a child -- or adult for that matter -- is fluent enough for academic proficiency... but I digress.) Academic proficiency is typically achieved within 5-7 years, yet it can take even 10 years to achieve! This is with daily exposure, study, and support! </span></div><div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><b style="font-size: 31px; font-weight: normal;"><br /></b><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">While these statistics are specific to English, I think we could all agree that it likely reflects the learning curve of probably every language. Including the ones represented on the Day of Pentecost! And yet, our God, through the Holy Spirit, enabled these apostles to intelligibly communicate the gospel itself through all the languages represented among the crowd that day! </span></div><div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The listeners knew this was something spectacular that they were observing. They said to one another in verse 12, "What does this mean?" The significance of the events unfolding was not lost on them. (Nor should it be on us today!)</span></div><div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></b><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And have you ever been in a situation where no one around you spoke “your language”? It’s lonely, and it can be frightening at worst and intimidating at best. The Greek word for “perplexity” in verse 12 appears to mean (or can mean) “entirely at a loss”, and I can’t help but think I would be at a complete loss too if one of my newcomer students just began speaking advanced English without a single hour of study! That's what's happening in this account. We know that the apostles' use of the language was so clear (through the Holy Spirit) that listeners understood the message that was being delivered clearly... we know because they heard it and obeyed without haste (Acts 2:37-41). </span></div><div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 18.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Of course, we understand that the age of miracles has ceased (1 Corinthians 13), but this account serves to reinforce how amazing our God is and how He used language as a powerful vehicle this day. The words these listeners heard spoken were the sweetest words anyone could hear in his or her own language: the message of salvation! As a language teacher, I think that’s a beautiful thing. ❤️</span></div></span></div>Erika Turnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339520374520282937noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187555035088152791.post-54428822144801393132020-12-15T16:43:00.002-06:002021-01-11T16:36:28.601-06:00Quarantined at Christmas<p>This must be the whole “for better or worse, in sickness and in health” part. We didn’t plan to get sick, and we certainly never asked for it. We just wanted to enjoy our lives (taking appropriate precautions, of course), and like so many others, we still contracted this vile illness. It came out of nowhere to stomp all over our season’s greetings, and it’s knocked us flat on our backs. </p><p><br /></p><p>It feels like we’re on day 46,823 or something, but I know it’s only been just over a week now. On top of the textbook COVID stuff, I’m now experiencing the excruciating delight of a UTI *sarcasm noted* on top of the miserable aches and fatigue. Whether this was the metaphorical straw that sent me in a downward spiral or whether the confines of this quarantined Christmas abode finally wore me down, I’m not sure. But these last few days have been pure mental misery. Dark thoughts that I had celebrated as gone crept back in and toyed with my head and heart again. Now I’m tired on top of tired, and I’m immensely disappointed in how weak I feel (physically and mentally/emotionally). I don’t like that part of me, and I’m not quite seasoned yet in stopping it from emerging before it does. </p><p><br /></p><p>I know that I’m a much better nurse when I’m not sick too. But that’s how it will be sometimes, I suppose. Both Turners simultaneously down and out. But, I’m thankful that you’ve put up with my COVID-induced rollercoaster of insanity these last few days. You’re way better at this stuff than I give you credit for. </p><p><br /></p><p>This was NOT the cuddly, snuggly Christmas I wanted. This was not and still is not candy canes and sugar plums. And even though there’s been a lot of hot chocolate, I don’t even know if it’s been good or not since I have no sense of taste (though I’m confident it always tastes better when you make it). But even though this has been a Grinchy Christmas to say the least, I’m thankful that we are alive. Others we love haven’t been as fortunate as we. And I’m thankful that you’re my better half. And that when I quit on myself, that you don’t quit on me too. </p><p><br /></p><p>I love you, Turner. You’re one remarkable man. Even when you’re on my nerves. 🥰😘</p><p><br /></p><p>{Gal. 6:2}</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSVL5F-hN6aD11IX2lCgK0uhDfq-IEtQzuai64rk6en7Hmm40yjL_rHGfvwuou9Amg20xy89rWvo-Pq1Mn14PCdZGtq8_JZLKJqaf1DdT6kxWuyM7u1YSyAzCiIcYsXyM5ee-Wh6k8Vho/s2048/CE2F770A-F223-4E41-BD20-5C19642AF45C.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSVL5F-hN6aD11IX2lCgK0uhDfq-IEtQzuai64rk6en7Hmm40yjL_rHGfvwuou9Amg20xy89rWvo-Pq1Mn14PCdZGtq8_JZLKJqaf1DdT6kxWuyM7u1YSyAzCiIcYsXyM5ee-Wh6k8Vho/w480-h640/CE2F770A-F223-4E41-BD20-5C19642AF45C.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Erika Turnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339520374520282937noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187555035088152791.post-23982054093700791432020-10-03T22:17:00.005-05:002021-01-11T16:29:13.741-06:00A “Dad’s” Damage<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtiSvq1WzGSINH-JhbTDPHY4at4aiVpHQvHPQLQQRJ9i_gi7OXN-8XDDxhPvSE5OUXj3vHOqyzMG0TJUNC4waMYmgwARkBgVzLclLm63_wQActRq0ArKPz6h0ZYI2sZHiB1-fXvoK0NcA/s2048/FE9F2A43-AF06-4C58-B431-B4C96E2490B6.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtiSvq1WzGSINH-JhbTDPHY4at4aiVpHQvHPQLQQRJ9i_gi7OXN-8XDDxhPvSE5OUXj3vHOqyzMG0TJUNC4waMYmgwARkBgVzLclLm63_wQActRq0ArKPz6h0ZYI2sZHiB1-fXvoK0NcA/s320/FE9F2A43-AF06-4C58-B431-B4C96E2490B6.png" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 25px; font-weight: bold;">A friend once gave me a little excerpt from a book that talked about the limitations of others. I think its message makes a good preface here. The idea was to the effect that there are people in our lives who wrong us, even those who almost near destroy us. They deny us of the love we so desperately need for one reason or another. But the point hinges on our moving forward in forgiveness and letting go because they likely loved you as much as they could. Perhaps they didn’t intentionally hurt you (perhaps they did) but they likely loved you to the extent it was possible for them to love another person. Holes and emptiness in them somehow made it impossible for them to love in a less than selfish or even narcissistic way. I accept that and have certainly seen that play out in my life on many an occasion.</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 25px; font-weight: bold;"> </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">But even though there is abundant truth in that, I want to reflect on something else I’ve experienced in my life. