tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58600830882036834162024-02-20T09:28:25.046-08:00Completely Randomreeta treathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06631713118131701720noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5860083088203683416.post-24520343606405643902024-02-16T09:51:00.000-08:002024-02-16T09:52:29.462-08:00Breath workWhen the day dawns grey and heavy, I find myself at work practicing breathing. <div><br /></div><div>Breathe in God's goodness, breathe out disappointment.</div><div>Breathe in God's mercy, breathe out despair.</div><div>Breathe in God's kindness, breathe out anxiety.</div><div>Breathe in God's truth, breathe out the lies.</div><div>Breathe in God's lovingkindness, breathe out resentment.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxvx84HqwAIoqq2Eqf2BGe7hzWdGXif-t1uyDhvlXq39Z-wqvHPCMAetgByQ5F_BrDRC30LSTTBxFKPyzcGEZQS1UmCNcIC4eaOPdYZVJmFo2D_O10X8ZCRcOYO-9ZMosSqLf_KH-hWQ1CQHDHFnFggtyFdYKMTdTXijLXxBcdVoANud-6JGr5NHjVAhGW/s3600/ocean%20boat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3600" data-original-width="3600" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxvx84HqwAIoqq2Eqf2BGe7hzWdGXif-t1uyDhvlXq39Z-wqvHPCMAetgByQ5F_BrDRC30LSTTBxFKPyzcGEZQS1UmCNcIC4eaOPdYZVJmFo2D_O10X8ZCRcOYO-9ZMosSqLf_KH-hWQ1CQHDHFnFggtyFdYKMTdTXijLXxBcdVoANud-6JGr5NHjVAhGW/w400-h400/ocean%20boat.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">Is this what apprenticeship under Jesus involves? How do I practice walking in the way of Jesus? I know for certain he is using/will use these hard and heavy things I'm facing to train my arms for battle... but what does that daily training look like? This is not book work. These are not hypotheticals. This is life. My life.</span></div><div><br /></div><div>About 2 miles from me a nurse is beginning to inject poison into the body of my oldest son. I can't be there physically, but I'm there in spirit and I'm practicing breathing.</div><div><br /></div><div>Breathe in God's perfect shalom, breathe out pain.</div><div>Breathe in God's faithfulness, breathe out all the brokenness.</div><div>Breathe in God's love, breathe out death.</div><div>Breathe in God's redemption, breathe out bitterness.</div><div>Breathe in God's hope, breathe out rejection.</div><div><br /></div><div>On a day when every breath is a conscious choice, I have to be aware of every single one. This is how the mind is renewed, one breath at a time, one choice at a time. I have no idea how well I'm doing at this. Just that I'm trying.</div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family: Nothing You Could Do;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;">"Be prepared. You’re up against far more than you can handle on your own. Take all the help you can get, every weapon God has issued, so that when it’s all over but the shouting you’ll still be on your feet. Truth, righteousness, peace, faith, and salvation are more than words. Learn how to apply them. You’ll need them throughout your life. God’s Word is an </span><i style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;">indispensable</i><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"> weapon. In the same way, prayer is essential in this ongoing warfare. Pray hard and long. Pray for your brothers and sisters. Keep your eyes open. Keep each other’s spirits up so that no one falls behind or drops out." Ephesians 6:13-18</span></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>reeta treathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06631713118131701720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5860083088203683416.post-56288495996891322462024-02-09T09:01:00.000-08:002024-02-09T09:01:18.321-08:00Say the word...<p>Growing up in the Catholic faith every Sunday after communion we would collectively give this response: </p><p>"<i>Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only <b>say the word</b> and I shall be healed</i>."</p><p>This is in reference to Mathew 8:8: </p><p>"The centurion replied, "Lord, I do not deserve to have you come under my roof. But just say the word, and my servant will be healed."'</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf_wA8HepcWvKEsjJvud66cMo-okuEQohQRv_26shDydMdJ_mPcs1LjQxvYjDxPstsujEruIegKyGvaFbDiZwehJjzLz06_oH4qJKxWekwdVCYrgYwOYYlkNjDUJPb87SAaljSmNbJmNYzdmtZ3kqgs8txwfXzzLESb38JdXOmqPooPIocrEMvFn3tug6g/s2694/AASPN_Countryside1_6.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1549" data-original-width="2694" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf_wA8HepcWvKEsjJvud66cMo-okuEQohQRv_26shDydMdJ_mPcs1LjQxvYjDxPstsujEruIegKyGvaFbDiZwehJjzLz06_oH4qJKxWekwdVCYrgYwOYYlkNjDUJPb87SAaljSmNbJmNYzdmtZ3kqgs8txwfXzzLESb38JdXOmqPooPIocrEMvFn3tug6g/w536-h308/AASPN_Countryside1_6.png" width="536" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>I've been thinking of late about how this has been/is kinda my beef with God oftentimes. "Good grief!" I'm thinking, "God, <b><i>j</i></b><b style="font-style: italic;">ust say the word!!" </b>(Aside from the very obvious situation at hand that I desperately want him to say the word over, there is a LONG list of others). Knowing that the God of the universe loves me and has the power to utter <b>one</b>. <b>single</b>. <b>word</b>. and all things will be made right feels like a pent up scream. </p><p>But if I take a moment to contemplate I realize, God has already said the word, and the word is Jesus. "<i>In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made. In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it</i>." John 1:1-5 </p><p>This is so intensely profound and also in my very humanness not what I want to hear. When everything is going sideways in my life I struggle with this. I'm just like the Jews of old who missed Jesus cause he's not showing up in the ways I want him to. I want him to say a single word and fix ________! It's one of the area's in my faith where I have to keep pressing into this truth: God has never promised, in this life, to fix all the things, he's promised himself, his presence with me... and he is enough. </p><p>It's definitely a hard truth for me to digest (and I am continually learning it btw). I traversed many years not understanding this pretty much at all. Railing at God in dark days that he couldn't possibly <i>actually </i>love me if I was being asked to walk through _______. Early on I totally took the bait hook, line and sinker that as a believer in Jesus I would be insulated from pain. God is for me, who can be against me? My translation: "I mean, if the God of the universe is in my corner I'm gonna come out on top! God is going to get behind all my causes and all my asks. He's for me!" </p><p>You know that famous CS Lewis quote: "We are not necessarily doubting that God will do the best for us, we are wondering how painful the best will turn out to be." Yeah.</p><p>All that to say, I try to hold the hard differently these days. (Try being the operating word). What I realize now is that I have no idea what God might be up to when hard things come to my door. I can only pray through the following:</p><p>If the hard thing is something I think the enemy of my soul is testing me with, I resist his lies and stand, held tight in Jesus. If the hard thing is something I've brought upon myself via sin, I turn, repent and surrender held tight in Jesus. If the hard thing is something 100% out of left field that is probably just a by-product of living as a human on planet earth, I lean into God, held tight in Jesus. God alone knows. He might speak a single word that changes everything in this temporal existence, but I know he has already spoken the Word that changed everything for eternity.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>reeta treathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06631713118131701720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5860083088203683416.post-55535909653297537312024-01-16T09:40:00.000-08:002024-01-16T09:40:43.286-08:00being sick, mourning loss and all things January<p>Today I'm emerging from the foggy haze of being sick for the last little while where all my days mushed together in a muddy soup. Yesterday as I aimlessly shuffled about the house, kleenex in hand, like a disheveled lost soul, I was ruminating on my mom and how when a person feels sick or low in life they just want their mother. Yesterday marked 9 years without mine. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4kWC1rKIYdx3TLZrEyArGmQSiYeG-w2pNWmr7lofPBMS2mnebbTm-lrx023J634TIXkwnZJ8DXfzh-LbDZMFvoydzBHC8OVzTDw24ojSQZqNQgksi5JJHWj7ywdtdxPFABVdN9Q8yicjla0M8z7vibqyPuSrAe6-zHGOZGDMqzowoIfRgOfNlMrmIze2r/s1021/IMG_2421.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1021" data-original-width="828" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4kWC1rKIYdx3TLZrEyArGmQSiYeG-w2pNWmr7lofPBMS2mnebbTm-lrx023J634TIXkwnZJ8DXfzh-LbDZMFvoydzBHC8OVzTDw24ojSQZqNQgksi5JJHWj7ywdtdxPFABVdN9Q8yicjla0M8z7vibqyPuSrAe6-zHGOZGDMqzowoIfRgOfNlMrmIze2r/s320/IMG_2421.jpg" width="260" /></a></div><br /><p>In these days of standing alongside Alex as he does everything he can to beat cancer and we do everything we can to beat fear, I have quite often wished my mom was still here. She was a tower of strength and truly a unique woman. She knew how to do hard things and how to pray. Mom wasn't one to sit on her hands, if she knew of a need that she thought she could meet she did everything in her power to do so. And what she couldn't do practically, she prayed for God's intervention in. She would have been all hands on deck to help any way she could during this stretch of road for us.</p><p>So, very selfishly, I wish she were still here... lending extra strength, cheering me on, helping to pick up the slack, knowing that no matter what, she's rock solidly in my corner. But I guess it's my turn to be as much like her as I can. In which case I'm gonna fix my eyes on God, do what's in my hand to do, plant my feet and pray.</p><p><span style="background-color: white; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Ubuntu, Cantarell, "Noto Sans", sans-serif, Arial; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Nothing You Could Do;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;">"</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;">Be prepared. You’re up against far more than you can handle on your own. Take all the help you can get, every weapon God has issued, so that when it’s all over but the shouting you’ll still be on your feet. Truth, righteousness, peace, faith, and salvation are more than words. Learn how to apply them. You’ll need them throughout your life. God’s Word is an </span><i style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;">indispensable</i><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"> weapon. In the same way, prayer is essential in this ongoing warfare. Pray hard and long. Pray for your brothers and sisters. Keep your eyes open. Keep each other’s spirits up so that no one falls behind or drops out." </span></span></p><p><span style="font-family: Nothing You Could Do;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;">Eph 6:13 </span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;">The Message </span></span></p>reeta treathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06631713118131701720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5860083088203683416.post-15710519094818099682024-01-05T10:01:00.000-08:002024-01-16T10:54:05.600-08:00Breathing out...<p>On Wednesday, after weeks of waiting, Alex was finally able to get a PET scan! Mid afternoon he got the results that showed the chemo is working and his tumors are greatly reduced! He sent that amazing and encouraging report out to his community and within minutes an impromptu celebration had assembled. People cancelled plans, came from miles away and gathered around Alex to rejoice with him. It honestly touched my heart so deep. People who show up are truly just amazing. We all hopped into vehicles and drove to Cheyenne to the newly discovered Sanfords to feast and laugh and just be happy on Alex's behalf. It was great. </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguPXu8RuCGroRqOOdYgn-mvu5iK6YWe4DA4IdEE-OE-ceeWN8gwLn6CDVYwJ2QAIb3DjDZig9QytplwMNKgElLKhz682M6Z2Y6pzN6Lev7T1ugi7T4KumkTOvkHdEqkSAXxTTjcByeaDrMKmfRgkfJDwa_Ttx-DL9M_6ZkwysDcutyipVn9OxrxVCgRjps/s4032/IMG_3914.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="555" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguPXu8RuCGroRqOOdYgn-mvu5iK6YWe4DA4IdEE-OE-ceeWN8gwLn6CDVYwJ2QAIb3DjDZig9QytplwMNKgElLKhz682M6Z2Y6pzN6Lev7T1ugi7T4KumkTOvkHdEqkSAXxTTjcByeaDrMKmfRgkfJDwa_Ttx-DL9M_6ZkwysDcutyipVn9OxrxVCgRjps/w416-h555/IMG_3914.jpg" width="416" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Today marks the half way point in his treatment. He's done 6 chemo sessions and he has 6 to go (God willing and everything keeping the trajectory he's on). We've done a lot of breathing out and giving of thanks to God over the past couple of days. It's not the end of this journey yet, but it's a positive inflection point of joy and we are super grateful for this moment.</div><br /><p><br /></p>reeta treathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06631713118131701720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5860083088203683416.post-4677323281336314262023-12-20T11:21:00.000-08:002024-01-16T10:49:33.477-08:00waiting...<p>T<span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; white-space-collapse: preserve;">oday was meant to be a day that brings more clarity, and instead it's another day of waiting. Alex was scheduled for a PET scan today that would reveal if the chemotherapy is working or not. It’s a fork in the road with his treatment and whatever it shows will either make the path ahead a bit easier or much harder. And so it is that we have been waiting on this day with a mix of hope and dread. As I’m here, in this waiting, I’ve been contemplating why it’s so incredibly hard to hold the tension of outcomes in life. I think as a human I struggle with the work of being still and waiting. Ask me to do almost anything else, but please don't ask me to wait in the tension of not knowing.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKft9YzcqFTgeTlZ32IWDFzA6Jt4QRON5R_iVhNMO-5918b4DzH5sQJGVUxfUCXJDQ2hYLYr_93EZjbpgFLCGDXkVND-q3nmePIvIp4VY3by4UQgnWMKyVWuSlOCMEh3DWTs8H6YlQ6pTLsoQXjWSvJsO0VYTLhGWuNgr7kGEji2g6uHze7CUbO9m_5iJc/s3600/Square%20tree%20worn%20paper.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3600" data-original-width="3600" height="490" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKft9YzcqFTgeTlZ32IWDFzA6Jt4QRON5R_iVhNMO-5918b4DzH5sQJGVUxfUCXJDQ2hYLYr_93EZjbpgFLCGDXkVND-q3nmePIvIp4VY3by4UQgnWMKyVWuSlOCMEh3DWTs8H6YlQ6pTLsoQXjWSvJsO0VYTLhGWuNgr7kGEji2g6uHze7CUbO9m_5iJc/w490-h490/Square%20tree%20worn%20paper.jpg" width="490" /></a></div><br /><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span><p></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-06165b4e-7fff-2507-ea30-8a24550ded89"><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">About 6 years ago God highlighted to me this scripture:</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><i><span style="font-family: Nothing You Could Do;">“The LORD will fight for you; you need only to be still.” Exodus 14:14</span></i></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><i><span style="font-family: Nothing You Could Do;"><br /></span></i></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">How beautifully simple. How excruciatingly hard.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">I’m sitting in this today. I’m trusting that God is fighting this battle, for my part? I’m doing my best to be still. To wait. And if the battle turns in a direction that to me looks bad, I’m going to continue to trust, to wait, to be still. It’s all I can do.</span></p><div><span face="Arial, sans-serif" style="font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></div></span>reeta treathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06631713118131701720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5860083088203683416.post-89929832920367451362023-12-18T10:17:00.000-08:002024-01-22T10:57:02.429-08:00Newsletter post<p style="text-align: center;"><i> Just popping this in here for posterity's sake.</i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9gtcVdQFEkuyqOgyfI55NAnOKAmru-WF-_N-Xd1Fz3odgVf5evirYm-BPcVpmKcsPJAUftTvq1VJvuBCa_2Y1eN79XtkcRXwkwyG6x1LdEz9C-eWVjQhDqmdlekBnR8CRT_f1UgMy8V-bJBl070XqarcPPN56NgJZnhvsCgwWL5IKnhnz8aRm3IlG7oX1/s7169/Treat%20Fam%20005.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4785" data-original-width="7169" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9gtcVdQFEkuyqOgyfI55NAnOKAmru-WF-_N-Xd1Fz3odgVf5evirYm-BPcVpmKcsPJAUftTvq1VJvuBCa_2Y1eN79XtkcRXwkwyG6x1LdEz9C-eWVjQhDqmdlekBnR8CRT_f1UgMy8V-bJBl070XqarcPPN56NgJZnhvsCgwWL5IKnhnz8aRm3IlG7oX1/w418-h280/Treat%20Fam%20005.jpg" width="418" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Hello friends!</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><b id="docs-internal-guid-1c90e4c6-7fff-903d-681d-65fe00b2f45b" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I’m sitting down to write this the week of Thanksgiving, and as I do I’m ruminating on all the things we</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">have to be thankful for at this moment in time. While our family is in a moment of distinct challenges, if I </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">really stop and evaluate, the evidence of God’s provision and goodness in our lives is overwhelming. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">We are seeing (even at this early stage in the journey) how God pre-lined up provision for a season we had </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">no idea was about to begin.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I’m going to tell you that just a few short years ago when we were walking through another challenging stretch </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">of road, I did not feel this way! If you know me even a little bit you will know that I am not a Pollyanna. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">The Pollyanna's in my life have been a continual source of annoyance to me through the years. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">In my mind the glass had always been half empty… is this even a real question?? But one Kiwi summer’s </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">day in December of 2018 as we were beginning to pack up our lives in that lovely land and my heart was </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">heavy with loss, I had a conversation with my oldest son about my half empty glass. For whatever reason,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> his perspective and attitude just struck home to my heart. This is by no means verbatim, but the essence </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">of what he said to me as I was looking to him to commiserate with me on all this loss (since I knew he</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> personally was losing a lot having to leave NZ) was, “I’ve decided to be thankful for the time we've had here,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> the friends, the culture, the experiences… all of it. I’m choosing to look at all the good.” It was one of those </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">frozen moments because for whatever reason that came home to me in a way it never had before. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">There was nothing I could control about my circumstances, but I could control how I responded. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">To say the least, this has been a learning process with many faceplants for me. Am I doing it perfectly and</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> with ease? No. But I’m trying.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">We are saturated with messages about “positive” thinking, and if you’re anything like I was, you’re scoffing </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">at all that positivity. Good grief! Life is hard. Can we just say that and not try to spin it positive? </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">And this is true, </span><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">"</span><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #040c28; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Life is pain, Highness.