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Sometimes a parent can be “physically present” (on occasion at least) and still be absent in every other way. (Side note: Abuse also doesn’t have to leave physical marks to still be abuse.) </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">But we have a serious “absent father problem” in our world right now. So let me enlighten you on what that does to the daughter. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">She will spend her entire life mending an empty bucket. The bucket of her emotional needs - that should have been filled by her parents - now has tremendous holes. Chances are that nothing will repair those holes. Ever. The damage is so foundational to her personality that an emptiness may always remain, no matter the other loving relationships that may come along in her life. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">She will be suspicious of every man. The first man she loved has broken her trust. If he can’t be trusted, why and how could any other man? And so...</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">She will sabotage herself in nearly every relationship. There will, of course, be other scumbags who break her heart. But she won’t believe in good men because she’s never seen one. So even if she finds one, she will destroy herself anticipating the fall, the other shoe to drop, the next traumatic moment when another man breaks her heart. All because the first one did. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">She will question the authority and/or authenticity of every man. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">She will struggle with intimacy. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">She may become promiscuous, trying to fill that ever-elusive need and desire for love and acceptance.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">She will find herself struggling with codependency, further hindering her relationships and her personal growth. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">She will never feel beautiful and worthy. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">She will constantly try to dull the pain of never feeling good enough. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">She will cry herself to sleep... a lot.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">She will seek inner peace and yet always feel it’s not for her to have. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">She will beat herself up for the rejection imposed upon her because she somehow thinks it’s her own fault. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">And perhaps most dangerous of all...</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">She will question God. A lot. Not only the “why me?” in her most private moments of desperation but also in the very essence of who God is. Our fathers are the first reflection we have of the idea of a heavenly father. Research suggests that whatever our experience with our earthly fathers, we attribute those characteristics to God in our minds. By being absent, narcissistic, critical, or abusive, you’ve sentenced her to a lifetime of struggles in her faith because she will subconsciously attribute these traits to God as well. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">I don’t know the answers to how to solve this. But I do know it probably starts in our own homes. With our own daughters. And men? <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Take a good long look in the mirror of truth to see what legacy you’re leaving your baby girl in your absence. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p4" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 9px 0px 8px;"><span class="s2"></span></p>Erika Turnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339520374520282937noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187555035088152791.post-67254014078297427872020-09-17T18:10:00.003-05:002021-01-11T16:27:24.970-06:00Dear friend whose heart has been broken by “him”<p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 25px; font-weight: bold;"></span></p><h2 style="text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: left;">Dear friend whose heart has been broken by “him”,</span></h2><p></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">I’m so proud of you. You are truly an incredible woman, and I can’t fathom the inner strength you’re summoning right now. I feel convicted to realize I wouldn’t be handling that situation with the dignity, grace, and composure you’re displaying. Admittedly, I’m envious of those remarkable qualities in you. More importantly, I have incredible respect for you. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">I’m just going to put it out there. He didn’t deserve you. I know that sounds so trite, but it’s true. You only deserve the absolute best, and it’s clear by his poor choice in letting you go that he’s not the best! </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">But I know this reminder doesn’t take away the hurt and pain. How could it? <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>But it’s an important reminder nonetheless. And every day that you grow stronger, you will begin to remind yourself of these truths. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">I can’t say what God has in your future. But I can say I’ve been in a similar situation to how you probably feel now. Perhaps more than the hurt is the general wondering if anyone is going to find you worthy and desirable? <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>You know that God has you in His hand, but you still want your hand to be held by a loving, handsome, godly man who loves you back. Acknowledgment and logic doesn’t take away the loneliness. And I know that. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">But you know what else? <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>If you don’t put these broken pieces back together... if you pack the wrong baggage to carry forward from this relationship... if you don’t find your worth in God alone... then trust me when I tell you that when Mr. Right comes along, your issues and these feelings won’t have gone away. In fact, they may surface with a vengeance. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">It’s not like what we see in movies or read in books. Sometimes those of us who’ve been in the throes of relationship trauma believe we are healed and are thankful for who God brings into our lives... only to rediscover that deep-seated pain because we just can’t believe we could finally be happy or even deserve happiness. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">So dig deep. Establish your boundaries. Reflect. Cry. Pray. But know that even when the day comes that your physical longing is met with someone wonderful - and I have no doubt that it very well will be - that the feelings could still be there. Even if you think you’ve dealt with every last one of them. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Because I’ve seen for myself all sides of this kind of despair, and I know that when he finally finds you, you’ll want to be whole and perfected in the Lord. Your wait will have meant something. Don’t internalize any of this hurt to mean you’re unlovable. Because one day the right one will come and show you how incredible and lovable you really are! <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>And you will want to be ready to hear and believe it. I promise. </span><span class="s3">❤️</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s3"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s3"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsHax5xM0Jc8fu7qBFEfHTfVGl6eDHY5jr0kv9y8DLi7GFwZb0H6aSgIU9nWQ6WLlpADkh27wdDNV7wpIdzTEugvHVN4cs02B055O6b8OUEs1M0V4lrIKjqLu_AkIlXmtFEdtHjG48uI0/s2010/9AAE8DCE-4E42-4C4B-A50D-22FC6FC126B4.jpeg" style="font-size: 25px; font-weight: bold; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2010" data-original-width="1512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsHax5xM0Jc8fu7qBFEfHTfVGl6eDHY5jr0kv9y8DLi7GFwZb0H6aSgIU9nWQ6WLlpADkh27wdDNV7wpIdzTEugvHVN4cs02B055O6b8OUEs1M0V4lrIKjqLu_AkIlXmtFEdtHjG48uI0/s320/9AAE8DCE-4E42-4C4B-A50D-22FC6FC126B4.jpeg" /></a></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s3"><br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfnq7gQsJk7h6zk7tBdrAqVkRMvYQ2Um6Y4xsvV5VioWjO4c6jxpLOXzfEwve7aZtdwhQ3xbyQkjD4Z8QhYDq0UGIqWAa36qKF11AdxuRMstcLlEc0e-LsjvCNH9sfBrwOybOnByChGTY/s720/E16BD5D6-DA8B-45EE-A8EF-726DEE6D5CDE.jpeg" style="font-size: 25px; font-weight: bold; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfnq7gQsJk7h6zk7tBdrAqVkRMvYQ2Um6Y4xsvV5VioWjO4c6jxpLOXzfEwve7aZtdwhQ3xbyQkjD4Z8QhYDq0UGIqWAa36qKF11AdxuRMstcLlEc0e-LsjvCNH9sfBrwOybOnByChGTY/s320/E16BD5D6-DA8B-45EE-A8EF-726DEE6D5CDE.jpeg" /></a></div><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s3"></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s3"><br /></span></p>Erika Turnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339520374520282937noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187555035088152791.post-62347107454500371972020-08-27T07:00:00.001-05:002020-08-27T07:00:06.098-05:00Lie #6: Taking time for myself is selfish and wasteful.<div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_1f6f_79a6_aa51_5c12" src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-fqdcuDdJy-Nv7Vf1wHH1XYpbvm4_oYonpTDnT54nRiWxpGJ1EbRTJPptqXat4k" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /><br /></div><p>I mentioned in a recent post about the prevailing societal standard for womanhood: martyrdom on the altar of exhaustion. Whether we like it or not, it's true. Whether we accept it or not, it's true. It's not a glamorous, Hollywood-style view of femininity (although that's a huge expectation of our phsyical bodies), but it is nonetheless the prevailing standard of measuring whether a woman is keeping her value and worth. How exhausted is she?</p><p>But when did this become the norm? Why is this even a thing? We know that we cannot pour from an empty cup. We know that time spent taking care of oneself isn't wasted and it certainly isn't selfish because it helps rejuvenate us to continue our servitude. Yet somehow, we've all been suckered into believing that taking time for ourselves is selfish. How dare we? When there are husbands and children and aging parents and neighbors and friends and relatives to care for, how dare we take a minute to refocus and rededicate ourselves? </p><p>I think the problem truly isn't in recognizing the fallacy of this belief but in the application of its conclusion. We are intelligent women. We "get it." Yet, we live by the lie. So what would a life that includes taking time for myself look like? Most of us don't even know. I don't even know! But I'm trying to figure it out. </p><p>First things first, I guess I need to prepare (either physically or mentally) a list of things that "give back" to myself. What activities and little joys and pleasures of life make me feel most centered? Most energized? If I can't even answer this qeustion, I will certinly struggle in my follow-through.</p><p>It will also require prioritization. I need to maek sure that I'm makign and keeping that appointment with myself. If I wouldn't break a lunch date with a bestie, don't cancel my afternoon walk for physical and mental health! If I wouldn't ignore a yearly check-up (or better yet, my child's yearly check-up), then why in the world would I forgo a much needed quiet time bubble bath? If I wouldn't reschedule a hot date with the husband, then don't discount a solo trip to the coffee shop to get some caffeine and fresh air. Most of the examples I used here are a little cliche, but knowing yourself adn which self-care practices are non-negotiable goes back to that first step. then you have to schedule them and keep them. If you aboslutely must feel productive about it, then write it down on your "to do" list so you can cross it off when you're done. </p><p>And lastly, one with which I struggle with the most, is listening to my body. Anticipate times of high stress and be more compassionate with yourself. I have the hardest time practicing grace with myself but can extend it to others without hesitation. If you are mindful and in tune with yourself, then you're going to know when you need to take that time for yourself, and you can be extra proactive in talking yourself through any guilt you have over taking time for yourself. </p><p>And one more thing? One thing that serves all womanhood well? Stop perpetuating this lie. Don't glorify your busy-ness, especially at the cost of another woman's peace or confidence. Encourage other women to live by the same code and soon we can shatter these ridiculous standards and live healthier and more peaceful lives. I can't help but think our husbands, children, parents, employers, and friends would thank us for it! <br /></p>Erika Turnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339520374520282937noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187555035088152791.post-57256840802779005872020-08-24T07:00:00.002-05:002020-08-24T07:00:04.906-05:00The Second Half... <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiGrgWxmA3nXh6xUTzzJ8MVIiuTLtrZgwVYHDVShapxjVsvTn2lN51zYZC3Vq-yF9paxzNDT4OQEekAXrAgIU1RgNt3trNlztm8mePXquQp2QeAtALtae75_Xf7LjN7qNUxfptsSnQifs/s2048/5F7BDCB1-54D1-456B-B560-32D71EE4D2B3.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiGrgWxmA3nXh6xUTzzJ8MVIiuTLtrZgwVYHDVShapxjVsvTn2lN51zYZC3Vq-yF9paxzNDT4OQEekAXrAgIU1RgNt3trNlztm8mePXquQp2QeAtALtae75_Xf7LjN7qNUxfptsSnQifs/s640/5F7BDCB1-54D1-456B-B560-32D71EE4D2B3.png" width="640" /></a></div><p>This summer I finished reading the book <i>Present Over Perfect: Leaving Behind Frantic for a Simpler, More Soulful Way of Living</i>. While I certainly don't agree with all her doctrinal statements in the book, I found it to be an overall easy and encouraging read for the discerning woman. </p><p>I have been very encouraged lately at the number of female authors I've observed who are owning their authenticity through transparency. It's what I've always striven for, but to be honest, I felt I've been fighting the fight alone. I recently posted the following meme to Facebook, and I find it to be incredibly true. When you're open about your struggles, people are quick to label you: <b>crazy, high maintenance, dramatic, needy, clingy, miserable, intense, psycho.</b> But when did being authentic, transparent, vulnerable, and honest become such a sin? (Side note: I'd argue that it's not one and that the people who this really bothers aren't secure within themselves. Only the bravest of us are secure enough to wear these struggles and feelings openly for all to see.)