</span><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> </span><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: #040c28; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Anyone who says differently is selling something."</span><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> But life is also amazing and joy laden. One of the significant beauties of life in Christ is that Jesus</span><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> holds space for all of it and all of us. God gives me all the space in the world to lament, to rage, to </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">bawl my eyes out and pound his chest over the pain I’m experiencing and in tandem with that he lifts </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">my head, asks me to count it all joy, holds me close and teaches me to re-frame pain, suffering and loss. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> Having come from a faith tradition that did a good job of embracing the hard things in life but often </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">lacked joy and then moving into a church culture that only wanted to experience joy and lacked the ability </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">to look pain in the eye, I’ve come to this: I’m not either a glass is half full person or a glass is half </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">empty person…I’m a human walking through a broken world and both joy and pain are the experience here. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> Ann Voskamp says this so well, “</span><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="color: #040c28; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Joy and pain, they are but two arteries of the one heart that pumps through all those who don't numb </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="color: #040c28; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">themselves to really living.”</span><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Ok. So here we are. Just at the beginning of this road winding through the bleak wasteland of cancer. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">We are anticipating 6 months of chemotherapy for Alex at least. His attitude is really good, he’s done </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">his research on Hodgkin’s Lymphoma and is doing everything he can to beat it. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">The rest of us are trying to provide a support system for him that will see him through to the end of this journey. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Thankfully Alex has amazing friends who are supporting him really well. Do we know what lies ahead? No. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">It could be gut wrenchingly tragic or soar to the heights miraculous. We don’t know. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">What we do know is that we are not alone, we have a God who sees, who knows, </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">who is acquainted with grief and who won’t leave us.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span face="Arial,sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Thank you for all your prayers and kindness, you are much appreciated and loved!</span></p>reeta treathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06631713118131701720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5860083088203683416.post-72279563854780311482023-10-24T11:43:00.002-07:002024-01-16T10:41:00.428-08:00Trauma<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;"> Let's talk about trauma. </span></div><p><span face=""Google Sans", Roboto, arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #202124;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">trau·ma</span></span></p><div class="gBoaXb sxr04b" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; padding-bottom: 2px;"><div class="kVF6d" style="display: table; word-break: break-word;"><div><span class="wHYlTd" style="line-height: 22px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">/ˈtrômə/</span></span></div><div aria-hidden="true" class="K6GhFd" data-is-bilingual="false" jsaction="BtuVOb:V46pce" jscontroller="jhGntf" style="max-height: 0px; opacity: 0; pointer-events: none; transition: max-height 0.3s ease 0s, opacity 0.3s ease 0s; visibility: hidden;"><div class="b8aKlc" style="padding: 8px 0px 6px;"><a href="https://www.google.com/search?sca_esv=576160195&sxsrf=AM9HkKnt5sGJ6Q6vJYGHgtcKukxdHMdkwQ:1698169282298&q=how+to+pronounce+trauma&stick=H4sIAAAAAAAAAOMIfcRowS3w8sc9YSn9SWtOXmPU5OINKMrPK81LzkwsyczPExLiYglJLcoV4pLi4GIrKUoszU20YlFiSs3jWcQqnpFfrlCSr1AA1JEP1JKqAFEAAIaTAElXAAAA&pron_lang=en&pron_country=us&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwiF19vGnY-CAxVVJzQIHXhuALQQ3eEDegQIIhAI" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1); color: #1a0dab; outline: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;" tabindex="-1"><div class="S5TwIf" style="border-radius: 6px; box-shadow: rgb(218, 220, 224) 0px 0px 0px 1px inset; display: inline-block; overflow: hidden; padding-right: 12px; vertical-align: top;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><g-img class="FamOtd" style="display: inline-block; height: 32px; vertical-align: middle;"><img alt="" class="YQ4gaf zr758c wA1Bge" data-atf="0" data-frt="0" height="32" id="dimg_5" src="data:image/svg+xml;base64,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" style="border: 0px; display: block; position: relative;" width="32" /></g-img><span class="fe69if" style="margin-left: 10px; vertical-align: middle;"></span></span></div></a></div></div></div></div><div class="vmod" style="background-color: white;"><div class="vmod" data-topic="psychiatry,medicine" jsname="r5Nvmf"><div class="lW8rQd" style="align-items: center; color: #202124; display: flex; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif;"><div class="YrbPuc vdBwhd" style="color: #70757a; line-height: 22px; min-height: 20px;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">noun</span></i></div><div aria-hidden="true" class="xpdxpnd" data-mh="-1" jsname="jUIvqc" style="max-height: 0px; overflow: hidden; transition: max-height 0.3s ease 0s;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="kqEaA" style="color: #70757a; line-height: 22px;"></span><span class="kqEaA z8gr9e" style="color: #4d5156; line-height: 22px;"><b></b></span><span class="kqEaA" style="color: #70757a; line-height: 22px;"></span><span class="kqEaA z8gr9e" style="color: #4d5156; line-height: 22px;"><b></b></span><span class="kqEaA" style="color: #70757a; line-height: 22px;"></span><span class="kqEaA z8gr9e" style="color: #4d5156; line-height: 22px;"><b></b></span></span></div></div><ol class="eQJLDd" style="color: #202124; display: flex; flex-direction: column; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0px 20px;"><li jsname="gskXhf" style="list-style: none; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;"><div class="vmod"><div class="thODed" style="padding-top: 8px;"><div class="wHYlTd sY7ric" data-topic="" jsname="cJAsRb" style="line-height: 16px;"><div style="float: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">1.</span></div><div style="margin-left: 20px;"><div class="wHYlTd sY7ric" style="line-height: 16px;"><div data-dobid="dfn" style="display: inline;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">a deeply <span class="AraNOb" style="text-decoration-line: underline;"><a class="rMNQNe" data-ved="2ahUKEwiF19vGnY-CAxVVJzQIHXhuALQQyecJegQIIhAK" href="https://www.google.com/search?sca_esv=576160195&sxsrf=AM9HkKnt5sGJ6Q6vJYGHgtcKukxdHMdkwQ:1698169282298&q=distressing&si=ALGXSlY7Tk5u3AnUd39hr4eAN0gr3dC18b__YF4oKIEH77pUPluKBHAfQ88xDdi0azcZtu1DU-EXmCccJfzzBQ819fiPOghBnxSqnCmeRJg-3IBO5F9lPX8%3D&expnd=1" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1); outline: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;" tabindex="0">distressing</a></span> or <span class="AraNOb" style="text-decoration-line: underline;"><a class="rMNQNe" data-ved="2ahUKEwiF19vGnY-CAxVVJzQIHXhuALQQyecJegQIIhAL" href="https://www.google.com/search?sca_esv=576160195&sxsrf=AM9HkKnt5sGJ6Q6vJYGHgtcKukxdHMdkwQ:1698169282298&q=disturbing&si=ALGXSlbnOEZPfHsS2MaPJwdaOxE_tUCdN-G3misvr_QPnFuEtkbJzU82GFVKdBQT19xkEb1S7r2HZTIJuSdRzv5sxk-4G5rTcVo5t7sCav-lRIU0kgThRGo%3D&expnd=1" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.1); outline: 0px; text-decoration-line: none;" tabindex="0">disturbing</a></span> experience.</span></div></div></div></div></div></div></li></ol><div><span face="Roboto, arial, sans-serif" style="color: #202124; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTpCsDoc9aES_aQOKxiUtmZv5oPMiggqjkLhQ7F4O3NIJfIu0SmCAG6ys5YI_KmZZqyLyXRa00s_0Vr79uoULPFKRJJ-2gRzvr4lgzJmxBSahINhx8wNQ-Gda8uy21r3eifeQnrZi9m8Ltoqwp-Us1TAoqe14v0wq3bu8SrfLBfjJipHQ9EaOJDaRpVs22/s1280/in_the_valley_of_the_shadow_of_death_by_zh84_dfq9oyj-fullview.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="854" data-original-width="1280" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTpCsDoc9aES_aQOKxiUtmZv5oPMiggqjkLhQ7F4O3NIJfIu0SmCAG6ys5YI_KmZZqyLyXRa00s_0Vr79uoULPFKRJJ-2gRzvr4lgzJmxBSahINhx8wNQ-Gda8uy21r3eifeQnrZi9m8Ltoqwp-Us1TAoqe14v0wq3bu8SrfLBfjJipHQ9EaOJDaRpVs22/s320/in_the_valley_of_the_shadow_of_death_by_zh84_dfq9oyj-fullview.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span face="Roboto, arial, sans-serif" style="color: #202124; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div style="color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div style="color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I feel that I can't go forward with posting my thoughts about this journey I'm on without addressing trauma. From the moment the word cancer entered the conversation around Alex's health, it has taken up most of the room. It was just one month ago that Alex came to Daniel and I and said he was getting an ultrasound on the lumps in his armpit to rule out the possibility of cancer. "Good." we said. "It's best to rule it out."</span></div><div style="color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span face="Roboto, arial, sans-serif" style="color: #202124;">We have to acknowledge that cancer is trauma inducing. I don't think there's a person I know that doesn't either know someone fighting cancer, love someone fighting cancer, has survived it themselves or lost someone to this disease. It's a terrible, horrible thing, and most of us have been touched by it in some way, shape or form. For myself, the very first time I encountered cancer up close was when my dearest friends mom was diagnosed back in 1991. Her death ripped apart worlds and shattered every sense of normalcy. I was young and not at all tempered by the hard things of this life and I'm pretty sure I was next to useless to my sweet friends in their gut wrenching grief. (We are however still friends today, so I think they have forgiven my bumbling inadequacy). </span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span face="Roboto, arial, sans-serif" style="color: #202124;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span face="Roboto, arial, sans-serif" style="color: #202124;">The second time was in 2014 sitting next to my mom at MCR 4 days after she had a tumor removed from her brain and hearing that the biopsy had revealed cancer. 6 months to live they said. My mother, with all the calmness in the world, politely thanked the hospital staff for all their excellent care, asked me to purchase See's chocolates for all of her nurses and resolutely declined chemotherapy. She would not fight it. 6 weeks later I would find myself holding her hand as she took her last breath. She had resolved to go home to God and she so she did.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span face="Roboto, arial, sans-serif" style="color: #202124;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span face="Roboto, arial, sans-serif" style="color: #202124;">Walking with my mother down that road taught me many things. But maybe the most poignant was her lack of fear around death. She stepped almost seamlessly from this life into eternity leaving letters for all those she loved and detailed instructions for her handful of belonging. But of course, she was an unusually strong soul from the start, so it didn't surprise me, but her courage gave me courage. Do I need to acknowledge that cancer can end in death? Yes. To not do so would be foolish. Do I stand at the edge of the Valley of the Shadow and desperately ask God to please, please not ask me to walk down into that valley again? Yes. I ask. I am asking. Honestly, I don't want to think about it. But I have to. I have to look the trauma of my past encounters with cancer in the face, and I have to leave the outcome of this current situation with God. It's a very rubber meets the road moment. I either actually believe that Jesus has conquered death, that it has no victory, that there is no evil to fear in it's shadow or I don't. It's pretty much that simple and simultaneously it's not. Because who among us can walk without knees trembling into that dark shadow? No one. Only Jesus. So here's my deep theology moment for today. The only way forward for me is to tuck my heart and soul into the arms of Jesus and rely on him to carry me through. Today. Tomorrow. Friday and every subsequent day. Help me Lord.</span></span></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span face="Roboto, arial, sans-serif" style="color: #202124;"><br /></span></span></div><div><br /></div></div></div>reeta treathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06631713118131701720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5860083088203683416.post-60413162998561306262023-10-20T10:51:00.001-07:002024-01-16T10:37:04.883-08:00All I can do...<p>Ugh. Well, the PET scan results were not what we were hoping for. It revealed a baseball sized tumor in Alex's chest under his lungs and a bunch of other smaller tumors throughout his torso. So with this information his oncologist has assessed that he's stage 2 unfavorable (the unfavorable part being these extra tumors, that they span 3 regions of his lymph system and the rate at which they are growing). He begins chemotherapy a week from today. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKu0XAKg8Yb5Imx6qAqEfeYXy1YfzZ1lCbMJz9wRoNc5cu1ubRxE-eK4DOmyv7DSqxxB1XcP7w1TIwGmoAT1Isoww52GXfmGCspdKTUuZbAvGIUieGJPWNjpB5sCSEb-h4mpNeo9ah5Ts2v3kEoX7evSlowPJz_AIgcGKsIpg2SIR5dJlp93TLYZGuUKQz/s4032/Alex.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKu0XAKg8Yb5Imx6qAqEfeYXy1YfzZ1lCbMJz9wRoNc5cu1ubRxE-eK4DOmyv7DSqxxB1XcP7w1TIwGmoAT1Isoww52GXfmGCspdKTUuZbAvGIUieGJPWNjpB5sCSEb-h4mpNeo9ah5Ts2v3kEoX7evSlowPJz_AIgcGKsIpg2SIR5dJlp93TLYZGuUKQz/s320/Alex.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Alex being his best philosophical self</div><br /><p>What can be said? Are we happy to know that in the midst of everyday life, the laughter, activities, bustle and flow of living, a silent cancer has been quietly growing? No. Are we glad that Alex's university studies, his hard fought for financial aid, his job and happy life rhythms are all on hold while he battles disease? No. Are we looking forward to all that he will have to endure over the next however many months? No. </p><p>None of what we are experiencing at the moment is within my control. And the truth? Life isn't within my control, even when I think it is. Times like this bring that reality home. So what does lie within my control? Only my response. And so it is that I am bringing my whole self, my dislike of these circumstances, my anxieties, my sadness, my anger, my disappointments, my fears, my hopes, my questions... ALL the things to the only One who is actually in control. Every day I'm going to do my best to leave the whole heaping mess with Him. It's all I can do.</p><p><br /></p>reeta treathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06631713118131701720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5860083088203683416.post-78806748879488545202023-10-11T11:06:00.002-07:002023-10-11T13:50:13.421-07:00God is on the job!<p><span style="background-color: white;">"</span><span face="system-ui, -apple-system, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Ubuntu, Cantarell, "Noto Sans", sans-serif, Arial" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;">Since Jesus went through everything you’re going through and more, learn to think like him. Think of your sufferings as a weaning from that old sinful habit of always expecting to get your own way. Then you’ll be able to live out your days free to pursue what God wants instead of being tyrannized by what you want. </span><span class="versenum" face="system-ui, -apple-system, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Ubuntu, Cantarell, "Noto Sans", sans-serif, Arial" style="background-color: white; display: inline; font-size: 1.2rem; font-weight: 700; line-height: normal; position: relative; top: auto; vertical-align: text-top;"> </span></p><p><span face="system-ui, -apple-system, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Ubuntu, Cantarell, "Noto Sans", sans-serif, Arial" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;">Everything in the world is about to be wrapped up, so take nothing for granted. Stay wide-awake in prayer. Most of all, love each other as if your life depended on it. Love makes up for practically anything. Be quick to give a meal to the hungry, a bed to the homeless—cheerfully. Be generous with the different things God gave you, passing them around so all get in on it: if words, let it be God’s words; if help, let it be God’s hearty help. That way, God’s bright presence will be evident in everything through Jesus, and </span><i style="background-color: white; font-family: system-ui, -apple-system, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Ubuntu, Cantarell, "Noto Sans", sans-serif, Arial; font-size: 16px;">he’ll</i><span face="system-ui, -apple-system, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Ubuntu, Cantarell, "Noto Sans", sans-serif, Arial" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"> get all the credit as the One mighty in everything—encores to the end of time. Oh, yes!</span></p><p><span face="system-ui, -apple-system, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Ubuntu, Cantarell, "Noto Sans", sans-serif, Arial" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;">Friends, when life gets really difficult, don’t jump to the conclusion that God isn’t on the job. Instead, be glad that you are in the very thick of what Christ experienced. This is a spiritual refining process, with glory just around the corner.</span></p><p><span face="system-ui, -apple-system, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Ubuntu, Cantarell, "Noto Sans", sans-serif, Arial" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;">So if you find life difficult because you’re doing what God said, take it in stride. Trust him. He knows what he’s doing, and he’ll keep on doing it."