</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLyjgoaqlzoLUVTJl_8wWfdkc2J3nbkCKFmAUtl1EGOs5W5Hd9SyJl-9c2O7C_8J_NO9myzJKKUyZORZU7G44iNTyi7w2xptDbnOdWYdtMk9D0UTPX8g8yBHNsknipEs9ZfbUz42h-X5s/s1440/48718F8A-9B55-4A73-AD77-DB564B518C7A.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLyjgoaqlzoLUVTJl_8wWfdkc2J3nbkCKFmAUtl1EGOs5W5Hd9SyJl-9c2O7C_8J_NO9myzJKKUyZORZU7G44iNTyi7w2xptDbnOdWYdtMk9D0UTPX8g8yBHNsknipEs9ZfbUz42h-X5s/s640/48718F8A-9B55-4A73-AD77-DB564B518C7A.jpeg" /></a></div><p>Anyway, what I most enjoyed from this book were the little chapters that dealt with feminine beauty and the ideology of women. I have long felt the societal pressures of becoming "the perfect woman." It happens when you have a series of adverse childhood experiences that blossom into a toxic marriage that ended in betrayal. Perfectionism is often sewn into the core of those women battling to overcome such experiences, and whether we put the pressures upon ourselves is really irrelevant. Because the pressures are there. They exist. Period. <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDDrMzQidNLMEmf6-JjqdLKkJW2mLQ3gH2HF_D2ymCfpT_Xkdd41ngK-GtnaSdAXpraLnHhQ8f60pVnsWrNjC5MIjpnMDHc3N47qYNPxvIA0VOXfiqdcNCmW2Nndv7Stdq480pB7e1YZ4/s1200/86E09B3B-B6E2-4B72-8C19-CFB3574EB966.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDDrMzQidNLMEmf6-JjqdLKkJW2mLQ3gH2HF_D2ymCfpT_Xkdd41ngK-GtnaSdAXpraLnHhQ8f60pVnsWrNjC5MIjpnMDHc3N47qYNPxvIA0VOXfiqdcNCmW2Nndv7Stdq480pB7e1YZ4/s640/86E09B3B-B6E2-4B72-8C19-CFB3574EB966.jpeg" /></a></div><p></p><p>I could easily be confusing and combining several texts I've read this summer with the following idea, but I find that one of the pressures of "womanhood" (especially if you're also a teacher) is <b>the hustle</b>. The hallmark of a truly worthy woman is martyring herself on the altar of exhaustion. Yet when we find the elusive rare female who doesn't sacrifice herself to a ridiculous and unhealthy standard, we <i>grill </i>her. We <i>hate</i> her. We want to <i>destroy</i> her. But deep deep down... we just wish we could <i>BE</i> her. We are actually threatened by her seeming "ease." If we're exhausted, then she needs to be too! So we spend even more time attacking one another and competing with one another to see who can do the most, make the most, love the most, serve the most, and all the while we are losing ourselves in the process. At some point we need to realize the benefit of self-care and not treat ourselves (or allow ourselves to be treated) in this way. <b>We have to take this power back because we're the only ones who can. I don't know about you, but I don't want to spend the rest of my life this way.</b> I always want to be a servant and show my love to others, but I cannot do that remotely well if I'm always hurrying and scurrying to my own detriment. I can't take care of others when I'm not caring for my own self. <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPH5S68y6fM1ZBEolSROMFgpTE4Pn_SDwGZUU4BS43Rq8PhK4khD761_Jfwf3z2lsTpz5i7Wy7wVuIEKMqfZmchXdO48je06Icw8QboNISb82Z016uRxE0g-uJizUbYnIXPVWH2mtF5po/s1200/71289483-7F3D-41E6-A22E-B1E86730DDB5.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPH5S68y6fM1ZBEolSROMFgpTE4Pn_SDwGZUU4BS43Rq8PhK4khD761_Jfwf3z2lsTpz5i7Wy7wVuIEKMqfZmchXdO48je06Icw8QboNISb82Z016uRxE0g-uJizUbYnIXPVWH2mtF5po/s640/71289483-7F3D-41E6-A22E-B1E86730DDB5.jpeg" /></a></div><p></p><p>Because this final quote is the one that really got me. I think I've been living the entire (what is presumably) the first half of my life in the shadows of others' expectations. I've tried to become what everyone else wanted me to be so I could be "a good girl", "a good Christian", "a good wife", "a good teacher", and so on. All the while, I was losing myself piece by piece along the way. </p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZckKK3a-SnnjA-zKxQbg69FFWmTTyrQ_Cs3wRe6CpXqjmuiGogzkph2obJHEUgseqgs-adPgccc2HkZuVNVDS73lXk956AuDHrP0LwrSCbBIppXfM6VJ5Tf9sMwVkpp2GD2oRuvaUg64/s1200/CBD84A4E-81E4-4B97-8023-81EF4BEEF2A5.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZckKK3a-SnnjA-zKxQbg69FFWmTTyrQ_Cs3wRe6CpXqjmuiGogzkph2obJHEUgseqgs-adPgccc2HkZuVNVDS73lXk956AuDHrP0LwrSCbBIppXfM6VJ5Tf9sMwVkpp2GD2oRuvaUg64/s640/CBD84A4E-81E4-4B97-8023-81EF4BEEF2A5.jpeg" /></a></p><p>And it hasn't been until this awakening in my 30s that I see that I've become everyone else's version of Erika instead of my very own branded version of myself. So maybe, just maybe, the first half of our lives are spent layering on others' expectations and dying on that altar of exhaustion. </p><p>And maybe, just maybe, the next half can be about shedding those expectations and alternate personas - like an onion - until you peel away everything that isn't truly and authentically YOU. And you keep peeling until you unearth the beautiful core of a woman that was always there, just waiting to be presented to the world. <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZckKK3a-SnnjA-zKxQbg69FFWmTTyrQ_Cs3wRe6CpXqjmuiGogzkph2obJHEUgseqgs-adPgccc2HkZuVNVDS73lXk956AuDHrP0LwrSCbBIppXfM6VJ5Tf9sMwVkpp2GD2oRuvaUg64/s1200/CBD84A4E-81E4-4B97-8023-81EF4BEEF2A5.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZckKK3a-SnnjA-zKxQbg69FFWmTTyrQ_Cs3wRe6CpXqjmuiGogzkph2obJHEUgseqgs-adPgccc2HkZuVNVDS73lXk956AuDHrP0LwrSCbBIppXfM6VJ5Tf9sMwVkpp2GD2oRuvaUg64/s640/CBD84A4E-81E4-4B97-8023-81EF4BEEF2A5.jpeg" /></a></div>Erika Turnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339520374520282937noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187555035088152791.post-5851602852952564342020-08-18T22:40:00.001-05:002021-01-11T16:36:19.656-06:00First Day Jitters: Pandemic Edition <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk7Ete_zTmuErYb3WG2wb7xqizWqlz2Jo49t6qWpAD4qwzTJTx53y1IWGITvb-xPnwk-6W2TOnrnh5IT1LDbdh7V81KHoXtI0IuxriKqY7FHkvcBzFcBks_9Mmz81HLOh6Whv8mzt6R8g/s1280/99AA9FBB-DC80-483D-A076-FDFDA1F41E5E.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="font-size: 19px; font-weight: normal; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="958" data-original-width="1280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk7Ete_zTmuErYb3WG2wb7xqizWqlz2Jo49t6qWpAD4qwzTJTx53y1IWGITvb-xPnwk-6W2TOnrnh5IT1LDbdh7V81KHoXtI0IuxriKqY7FHkvcBzFcBks_9Mmz81HLOh6Whv8mzt6R8g/s640/99AA9FBB-DC80-483D-A076-FDFDA1F41E5E.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 25px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 3px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;"></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 25px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 3px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 25px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 3px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;">Monday night was hard. I saw so many teachers excited to return to school to see their students. And it wasn’t that I wasn’t ready to see my babies again! <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I’ve missed them! <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>It’s the fear of another year of unknown that had me (has me) burdened. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">When I woke up this morning, along with many other educators locally and abroad, I joined in the tradition to post my school day prayer on social media. And I froze. I literally didn’t even know what to ask God for. Who has ever been prepared to teach in a global pandemic like we’ve had to this year?</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">So I reflected on what would really be needful. And two big ideas came to mind: love and grace. Not just for my students and not just for my coworkers. I need love and grace for myself too! <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>The unprecedented circumstances of this year are going to require courage and flexibility of us. And that’s no problem because teachers always rise to the occasion. But it’s also true that we’re navigating unchartered territory here, and we are bound to mess up. Maybe even more than once. Maybe a lot. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">So my prayer was that God would let me be love to those who need it, grace to those who are struggling (with a hearty handful of this for myself!), and that I could be brave enough and strong enough to leave all the rest in God’s hands. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><h2 style="text-align: left;"><span class="s2">And tonight a truth occurred to me that’s very simply truer than true. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Whether or not I commit it to God’s hands does not change the truth that it’s already IN God’s hands. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>And that’s the safest place I can think of or desire to be. </span></h2><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22.7px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Love. Grace. Trust. God grant me these for others and for myself in this new year. In Jesus’ name, Amen. </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 19px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_KX4h5m7X9fmUY3F2jRLYWGm3Y_Tov5Es4k-gO4-zyzcMTmMPXfg0XtF_RBStbbMhiW9dcyHhD_DOkY1ZOjvOBjGU9GAUeuZGsxnIIFqjAnk-n6XSBDB3fIB4MvrFUt0aQ1LItO6z8k4/s640/BFC2B6BC-D578-47BD-95CE-EA1DF7BAC77F.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_KX4h5m7X9fmUY3F2jRLYWGm3Y_Tov5Es4k-gO4-zyzcMTmMPXfg0XtF_RBStbbMhiW9dcyHhD_DOkY1ZOjvOBjGU9GAUeuZGsxnIIFqjAnk-n6XSBDB3fIB4MvrFUt0aQ1LItO6z8k4/s0/BFC2B6BC-D578-47BD-95CE-EA1DF7BAC77F.jpeg" /></a></div><span class="s2"><br /></span><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p>Erika Turnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339520374520282937noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187555035088152791.post-80411024126532785112020-08-12T14:32:00.005-05:002020-08-12T14:34:34.427-05:00Who sinned?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoN1FFj8J9nOopyqW3iszNkoEpWjjFd4zkQ1k8PSqX3uK0OY77lj3ykcwMNdg9FvRocVTNuRFH3oLB8DPoz4j0c7MJAAWDe5-MDEOC2XaTCKoibDyr4Mbto6wb3iVoDwl7Uvp4_-gWRVA/s2048/FD76240C-D128-4A6C-9D73-9ACAE7C2AE58.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoN1FFj8J9nOopyqW3iszNkoEpWjjFd4zkQ1k8PSqX3uK0OY77lj3ykcwMNdg9FvRocVTNuRFH3oLB8DPoz4j0c7MJAAWDe5-MDEOC2XaTCKoibDyr4Mbto6wb3iVoDwl7Uvp4_-gWRVA/s640/FD76240C-D128-4A6C-9D73-9ACAE7C2AE58.png" width="640" /></a></div><p>I've been in quite a state lately. I am from time to time, to be honest, but what folks don't seem to understand is that it's not my choosing. I try desperately hard to control my thoughts, to manifest peace and God's glory in my struggle, yet sometimes this season or this diagnosis seems to be the thorn in my flesh. The battle to which God says, "My grace is sufficient"... because here I am still struggling. Still fighting. And though there have been improvements, the burden hasn't <i>completely</i> been lifted from me. </p><p>You see, I've learned of some people who've said some <i>REALLY</i> hurtful things about me behind my back. And if we're honest here? The childhood rhyme is bogus because sticks and stones DO break your bones <i>AND</i> words strike unimaginable pain in the heart of a compassionate soul. Someone trying to be a Jesus girl. </p><p>People chattering is nothing new though. But the pain of learning they have chattered about you - or in particular, judging you - is always fresh and stinging. People who pretend to your face to be your friend and show concern, to be on your side, to be "praying" for you... only to learn that all those words were spoken to you in vain when you finally uncover the <i>REAL</i> truth. And perhaps even worse is when these little tale-toters <i>THINK</i> they have all the facts straight when they <i>don't</i>. Because things aren't always what they appear. And people are really quick to blame the victim in mental health situations or emotionally traumatic situations... even when (or especially when) they don't have all the facts. </p><p>While the contexts are slightly different, I want to explore these feelings and realizations in light of John 9. I'd suggest reading or re-reading it for yourself, but I will still summarize it here. Jesus is questioned about a man who's been blind from birth. His disciples ask, <b>"Who sinned - this man or his parents - that he's been born blind?"</b> Jesus corrects their thinking, heals the man, and proceeds about His work. But that's not enough for the Pharisees, who launch a metaphorical witch hunt after this poor man, making assumptions and getting in his business all the way. Much like the aforementioned tale-toters. This account has really stood out to me lately, and I'd like to lay out a few thoughts I have about it as examined through the lens of these "chatterers" and "noise makers." </p><h3 style="text-align: left;">1. Sometimes the very ones throwing the accusations are "disciples" too.</h3><p>John 9:2 refers to those questioning Jesus as "his disciples". It's not clear whether these men just made innocent but incorrect assumptions about the man's spiritual condition based on his physical condition, or whether they had an agenda with what they were asking. Either way, we must be careful to be graceful and kind to others, regardless of the nature of their struggle. Who are we to assume that what they're going through is because they're not spiritual enough, or who are we to assume we have a right at all to judge them if we haven't stood in their shoes? <b>People, even other Christians, are quick to blame the victim... to assume it's been enough time since the original trauma for him or her to "get over it" or to assume he or she is blowing it out of proportion or to conclude there's no way that they would tolerate someone in the midst of that situation.</b> The truth is, if you're the one casting the stone, you don't really know <i>HOW</i> you would react in or handle such a situation because you've been blessed enough to not have to deal with it yourself. It's easy to judge from the sidelines, especially when you <i>THINK</i> you know what's going on, much like these disciples thought they understood the whole picture.