</span></p><p><span face="system-ui, -apple-system, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Ubuntu, Cantarell, "Noto Sans", sans-serif, Arial" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> 1 Peter 4: 1,2, 7-13 & 19 MSG</span><br /></span></p><p><span face="system-ui, -apple-system, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Ubuntu, Cantarell, "Noto Sans", sans-serif, Arial" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRPBtwRuRSqhfUWgsZZcV5DS4ETfsVkTkSoLqBuO845YZAm3f54rexUhxSrYmED6koODnlrB6-QNfvx6Ftp7fyQSOQAaMh41ouzg7XanfTdCYbaQjj9Er39W3hvAqFx6-QCBH4EftOaDFcTijoB08x7BIWzW3CL1YxAsxlN5rokZm6iXaNfO58xm4VPX1H/s524/istockphoto-1155050689-170667a.webp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="329" data-original-width="524" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRPBtwRuRSqhfUWgsZZcV5DS4ETfsVkTkSoLqBuO845YZAm3f54rexUhxSrYmED6koODnlrB6-QNfvx6Ftp7fyQSOQAaMh41ouzg7XanfTdCYbaQjj9Er39W3hvAqFx6-QCBH4EftOaDFcTijoB08x7BIWzW3CL1YxAsxlN5rokZm6iXaNfO58xm4VPX1H/w400-h251/istockphoto-1155050689-170667a.webp" width="400" /></a></div><br /><span><br /></span><p></p><p><span face="system-ui, -apple-system, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Ubuntu, Cantarell, "Noto Sans", sans-serif, Arial" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"><span>In my minds eye I'm driving back home through the streets of Hamilton late at night. I've just come from an evening with friends in which we were discussing suffering. Talking through hard things in our lives and encouraging one another. I'm sitting at an intersection that is typically a snarly mess to get through, but at this time of night I'm the only one there... waiting for a green light. It's funny how you can know a truth pretty much your whole life, but in one pivotal moment it comes home to your soul and sticks. </span></span></p><p><span face="system-ui, -apple-system, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Ubuntu, Cantarell, "Noto Sans", sans-serif, Arial" style="background-color: white; font-size: 16px;"><span>Sue had said in the course of the evening with literally no fanfare whatsoever that God is taking the time to shape and forge our character in this life and that it's the one thing we take with us into eternity. And for whatever reason, that went deep in me. The whole city is quiet but my mind is zipping through the conversation and it's implications. What I saw within myself in that moment was a push back against the very artistry, the unimaginable craftsmanship of God himself. What I had essentially been saying to God in the hard place I was sitting was, "Make me more like you but please don't use the chisel, the hammer or the forge to do so. Write my story, but please include these edits, oh, and I have some great ideas I'd like you to incorporate for how this chapter of my life should go!"</span></span></p><p><span face="system-ui, -apple-system, Segoe UI, Roboto, Ubuntu, Cantarell, Noto Sans, sans-serif, Arial"><span style="background-color: white;">(As an artist myself I know that if you find an artist at the top of their craft and you commission them to create a piece for you, you're gonna just have to be happy with whatever it is they give you. You don't question a master artist or give critiques!)</span></span></p><p><span face="system-ui, -apple-system, Segoe UI, Roboto, Ubuntu, Cantarell, Noto Sans, sans-serif, Arial"><span style="background-color: white;">So here I am questioning the methods of God. Giving Him my suggestions, critiques and criticisms. Sometimes even demanding He do things a different way. On that late night drive home I could see clearly that at it's core the question is trust. Do I believe God creates masterpieces? Do I trust His methodology? Can I be still and let Him do his amazing, masterful work even when it looks like a mess to me? Even when it's hard, uncomfortable and (to my eyes) ugly?</span></span></p><p><span face="system-ui, -apple-system, Segoe UI, Roboto, Ubuntu, Cantarell, Noto Sans, sans-serif, Arial"><span style="background-color: white;">Now. Can I just say right here that the pain and sometimes agony of the chisel, the hammer and forge is by no means easy, fun or something that I would sign up for. I am not glossing over or trying to make this process look like it's glorious. It's not. There are no rose petals falling while soothing music plays as character is being shaped. It's gritty, hot, sweaty, gross work. There is nothing easy here. But God is. He is present in every gut wrenching second of the process and He's not going anywhere. He's committed to finishing the work and I'm glad He's on the job!<br /><br /></span></span></p>reeta treathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06631713118131701720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5860083088203683416.post-23169220348667566812023-10-06T08:59:00.003-07:002023-10-06T09:00:20.277-07:00Just a little something I wrote...<p>This is a little something I wrote while we were still living in New Zealand in 2018. Alex was 17 at the time and I feel like it just gives a glimpse into the very solid soul that he is and the very sloppy job that parenting can be sometimes. Life is not a point A to point B endeavor, it's paths take us into uncharted territories, up to unbelievable vistas and along many an unmarked trail. It's been 5 years since I wrote this, but it's just as true today.</p><p><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12pt; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12pt; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;"> She stood at the sink shoulder to shoulder with her son up to her elbows in dish water. He was trying to help, keeping the mood light and throwing that sharp whit of his around with all the confidence of youth. She was half listening, half pondering. This had become a pattern for her, she couldn’t help but turn over and examine carefully the myriad of memories, thoughts and yes, worries that rolled around in her head. She took another dish from his hands and scrubbed thoughtfully. How had this boy, her boy, come to be almost grown? In her mind’s eye she could see him as a happy go lucky 2 year old, loving his train table and constructing with blocks. She had to stretch to reach the memories of those early days when she actually sat on the floor and played with him, reading him story after story and feeding him endless cheerios. It was another lifetime, another world and that was just the truth. She thought about how some families were still living within reach of those early moments of their kids lives. When they made a pot of coffee in the morning they could look across the kitchen to the same table their now grown children had played playdough on. But this was not her story. She had let go of all those things and places, they existed only in her memories and a copious number of photographs. She was a wanderer. A gypsy. What can a gypsy give to her children?</span></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBj9l2udTBDhwUWJgHlvQnbtrV72B5NTrLaq68vFCFPfSy1QdTSHgZQnHjroULBYbbxhNtDX9hQnspVy1mO9UrYyYrQeBhMHGkaWY-nelseTOIgvGBVfW__VrtgmQI1XC5nwpBMjt2mEmg6u_oT5alv6FKN1xXcoMFztNHWsXBU2plAAmC5qw2u_qkvioF/s2448/IMG_4343.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1033" data-original-width="2448" height="135" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBj9l2udTBDhwUWJgHlvQnbtrV72B5NTrLaq68vFCFPfSy1QdTSHgZQnHjroULBYbbxhNtDX9hQnspVy1mO9UrYyYrQeBhMHGkaWY-nelseTOIgvGBVfW__VrtgmQI1XC5nwpBMjt2mEmg6u_oT5alv6FKN1xXcoMFztNHWsXBU2plAAmC5qw2u_qkvioF/s320/IMG_4343.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span id="docs-internal-guid-bb770ba4-7fff-9e58-3f70-d76a51f6be3a"></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: helvetica;">The sound of a question hung in the air and brought her back to the sink and dishes and the tall boy who was no longer a boy standing there. “Sorry, what did you ask me?” She knew it sounded lame. He had been talking about life and how it wasn’t so bad and that his future wasn’t really in jeopardy,... he was a hard worker. Did she know that he could catch up? That all the starts and stops of the last few years could be ironed out with hard work? “Sure, of course I know you’re a hard worker!” And she did. It just all looked so very different than she had imagined. She’d had no choice but to live exposed… heart out there for all to see, no chance to hide the mess away and pretend. Maybe that was good...maybe it would mean that if a dark night of the soul came for him he would be able to wade through it with courage and hope. Surely he had seen enough such times throughout the last 7 years. But what was his take away? Was he going to apply that black and white leaning brain of his to the murky greys of this life? Would the inconsistencies and mess make him doubt… push him too far? She felt it keenly, the mess of their lives, the churn that it had become. She worried about the toll it exacted from each of them and if in the end it would prove to be too heavy a price. It was difficult not to feel that if somehow they had held onto those golden, sunny days of life on Suri Trail that all would be well right now...the family would feel intact, safe… far from the edge on which they currently teetered. Did he remember what it felt like to live in one place for years on end? To have routines and traditions, the reassuring lullabies of a life at peace… Why did it bother her so much? How was it that the loss of the meadowlark’s song in the morning and a little red wagon in the driveway waiting for another adventure could bring her to her knees so easily? He’s handing her another dish and reassuring her the best he can that is all is well, that New Zealand is such an amazing place to live. And of course he’s right. How many women would stand in line to be in her shoes. Still, it’s not really about a place, is it? She holds this thought out from her, examining it a bit. No. It’s nothing to do with location, It’s 100% internal. The heart. Immediately she knows the truth of it and it resonates deep. The heart is the well-spring. It’s either feeding out living water to those gathered at its edges, or it’s gurgling out yuck. And the truth is suddenly smacking her in the face ugly and bold… she’s been serving up bitterness and anger. Slapping down the muck of her heart’s contents in front of them all, praying for survival and poisoning them simultaneously. She drops the dish down into the murky water staring glassy eyed at half hearted soap bubbles and a whole lot of ugly. She can see it clear now. There is only one way forward, repent. Be broken, acknowledge the ugly… don’t pretend… turn it all over to Jesus and ask Him for the impossible. For a way forward out of the dark into hope. For a new heart and living water…</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNboW7Un-PL3npZ-gfM98oBM0qzm8EvFiX6Q75vDf2GW6fqw5Dbk6hl0qqq1_Bg7hhkunZGdAv4Ka75k_79XrZgLahBPVK3VJNODP1q0STrJuYtglA1qF_sMyO01p8Mji9qkQtvgfGIBPSW7tN7JfeJs7fVaFONxZaTB3i3kT9xwrXkbjSlEdScaeAYF2u/s500/Alex+02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="334" data-original-width="500" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNboW7Un-PL3npZ-gfM98oBM0qzm8EvFiX6Q75vDf2GW6fqw5Dbk6hl0qqq1_Bg7hhkunZGdAv4Ka75k_79XrZgLahBPVK3VJNODP1q0STrJuYtglA1qF_sMyO01p8Mji9qkQtvgfGIBPSW7tN7JfeJs7fVaFONxZaTB3i3kT9xwrXkbjSlEdScaeAYF2u/s320/Alex+02.