<br /></p><h3 style="text-align: left;">2. The purpose of the situation (and subsequent healing) was to glorify God. </h3><p>Jesus clearly states that no one was at fault here, especially not the blind man. <b>The purpose of the entire situation was "that the works of God might be displayed in him." Oh, how I wish God could say that of me!!! While there's no way to know this side of heaven what the purpose in all our suffering is, it's not unreasonable nor impossible to believe that some of our earthly suffering is simply to bring glory to God. </b> So maybe your analysis that they "got what they deserved" or it's "their own fault" or they're "crazy and antisocial" isn't really the case. Maybe what someone is going through is simply something that happened... a result of an unhealed or reignited past trauma, a biological or physiological issue, or just overbearing circumstances. And maybe... just maybe... none of that is your business. Maybe, especially as a Christian, we are called to be loving and kind - not accusatory. <b>And regardless of the reason for the person's condition, wouldn't it be a blessing to treat every situation as though it has the potential to glorify God? </b> There's 100% no harm in having that attitude, and trust me, you'll really take pressure off someone by approaching it with this attitude instead of hollow behind-the-back commentaries and opinions. <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0dcGHu4L-GBtTmRYG6ePkchZz_-Jom_Kkcd6wSqynNk_PTHKtX5TpzuhgkbxvHbOH-aAsGzRYo3-WoXnn5BU6QwnZd9XlC-nn30IU1rE5qPgeGnhnyzuw8GeV7iesfU7hAPzY73EUkrQ/s2048/BB56A237-666D-4A92-A1A7-B2C698C1956B.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0dcGHu4L-GBtTmRYG6ePkchZz_-Jom_Kkcd6wSqynNk_PTHKtX5TpzuhgkbxvHbOH-aAsGzRYo3-WoXnn5BU6QwnZd9XlC-nn30IU1rE5qPgeGnhnyzuw8GeV7iesfU7hAPzY73EUkrQ/s640/BB56A237-666D-4A92-A1A7-B2C698C1956B.png" /></a></div><h3 style="text-align: left;">3. Nay-sayers and tale-toters will miss the entire point and still hurl accusations.</h3><p>After the Pharisees get riled up and confront this poor man <i>MULTIPLE</i> times about who healed him and how he was healed and on and on and on, they still hurl accusations at him. The evidence is there in front of their faces, and they still say to him, "You were born in utter sin, and would you teach us?" WOAH! Time for a holier-than-thou attitude adjustment. It's not hard to see the faults of the Pharisees with even a cursory reading of the New Testament, but they really show their colors here. They even cast this poor man out from them. <b>Heart check: is that what you've done? Have you cast someone out because you didn't or couldn't (or just wouldn't) understand them?</b> <br /></p><h3 style="text-align: left;">4. Superiority is guilt. </h3><p>The chapter concludes with Jesus reaching back out to the man he's healed. After a brief conversation and lesson, Jesus addresses the Pharisees. Jesus sees all - even today. Nothing can be hidden from Him, not even our innermost thoughts and desires of our hearts. The Pharisees have tortured and ostracized this man, all the while claiming their spiritual superiority over him and patting themselves on the back for their "aiblity to see so clearly." But Jesus calls them out quickly and puts them in their place. Oh, the irony of how He tells them, "If you were blind, you would have no guilt; but now that you say, 'We see,' your guilt remains." BOOM! In today's application, are you so "blind" that you're missing the point of another's suffering? The moment you profess your superiority over them in judgment of their condition, you've become guilty. </p><h3 style="text-align: left;">And so now the question remains... who <i>really</i> sinned?</h3><p>It is absolutely <i>NOT</i> okay to speak poorly of someone behind their backs. <i>ESPECIALLY if you profess yourself to be a child of God. You just can't. Period.</i> And if you have, you need to settle that with both God and the person you've slandered or gossiped about. Instead, practice kindness, compassion, and grace. Even if you don't understand. The beauty of it all is that understanding someone's situation is not a prerequisite to extending these godly qualities to another. God in His infinite wisdom didn't design it that way. He simply calls us to be kind. <br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiCD-nVRhu8wiP640NpYcb7E_R_R82ckYkF7J-2RPZcUg0T5cl1wDXxUimZmt4MOTM0i5b2x5tcCywvrXz-qQtcMVgvo6MORrOSnKrOuV0agunVvgR9-daTABlLjXHTJXSzQ_FhoQW9l4/s2048/A8324305-C524-4E6C-8BF1-8F2A0D29CCB3.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiCD-nVRhu8wiP640NpYcb7E_R_R82ckYkF7J-2RPZcUg0T5cl1wDXxUimZmt4MOTM0i5b2x5tcCywvrXz-qQtcMVgvo6MORrOSnKrOuV0agunVvgR9-daTABlLjXHTJXSzQ_FhoQW9l4/s640/A8324305-C524-4E6C-8BF1-8F2A0D29CCB3.png" /></a></div><p><br /></p>Erika Turnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339520374520282937noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187555035088152791.post-6315287422318314082020-07-23T08:00:00.007-05:002021-05-31T19:00:06.931-05:00God, how do you want me to love myself?<div><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" height="370" id="id_8ecc_cf36_5e55_6812" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/6Js_eAyOLDPW1r8vhwzEi7SxI8BOxpPHPFMi00nW2r9X3q0q0tFGpHuaXOBY6BA" style="height: auto; width: 556px;" title="" tooltip="" width="556" /><br /></div><br /></div><div>I have recently listened to a series of lessons by David Shannon on 1 Corinthians 13. (Thanks, Whitney, for the recommendation!) And I must say, I've never heard it presented in this much detail and with this much clarity about the charge to Christians to practice agape love. Brother Shannon talks about how we've given 1 Corinthians 13 the title of "the love chapter" with but a cursory understanding of the depths of what God is <i>really</i> asking us to do. I haven't finished the series of lessons yet (I plan to very soon), but what I've learned so far has been quite insightful, and it's inspired me to take those thoughts down the road of this post today... <br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Back when I was single, I saw a clever post that suggested whenever you think you've found "the one", insert his name into 1 Corinthians 13 wherever you read the word "love" or "charity". So in one of my journaling Bibles, I did this using my own name in the place of "love" to reflect on how I measured up to the Lord's standard. I thought I was doing pretty well. Then I met my {future} husband. While let's just say there were a LOT of areas that he still needed to work on to mature, that first part about "Love is patient; love is kind"... I'd never met a more patient and kind person than he was/is. And I straight up failed in comparison. He's continued to prove his patience and long-suffering to me in his endurance through my mental health recovery, but that's not the main point of this post... <br /></div><div><br /></div><div>I'm jumping around here, but I'll bring it full circle, I promise...</div><div><br /></div><div>Back in December, I was studying or listening or reading... I'm not even sure when it hit me. But I reflected upon Matthew 22:39 in a way I never had before. Jesus is clear about the great(est) commandment(s) in His Word. When asked, He explained that our first commandment is to love the Lord our God with all our heart, soul, and mind. But then Jesus expounds upon this initial command to include an "addendum" that He values as comparable... "You shall love your neighbor as yourself." Well, I'd read that about a hundred thousand times I'm sure, but what jumped out to me this time was the <i>"as yourself"</i> part. It hit me square across the face that Jesus expects me -- <b>COMMANDS me</b> -- to love myself. The point here is that I'm supposed to treat others with kindness, dignity, compassion and respect... to love them because they are a creation and reflection of God. The implication to love these others "as myself" suggests that I have to love myself in order to do it! But am I treating myself with the same kindness, dignity, compassion, and respect that I give to others? And I can still answer that with a resounding NO.</div><div><br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_99de_d437_583_a1db" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/NHhPaRo3HXXiq9a6fTyNROd5emVm1bCE_uos7pJdnMFx6958iIunYJO34sCpZJY" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /><br /></div><br /></div><div>This isn't mere child's play here. In fact, it's so important that the idea is re-recorded multiple times throughout scripture: Matthew 19:19, 22:39; Mark 12:31; Luke 10:27; Romans 13:9; Galatians 5:14; and James 2:8. Jesus means business when it comes to loving others and loving ourselves. <br /></div><div><br /></div><div>So Brother Shannon asks at one point in the course of introduction to his lesson(s), "God, how do I need to love you?" (Which is answered when Jesus says "with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.") He continues asking, "God, how do you want me to love my neighbor? How do you want me to love myself?" Hence the title for this post...</div><div><br /></div><div>That's where 1 Corinthians 13 comes into play. It's the most comprehensive explanation and definition that we have of what love is and what it looks like. I've certainly used it as a guide in deciding to marry my husband, but have I used it as a guide to help me learn how to love myself? <br /></div><div><br /></div><div>You know what it says, probably even have it memorized, but let's re-read and examine just a few points... <br /></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" id="id_40c4_14db_7c5f_f524" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/wXR1tqxNsHvoZnjbfeDO3XHFoOewrViJBUupWxG4SzewRnKMA8juV1MFXULaZoo" style="height: auto; width: 392px;" title="" tooltip="" /><br /></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><b>Love is patient</b>... I fail in a lot of areas, and this is one of the chief ones. But if I'm applying these concepts of agape love to my relationship with myself, am I patient with myself when I fall short? Am I understanding that every day won't be a "perfect" day and that I'm bound to fail, even though I'm a work in progress? Am I especially understanding as my body and mind change and mature... even to the point of perhaps not being able to do the things that I once could? Or do I become frustrated and berate myself for these shortcomings?</li><li><b>Love is kind</b>... How do I speak to myself? Are the things I'm telling myself HELPFUL or HURTFUL to me, to my growth? Would I say these same things to my neighbor? No??? Okay, then I must stop saying them to myself to demonstrate love toward myself.</li><li><b>Love does not insist on its own way</b>... How many times do I have an "ideal" in my mind that I'm trying to achieve and I just won't accept anything less than perfect? Is that an edifying attitude to have toward myself? I'm not suggesting that we abandon all pride in our work and just be sloppy, but am I striving for something so perfect that I miss the point/miss the mark? Am I being my own worst enemy by insisting on something being a certain way that ultimately contradicts my well-being and ability to serve as a Christian? I can't afford to be in conflict with myself like that.</li><li><b>Love rejoices with the truth</b>... How many times do I lie to myself about my own value? Do I celebrate what God's word says about me? Do I focus on the things that are pure and noble and true (Phil. 4:8)? <br /></li></ul><div>I am certainly still thinking on all these things, as these ideas are fairly new in my mind. But it's worth contemplating (and re-contemplating) whether I'm truly loving myself the way God wants me to. If I'm not, then I'm certainly not at harmony with myself, I cannot love my neighbor the way I'm called to, and I'm likely insulting God for mistreating His creation {me}. <br /></div></div>Erika Turnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339520374520282937noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187555035088152791.post-71048370907527437672020-07-20T08:00:00.013-05:002020-07-20T08:00:01.815-05:00Lie #5: Fat is the worst possible thing you can ever be.<div>
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I've
struggled with my weight my entire life. Well, since around fourth or
fifth grade we'll say. About the time that I began steroids for my
asthma. Which made me gain weight. And then I learned to self-medicate
the discouragement I felt for being "fat" with more food. And then
kids are bullies, so then I ate more food to soothe those wounds... </div>
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And
then I lost the weight in high school. And then there was mono my
freshman year and I ballooned up again. And then I lost the weight
again in college. And then there was my divorce and working three jobs
while I was in grad school. And then I lost weight yet again, even
became a certified fitness instructor... and then this depression
happened. To be honest, I still have to fight the temptation to
self-medicate using food.</div>
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As
a society, we have certain assumptions about people we judge as
overweight. People tend to assume they eat all day with little to no
exercise, and furthermore, that they're lazy and sloppy too. But most
people I know who would <i>self</i>-classify as "thick" are anything BUT
those things. They're active and hard-working. They're
self-disciplined and ambitious. It's become really clear to me all the <i>other</i> factors involved in weight management since I've been learning to do intermittent fasting and reading <i>The Obesity Code</i>. There may be some choice involved, but I dare say <b>none of us has really chosen to be fat</b>. </div>
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One
of my greatest obstacles to my self image (and associated feelings
about my weight) in the past two years has been realizing that sometimes
men just cannot see past the exterior, especially when their influences
encourage them to get "stuck" in that shallow mode. There are, and
always have been, people who are judgmental and hurtful, short-sighted
and critical. I suppose people can change (and I don't mean this to
sound like a "man-bashing" post), but I don't know if we're truly
teaching our young men to properly manage their "visual stimulation". In
other words, yes, there are beautiful people all around, and although I
don't understand it, apparently that's very distracting to men... but
society, culture, Hollywood, and pornography have supplied for us (for
them) <b>a very shallow lens of what it means to be beautiful and attractive. And if you're fat, you can apparently forget it. </b>
We women are often judged for our weight instead of our fitness and
health, for the size of our jeans instead of the size of our hearts.
But as I once read, "her body won't raise your children. Let's talk
about her heart and outstanding work ethic," or something to that
effect. Even scripture warns us that beauty is fleeting (Prov. 31:30),
but are we teaching our young men (and our young women) to see past that
exterior? Because some of the most attractive people I've ever seen
seem to have terribly ugly souls. And what about the couple who falls
more and more in love and attracted to one another through the years?