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; text-indent: 36pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; text-indent: 36pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">He’s still happily chatting...cheery and full of life, doing his best to pull his gloomy mother out of her funk. She asks if he’ll do a chore for her and he willingly obliges, quoting the Princess Bride at her over his shoulder as he sails out of the kitchen. She smiles. He’ll probably never really know how much she loves him and what it feels like at 44 to be broken and messy when the assumption is you’ll have it all together by then. To be on a crazy journey </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; text-indent: 36pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">with</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; text-indent: 36pt; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> your children more than guiding them through while safely on the other side… But if at the end of the day he knows Who to turn to for the answers, with the brokeness, in spite of the hard while laying down the ugly, then she’ll know he’s gonna be ok. He will know what it looks like to be vulnerable and real and he won’t take any substitutes… his life will be unwreckable because he’ll know Christ’s love is unstoppable. He will have seen it firsthand, a front row seat to life lived raw and broken… handed over to the Restorer, never perfect, but held open handed... and hopefully, {please God!} with love. Because love covers a multitude of sins and heaven knows she needs a whole lot of love to coat this messy life and fill in the gaping holes and pock marks of failure. She breathes out a prayer, an exhaling of hopes and drains the dish water.</span></div><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial,sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap; white-space: pre;"><br /></span><p></p>reeta treathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06631713118131701720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5860083088203683416.post-78681651957500181312023-10-03T09:25:00.002-07:002023-10-06T08:29:38.816-07:00When hard things hit<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipFhS_p2_S00w1qHU1mFisK5oNOt3oyizOi4F6LvIFNl6-MwsEZmDXozVncSavETQMxSd99kqC81MFyHbMnSFWNSefdYWRhcjaw4XySbhyak1N-FwV1djXe_DSOtMnfSVrcefeDiFJ0tRS86kpJyJ6uarTCvlIM3zQt1g2vBeSgX33FmJomPlM7Mi7W7JF/s2100/Alex.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2100" data-original-width="1575" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipFhS_p2_S00w1qHU1mFisK5oNOt3oyizOi4F6LvIFNl6-MwsEZmDXozVncSavETQMxSd99kqC81MFyHbMnSFWNSefdYWRhcjaw4XySbhyak1N-FwV1djXe_DSOtMnfSVrcefeDiFJ0tRS86kpJyJ6uarTCvlIM3zQt1g2vBeSgX33FmJomPlM7Mi7W7JF/s320/Alex.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /> Let's be honest. There isn't a human on the planet who longs for hard things. There are millions who walk through, deal with, endure and bear up under hard things constantly, but I am very confident there was no longing in their hearts for these circumstances. None of us wants to sign up for the hard road, we just find ourselves on it. The last week has been a hard left turn onto a road we would not put on our bucket list of journeys we want to take. On Thursday Alex was given the news that the 2 lymph nodes they surgically removed a week ago today revealed he has Hodgkins Lymphoma. So that pretty much sucks. <p></p><p>We're currently in a week of limbo while he waits to see an oncologist this Friday. And if you know me at all, you know that I've spent quite a bit of time in limbo. I've done my best to make it cozy here, so hopefully you can find a comfy place to sit, cause that's what we're doing... sitting in limbo. I'm never sure if dead air time like this is a good thing ie. it gives one time to adjust to the news, ponder the meaning of life, straighten out wiggly priorities, give the house a good once over, finally clean that gross fan you've been putting off, plant a few bulbs in very unhealthy soil in hopes of flowers next spring, decide to organize every mislaid paper, purge the closet, etc, etc, etc. But it also gives room for unhelpful thoughts, the desire to crawl into bed and disappear, eating your feelings, re-living past cancer experiences, lamenting loss, hating hard left turns, discouragement, sadness, and basically all the negative emotions available. Setting the mind on the good is always a challenge, but this? It feels like a pop quiz. </p><p>So what do I remember from previous hard roads? </p><p>1. Don't borrow tomorrow's trouble, today has enough of it's own. Just do today.</p><p>2. Cry if you need to. Don't put it off, stuff it down or think it can wait. If you feel like crying, do it. </p><p>3. Remember that there is no human experience Jesus hasn't walked through himself. He knows.</p><p>4. This unforeseen turn of events for us is by no mean unforeseen by God. (This one can be tricky as it raises all kinds of questions that I'm not even going to touch at the moment. But I might get back to pondering some of them later.)</p><p>5. Give yourself and others leeway, grace, patience and margin. This is hard. Everyone responds to hard things differently. It's ok.</p><p> </p>reeta treathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06631713118131701720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5860083088203683416.post-49273484349222749702023-08-02T14:28:00.003-07:002023-08-02T14:30:17.268-07:00Dreamtime<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy_VrOUQl2z9K4Rv3Y0jqeAajHbc637yanaMloU6N9NcX5qjFp292igYXosahe0ucvPWd65arrKwxWy97aK-cJxLF_CxKctUN7w9kV1fAMTGYDFyCTLFD3d790NFgUstvqW4AP-G0T8LEMoN68IR68Ax4SSpjYmZHyHhoouq37zQAZ-INxqwy1toX-Rpcx/s2145/to%20print%20for%20Reeta%20A4_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1569" data-original-width="2145" height="406" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy_VrOUQl2z9K4Rv3Y0jqeAajHbc637yanaMloU6N9NcX5qjFp292igYXosahe0ucvPWd65arrKwxWy97aK-cJxLF_CxKctUN7w9kV1fAMTGYDFyCTLFD3d790NFgUstvqW4AP-G0T8LEMoN68IR68Ax4SSpjYmZHyHhoouq37zQAZ-INxqwy1toX-Rpcx/w556-h406/to%20print%20for%20Reeta%20A4_2.jpg" width="556" /></a></div><br />Have you ever had a dream so vivid that it felt like reality? You wake to "reality" and wonder how what you just experienced while sleeping could possibly be a dream. This is New Zealand to me now. I am awake in my reality wondering how the years we spent in New Zealand is just a dream now, a very vivid dream. Sometimes I think God allowed me that time in the land of the long white cloud just to bring home to my soul what my current day to day is vs. heaven. Even though my time in NZ feels like a vivid dream to me now I know for certain that I stood on that dirt, breathed that air, saw that green, tasted those blueberries. You couldn't convince me otherwise. I know it in my soul. The reality of the eternal is like that. I know it in my soul. I have tasted bits of eternity throughout my life, joy that exceeds containing, friendship sweeter than anything, hope in the blackest of nights. You couldn't convince me otherwise.<p></p><p>In my experience God specializes in hands on training and living word pictures. He goes to great lengths to reveal truth to me and His patience while doing so knows no limitations. It could easily be that the years spent in that lovely land were to this end only. Regardless I'm pretty sure I won't know this side of eternity, so for now I will just be thankful for the dream.</p>reeta treathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06631713118131701720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5860083088203683416.post-18789244542828047632023-04-25T08:52:00.002-07:002023-04-25T08:52:22.906-07:00Unseen<p>I've been contemplating the state of being unseen lately. Western culture is full of elbows and jostle as everyone pushes against the crowds wanting to be seen, to be heard and acknowledged. I completely understand this. It's at the core of all of us, the desire to be seen. Honestly, I'm pretty sure it's a God thing at it's root, a hunger he installed meant to be fulfilled by himself, but without God it gets ugly and loud. Can I be content to be only seen by One? If I return to dust having never been seen, applauded, acknowledged can I do so satisfied that it was meant to be so? </p><p>I think of generations gone by and how many complex stories, beautiful thoughts, magnificent talents, and rich lives settled into the dust with only a handful of people ever knowing the wealth of those souls. They lived in small communities where their names were known but beyond the town limits no one had ever heard of them. Did they live content in this smallness? Is it small? Surely it's no small thing to only touch the lives of a handful of people. Beauty is beauty whether the human eye beholds it or not. Character forged in the fires of this life shines for eternity regardless of applause this side of heaven. And yet it remains a struggle to be faithful in the small stuff when no one sees. Living before an audience of One, it takes surrender, humility and resolve.</p><p>To be continued.</p>reeta treathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06631713118131701720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5860083088203683416.post-68799012166838864162023-03-24T09:42:00.001-07:002023-04-19T13:49:17.995-07:00Desk note #1<p><br /></p><p> A cup of mediocre tea, creamer from a plastic container, 1/2 a square of chocolate.</p><p>Where to file all these thoughts. </p><p>Grief is a sneaky beast. Stalking the soul in silence, lurking. Routine interrupted by it's pounce. It only takes one talon to draw blood, rip the whole scab off. Triage all over again.</p><p>There is no way to guard the heart from grief. It permeates. Finds a way in. </p><p>They say keep moving. But I haven't. I'm frozen in my tracks, eyes locked and I can't look away, can't put my head down and walk past quietly, unobtrusively. It's already seen me, found me out with my tepid tea and chocolate crumbs.</p>reeta treathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06631713118131701720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5860083088203683416.post-35359011227767578982022-04-15T11:02:00.002-07:002022-04-15T11:02:42.637-07:00Catharsis<p> Catharsis: "The purification and purgation of emotions through art or any extreme change in emotion that results in renewal and restoration." As in: "that was cathartic.</p><p>{Somehow, this is cathartic. Purging out some of the excess words in my head/heart. I think it's reassuring that it's going out to no one in particular, but there's also the tantalising idea that it could reach someone.}</p><p>This morning I've been chewing on how life is made and shaped by so many tiny decisions. Of course there are big ones... but the devil is in the detail of the minute decisions. I don't know about you, but I personally can get very stuck in running through the little decisions I've made one by one and examining them from all angles. Even though what's done is done, I struggle to leave it there. It's done. There is absolutely nothing I can do to change it. The ONLY thing I can change is this little decision that is here right now. I do not know why this is so very challenging for me. Why do I go back and touch all those little past decisions? I'm pretty sure that if changing the past were possible I would have gone back and messed with everything! Walking the paths of life is an extreme exercise in trust. I either trust God is writing the story and all those little decisions are things he sees, knows and uses to the outcome of good for me ultimately, or I don't. On any given day you will find me a solid mix of belief and unbelief. Hence the cry, "Lord, I believe! Help my unbelief."</p>reeta treathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06631713118131701720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5860083088203683416.post-86771461662930772242022-03-30T10:08:00.001-07:002022-03-30T10:08:57.905-07:00Who knew?<p>4 years. Yep. That's the # between my last blog post here and this one. 2018 might as well have been a lifetime ago and that's the truth. That's true in my own life and exponentially true for the world at large. Who knew? But then again when do we ever know we're on a collision course with trauma? </p><p>Very randomly (no irony to see here), I have felt inspired to blog again. I know, I know...you're skeptical and well you should be. But really. I think I might try. Cause what's at the end of trying? Only stupidity, success or failure. What is there really to lose? So yeah. I guess I'm gonna start throwing words out into the ether, cause maybe it's worth something and maybe it's not, but either way I want to try to say a few things. And if no one is listening and this is just another one of 16 billion blogs and a mind staggering number of words that float around out there, so be it. </p>reeta treathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06631713118131701720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5860083088203683416.post-24332444353742288702018-08-16T03:08:00.000-07:002018-08-16T03:08:18.876-07:00quantitative approvalToday I am grasping for quantitative approval. I want numbers.<br />
You think I'm artistic? How artistic? On a scale of one to ten, say... <br />
You like my work? How much? Would you pay money for it? How much, say...<br />
If it's a number I like, that makes me feel valued, then I am happy.<br />
If it's a number that is low, it seems too little, my spirits drop.<br />
<br />
Never have we lived in an age where we can look to the right or to the left and gauge worth so quickly. How many friends do you have? How many likes did your post get? How many followers have you reached? <br />
Really? Wow. You must be pretty amazing!! <br />
Oh, hmmm, well... that's ok, my social media reflection isn't that hot either.<br />
<br />
Down through the centuries our worth has not changed. Only One can truly define, give value and He does! He defines us as His, which is more than enough. So why doesn't it always feel enough? Perhaps my search for quantitative approval is at the heart... stop searching and know. Rest. He is enough. You are enough in Him. Be still.reeta treathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06631713118131701720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5860083088203683416.post-79789517200512522062016-09-26T20:56:00.000-07:002016-09-26T20:56:10.825-07:00<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">words</span><br />
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">they were there, the words on my tongue,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">anxiously awaiting release. Just a crack, a sliver,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">a hint of an opening and off they would fly... warriors</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">defending the right, evil minions bent on destruction,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">sweet simple truth armed to the teeth... out for blood.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">but I swallowed them back, all of them. Choked them down</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">with their acid burn. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">How noble.</span></div>
reeta treathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06631713118131701720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5860083088203683416.post-7056202452844728402016-03-01T14:39:00.000-08:002016-03-01T14:39:23.616-08:00gone<div style="font-family: Times; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><i>gone</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">salt trails. soul bending pain.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">longing to wield a weapon, settling for a name.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">soundless crushing of hope.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">search - it is no more.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;">quiet, dead and gone - pieces on a dirty floor.</span></div>
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reeta treathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06631713118131701720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5860083088203683416.post-1403500072697571352016-02-23T13:39:00.001-08:002016-02-23T13:39:08.629-08:00conundrumSomehow it's a perfect word... conundrum. Life feels like a conundrum. I am like a charred plant that could potentially reach out a new tendril of growth but for the fear of the flame...the scorching heat of the desert. Reach or don't. It's a conundrum. <br />
<br />
<i>"What he really wanted to say was: have you felt this? This phantom life streaking like a phosphorescent hound at the edges of your ruin?"</i> {"The Solace of Leaving Early"} <br />
<br />
Maybe it sounds strange, but that's a bit of how I feel... there is this illusive life streaking by on the edges of existence. I catch it out of the corner of my eye and for a second I feel this surge of hope... <i>maybe</i>...<br />
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<span data-dobid="hdw">co·nun·drum</span></div>
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<div class="lr_dct_ent_ph" style="font-size: large;">
<span class="lr_dct_ph">kəˈnəndrəm/</span><span class="lr_dct_spkr lr_dct_spkr_off" data-log-string="pronunciation-icon-click" jsaction="dob.p" style="display: inline-block; height: 16px; margin: 0px 2px 4px 5px; opacity: 0.55; vertical-align: middle; width: 16px;" title="Listen"><input height="14" src="data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAAA4AAAAOCAQAAAC1QeVaAAAAi0lEQVQokWNgQAYyQFzGsIJBnwED8DNcBpK+DM8YfjMUokqxMRxg+A9m8TJsBLLSEFKMDCuBAv/hCncxfGWQhUn2gaVAktkMXkBSHmh0OwNU8D9csoHhO4MikN7BcAGb5H+GYiDdCTQYq2QubkkkY/E6CLtXdiJ7BTMQMnAHXxFm6IICvhwY8AYQLgCw2U9d90B8BAAAAABJRU5ErkJggg==" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;" type="image" width="14" /></span></div>
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<i>noun</i></div>
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<div class="_Jig" style="margin-left: -20px;">
<div data-dobid="dfn" style="display: inline;">
a confusing and difficult problem or question.</div>
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"one of the most difficult conundrums for the experts"</div>
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<tr><td class="lr_dct_nyms_ttl" style="font-style: italic; padding: 0px 3px 0px 0px; vertical-align: top; white-space: nowrap;">synonyms:</td><td style="padding: 0px;"><a data-ved="0ahUKEwjli7Ce5o7LAhUI0mMKHUBLC24Q_SoIHzAA" href="https://www.google.com/search?safe=active&client=safari&rls=en&q=define+problem&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjli7Ce5o7LAhUI0mMKHUBLC24Q_SoIHzAA" style="color: #660099; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;">problem</a>, difficult question, <a data-ved="0ahUKEwjli7Ce5o7LAhUI0mMKHUBLC24Q_SoIIDAA" href="https://www.google.com/search?safe=active&client=safari&rls=en&q=define+difficulty&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjli7Ce5o7LAhUI0mMKHUBLC24Q_SoIIDAA" style="color: #660099; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;">difficulty</a>, <a data-ved="0ahUKEwjli7Ce5o7LAhUI0mMKHUBLC24Q_SoIITAA" href="https://www.google.com/search?safe=active&client=safari&rls=en&q=define+quandary&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjli7Ce5o7LAhUI0mMKHUBLC24Q_SoIITAA" style="color: #660099; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;">quandary</a>, <a data-ved="0ahUKEwjli7Ce5o7LAhUI0mMKHUBLC24Q_SoIIjAA" href="https://www.google.com/search?safe=active&client=safari&rls=en&q=define+dilemma&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjli7Ce5o7LAhUI0mMKHUBLC24Q_SoIIjAA" style="color: #660099; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;">dilemma</a>; <div style="display: inline;">
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<div style="display: inline;">
<i style="padding-right: 4px;">informal</i><a data-ved="0ahUKEwjli7Ce5o7LAhUI0mMKHUBLC24Q_SoIJDAA" href="https://www.google.com/search?safe=active&client=safari&rls=en&q=define+poser&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwjli7Ce5o7LAhUI0mMKHUBLC24Q_SoIJDAA" style="color: #660099; cursor: pointer; text-decoration: none;">poser</a></div>
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reeta treathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06631713118131701720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5860083088203683416.post-52730303955421291172015-11-24T07:33:00.000-08:002015-11-24T07:33:02.022-08:00I thought I had something to say...Wrapped in the cocoon of night, where great wisdom and enlightenment reside, I thought I had something to say. Something with deep power, insight and truth. <br />