It's not because they've become more beautiful by the world's
standards. </div>
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By
these worldly standards, I quickly came to think that everything would be fine
in my life if I were just thin, or thinner. (Or apparently the "right"
kind of fat... did you know there was a "right" kind of fat and a
"wrong" kind? Yeah, me neither until someone “enlightened” me.) I wouldn't find a husband if I wasn't
thin. I couldn't enjoy my body and feel beautiful and sexy if I wasn't
thin. I couldn't celebrate my body's movement and God's wonderful
creation if I wasn't thin. This external standard for beauty began to
make me crazy and obsessed. It made me jealous of every woman around
me. It also turned me into the very thing that I hated so much in other
people because I was constantly comparing myself to see if I was
better/fitter/prettier/thinner/right-kind-of-fatter than the woman(women) around me. I was
no better than the men I would become so frustrated with for their
double standards. I too began to experience a double standard,
especially in my professed values and what I was feeling in my heart and
head. I worked myself into a state of physical collapse - near breakdown - trying to
achieve this "ideal" body. And the end result? I'm now even further
away from that ideal than I was when I began because of the toll it took
on my mental and physical health. </div>
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One
of the real kickers is that even now I see women who I think are about my size
or shape (one plus-size clothing model in particular comes to mind), and I can
find them stunning, in spite of or even because of their bellies! And then I look in the mirror and am disgusted with
what I see. I perceive her (the model’s) "fatness" as beautiful and radiant, and I
perceive my own as "lazy, sloppy, etc."... all those things I mentioned
earlier. It's also confusing because around about the size I was 20
pounds ago (one dress size down) or so, I remember being cat-called on
one of my first dates with my now-husband (not by him, but by some
random guy that passed by us). Yet, I've since been audibly made fun of
(also by other people, not my husband) for my weight/size as I've/we’ve been
out in public. Do we really not have anything better else to do than to
tear women down for their appearances? Guess what... if you're not
dating or married to her, your opinion shouldn't count! Case closed,
shut up... boy, bye! </div>
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And
yet, that societal disapproval hurts so badly. I watched this video below and cried because I related to this brokenhearted woman. While I'm not
her size, should it matter? Why are we this cruel to people? I read
something else the other day that I'll post below... if it can't be
fixed in 10 seconds, keep your mouth SHUT! </div>
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So now <b>I am fighting the battle to find delight in my own body.</b>
To know that women of all shapes and sizes can be and are beautiful;
that "women" includes ME; and that my beauty isn't tied to my weight.
Perhaps most importantly, I'm trying to learn to believe my husband when
he tells me I'm beautiful or attractive (or any other like-themed
adjective). In order to believe him though, I have to believe it
myself. I have to learn to treat my body like it belongs to someone I
love... and that someone is ME! There are SO many worse things that I
could be than fat. And it's also okay that I'm still learning to accept
that. <br />
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Erika Turnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339520374520282937noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2187555035088152791.post-92126483967770078962020-07-16T08:00:00.005-05:002020-07-16T08:00:01.988-05:00What will success even look like now?<div style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" height="314" id="id_cea2_4764_ebe4_a097" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/XV8Df2PyG-4PijfKlQAofiJAThlJTGLIO0eUbUQJ2KR6vHoReLtT1aah3gRF_KA" title="" tooltip="" width="557" /><br /></div><div><p style="text-align: left;">I was eating lunch with a friend recently, and of course, we were talking about the upcoming school year. She knows how this past year was a struggle for me personally and professionally as I learned to balance my life and navigate my health and well-being. She and I both expressed our concerns over all the decisions being made in light of the COVID situation, but neither of us really had a better answer or alternative. There are risks and problems no matter what the powers that be decide, so we just have to have faith.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I told her I was thankful for my summer and glad for all the projects I've been able to work on. I told her that I appreciated the break and change of pace, and while I wanted to stretch summer a little longer (as teachers always do), I was ready to try again. I was (I am) ready for a new year and to put this past year behind. <b>Then I blurted, "I am just ready to be successful again this year... but I don't even know what that looks like."</b></p><p style="text-align: left;">I had thought it, I suppose, though maybe not in so many words. I hadn't really heard myself say it out loud either. <b>I have NO idea what success will look like this year. For myself or my students.</b> <br /></p><p style="text-align: left;">I plan to spend these last few weeks of summer collecting ideas and getting somewhat organized and prepped for the school year ahead. I want to map out new standards and skills that I want my students to achieve and perhaps contemplate how I might arrange my schedule this year to be most efficient. But even with all this planning (and boy, am I planner!), <i>nothing will stop all chaos from breaking loose again. We are NOT in control of this situation. None of us are.</i> We are truly at one another's mercy, and we need to handle the entire situation delicately and respectfully to care for one another's health. But back to my main point... we just don't know what to expect.</p><p style="text-align: left;">I think the COVID quarantine has helped us thrust forward in education, though it's also brought up some powerful conversations about equity for all learners and demographics. I think now is the time to seize these opportunities for "thinking outside the box" and use technology in new and efficient ways. (I have some ideas for leveraging these digital platforms to hopefully work in better ways for my students.)</p><p style="text-align: left;">I've been reading the book <i>Fewer Things, Better</i> in which Angela Watson really encourages teachers to redefine what's important to them, both inside and outside the classroom. What better time than now to contemplate what this "new success" is for myself and for my students? So, I've been pondering this for a few days now, and I'm sort of "thinking out loud" here...</p><h3 style="text-align: left;">What {I think} success will look like for ME <i>personally</i>...</h3><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Continuing to study and pray, both independently and with my husband</li><li>Walking or exercising daily to manage my stress & cortisol levels</li><li>Staying on top of chores and clutter in the house (namely putting things back where they go!)<br /></li><li>Mapping out a weekly plan of priorities (perhaps utilizing my planner in a more consistent and beneficial way)<br /></li><li>Listening to my inner self to stay on top of my mental health <br /></li><li>Learning to establish healthy boundaries (this goes for personal and professional worlds!)<br /></li></ul><div><h3 style="text-align: left;">What {I think} success will look like for ME <i>professionally</i>...</h3></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Planning and prioritizing with intention... either early on Saturday mornings or Sunday afternoons (or some other time, but intentionally having a block of time to do it so I don't feel I'm taking away from my husband)</li><li>Batching tasks so that I can *hopefully* nix the multi-tasking habit and truly attend to my tasks well</li><li>Asking for help from a trusted colleague or administrator when I need help<br /></li></ul></div><div><h3 style="text-align: left;">What {I think} success will look like for <i>MY STUDENTS</i>...</h3></div><div><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Communicating frequently about their mental health (this quarantine has affected us ALL, and THIS is my number one priority when we return to the classroom)</li><li>Practicing conversational skills and writing skills in a variety of contexts</li><li>Exploring new vocabulary and morphology to build capacity for oral language and reading <br /></li></ul><div>And honestly, if/when we go back to school, and my students know they're safe and loved... and they're growing in their abilities to communicate in their new language... And if/when I go back to school, and I feel appreciated and accomplished... like I'm making an impact in their lives... then I think... maybe, just maybe, we can call that a success this year. <br /></div></div></div> Erika Turnerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16339520374520282937noreply@blogger.com0