These were words to shape a world...to alter and influence. Yet somehow in the light of this lamp, coffee brewed and in hand, I have nothing. Vapor. The art of words eludes me and I only see cobwebs hanging from my fireplace mantle and the chaos of real life around me. Who do I think I am? An artist of the highest order? Ha! A street sweeper, that is truth. I am the most common commoner. The janitor of this realm. There is nothing more common than art. We are all artists, every last one of us whether we recognize it or not. It is the common denominator of this life. How strange is it that as a society we lift up a few and give them great acclaim awed by their talent, their expression, their art when they are just the janitor next to us who happened to stumble into this revered place. Silly. That is what it is. But can I be less than I am? No, I will continue to sweep... to grasp at gossamer threads of lofty thoughts. Dreaming that I can be more than I am...reeta treathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06631713118131701720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5860083088203683416.post-61898885146400932192015-11-03T08:34:00.000-08:002015-11-03T08:34:01.538-08:00why is life so much like climbing a very big mountain??Can I tell you a small story? An allegory if you will. An endeavor that started without much forethought that has marked my life forever. It begins like this...<br />
In the fall of that year I bore my 3rd child into the crazy busy of a life filled with photography, 2 energetic little boys, a big house with lots of property, church life, family life and did I mention it was busy? Christmas kinda snuck up on me that year and on the eve of Christmas it dawned on me that I had no gift for my guy! The hard working man who professes to care less about gifts, but still, we're talking about Christmas here!! So I did what I could which was to run to our local outdoor gear shop because I would absolutely find the perfect thing for him there... it was practically guaranteed. Well, of course I did find many a perfect gift, they just were too expensive! I was starting to get panicy when in a flash of brilliance (I might not term it like that now to be honest) I knew what to do. He had been a trail builder in his younger days and had spent a chunk of time working on the trail up to Long's Peak (a 14er in the Rocky Mtns.). A few time he had mentioned to me that he sure would like to show me his work up there someday... maybe someday we should climb Longs together. I think my standard response was something like, "Umhmmm... that would be nice dear." {read:: "Yeah right, like<b><i> that's</i></b> gonna happen."} So here I was in my hour of present desperation and I made a desperate move... I bought a postcard of Longs Peak and drew some stick figures on the top and recklessly wrote, "You and me, this summer." right over their heads. Yep. I did that.<br />
Problem is that when I gave it to him on Christmas day he really liked it! He was excited! We were going to climb Longs! Ahhh, yes we were going to climb Longs Peak. Perfect.<br />
<br />
Well, I was in no shape to climb a 14,000 ft mountain, let me tell you! I had just had my 3rd child... I was out of shape...I had a super busy schedule with 3 little ones and how on earth was I going to do this thing? Months went by... I kinda forgot about the Christmas postcard, that rash commitment to do the impossible...enter the month of April. One evening I'm sitting in the living room doing nothing in particular when in comes the mountain climber himself to announce he's signed me up for some personal training at our local gym. I start next week. NEXT WEEK! Yikes! But you know what? I did the training, I died. I did the planks, I died. I did the squats, I died. Everyday I felt like my whole body was broken down into small agonized bits and slowly, slowly I got stronger. <br />
<br />
We planned the climb/hike for a day at the end of August. The night before we were to get up at 3 am and begin, I couldn't sleep. I lay wide awake willing myself to sleep knowing that I would need every ounce of energy and reserve for the day ahead. Begging God to help me sleep I almost audibly heard Him say to my spirit... "I will sustain you." It was 1 o'clock in the morning... I slept for 2 hours and got up to climb. All the way up that mountain those words were reverberating in my soul. It was not an easy path. There were definitely times, sections of it, where I was pretty sure I couldn't do the thing. Too hard. Too narrow. Too steep. Too painful. But you know what? I did. I did climb that peak and He did sustain me.<br />
<br />
Little did I know that this endeavor would be a foreshadowing of the life mountains ahead. That God's words to me then would be life words later... that I would need every syllable to put one foot in front of the other as I climbed.<br />
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<br />reeta treathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06631713118131701720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5860083088203683416.post-40847061986563654932015-10-22T10:47:00.002-07:002015-10-22T10:48:07.316-07:00You know how you hate to tackle that unruly closet, or room, or house, or life? Yeah. That's kinda what I started this blog for. Tackling the yuck.<br />
<br />
I have always been one to process life via pen and paper. Sadly, pen and paper are vintage now... relics of a bygone era. Still cherished, but maybe not so relevant to the now. Hmmm. I'll have to chew on that a bit more, I definitely do not want that to be true. (If any of you know me I ADORE pens and I might have a bit of a fetish for paper too....) So transition to the expression of the heart via blogging. Yes, not a new idea, I know! It's just maybe kinda new for me...<br />
<br />
So you know how sometime you write something and it comes from the dark hurt of that moment and the angst that you just can't quite let out ... the pain that you squeeze out in spurts so as not to permanently damage those close to you. Trying to only let it go in small doses... the toxic gunk churning on the inside. yeah... this poem is one of those bits.<br />
<br />
<br />
i had thought<br />
<br />
i had thought to be a star,<br />
brilliant in blackest sky.<br />
instead, wasted breath am i.<br />
<br />
i had thought to be joy,<br />
living flame.<br />
instead, my soul bleeds clear, soundless pain.<br />
<br />
i had thought you might see me,<br />
hungry for the faintest touch.<br />
instead, i wait and the world is void.<br />
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There is is...don't judge. Life can be tough.reeta treathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06631713118131701720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5860083088203683416.post-3921623579997577082014-07-14T10:47:00.003-07:002023-10-06T08:38:57.409-07:00Undone...In those days… {in these days}, I often feel "undone". At my end, tired of grappling with the hard…. like so many broken pieces on the floor. I felt that we had shot for the moon with building our house and business and the fall back to earth when it all came crashing down was more than I could handle.<div><br /></div><div>Why do I tell you this? Maybe because I think we tend to hide the hard and to hide from the hard. If there is one thing I've learned on this stretch of road it's that you can never really tell what is happening in someone's life from the outside looking in. She could be walking by completely undone, and you just don't know it. Be gentle. <br />
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<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzp78HZV-AZl-qRcnSpEf5XSC4mXWI9S8fKPPT1t6DvlW2LNE-TZqJR7z7no8yYdOWxvfM5CNvj2W8MtE11qdsT-S_1pNoRZRZPsTI9XTWS2gZ3Ivwu0BthZPulXwB2f915goCKAay49_e8sVEy_IQVbgGkXcbJpLDHkDpKqkuT7fs5ICJ2_mNJJp0M4Ak/s4256/suri%20trail%201.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2832" data-original-width="4256" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzp78HZV-AZl-qRcnSpEf5XSC4mXWI9S8fKPPT1t6DvlW2LNE-TZqJR7z7no8yYdOWxvfM5CNvj2W8MtE11qdsT-S_1pNoRZRZPsTI9XTWS2gZ3Ivwu0BthZPulXwB2f915goCKAay49_e8sVEy_IQVbgGkXcbJpLDHkDpKqkuT7fs5ICJ2_mNJJp0M4Ak/w640-h426/suri%20trail%201.JPG" width="640" /></a></div><br /></div>reeta treathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06631713118131701720noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5860083088203683416.post-62835679088730858362014-07-05T14:09:00.001-07:002014-07-05T14:09:59.400-07:00Why do we seem to look back to look forward?Maybe you are not one of those people who look back. More power to you my friend. I, on the other hand, look back. Maybe it was the influence of my dad, who had seen his share of days before I was even a glimmer in the eye. Maybe it's just the way I am. For me, starting this blog is my way of looking back to look forward. Do I want to mull over the past forever? No. But I am not willing to dismiss it out of hand and say, "what's done is done" and not try to understand the hurt either.<br />
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I often think of this process as a wound. When you are first wounded you don't want to touch that spot! Not with a 10 ft pole! You do your best to keep it clean, well cared for and let it heal. There will come a day when you might touch that wounded spot with tender fingers… just testing it's ability to take that gentle probing. But it's a long time before you can point to that wound as a scar and tell the tale. In the beginning it's just to painful. I think I'm in the gentle probing stage. Some of the pain is gone… maybe even most, but if it's pressed too hard the tears still flow.<br />
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It's not just about a house, by the way. It's about dreams lost. Broken. Not just dreams of a lovely house in the foothills of CO… no, that dream had a twin, very different in temperament, but born at the same time and it's name was VERGE.<br />
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<br />reeta treathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06631713118131701720noreply@blogger.com0