tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10644786781643690452024-03-19T08:57:15.462-04:00lattes & rainy dayskirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.comBlogger376125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064478678164369045.post-91862618696284439532014-11-06T13:00:00.000-05:002014-11-09T07:07:28.446-05:00The Birth of Streiter Teagan<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Pronunciation Tip: </b>Streiter rhymes with "writer"</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">* * *</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">By the time you’re on your third baby/pregnancy, it’s more
than slightly tempting to think you know the score when it comes to pregnancy
and birth. You’ve done the big thing not just once, but twice already, and the
expectation is that you’re not likely to encounter anything new, especially
when your first two experiences were fairly consistent with one another.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">At my first consultation with our team of midwives, however,
one told me that third pregnancies tend to be strange.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">However anecdotal this information might be, it was true for
me and was evidenced at no moment as much as it was in labor and birth.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">At our checkups starting several weeks ago, our midwives
would review with us when they wanted us to call. I heard <i>Contractions every seven minutes, lasting
one minute, for one hour </i>often enough that it seemed unlikely to forget it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But they also told me this: <i>This is your third baby, and you know what’s up. If you feel like you’re
close even though it’s not fitting a pattern, then we want to be there.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">When I woke up on Saturday morning (November 1), I could
tell that things felt different, and noticed some positive symptoms of progression
toward labor and birth, but they weren’t the kinds of things that were definitive as far as counting on a timeline of events is concerned.
I had just passed the 39 week mark in my pregnancy, and had mentally prepared
myself to go at least as long as I did with Austen, who was born at 41 weeks,
and with whom I had a number of instances of false labor leading up to the time
she was actually born.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I felt contractions on and off all day, and we even started
timing them a few times. They were scattered: 3 minutes apart, 12 minutes apart,
and everywhere in between. They were lasting 30 seconds, they were lasting a
minute and a half, and every length in between. They’d stop, they’d start up
again. I’d feel them and know what they were, though they weren’t uncomfortable
at this point.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The last thing we wanted to do was wait around the house
wondering if this was labor or when it would start if it wasn’t, so we decided
to get out of the house and ended up going out to eat at our favorite burger
place. Contractions were still coming on and off, but with no discernable
regularity in their spacing or length. They were mildly uncomfortable, but I
had no problem walking, talking, or enjoying my dinner.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We put Austen to bed about an hour or so later than normal,
and once our bedtime routine was completed (about 9:30), I got into bed while
James helped me through some guided relaxation exercises. I was still contracting,
but they were still all over the place – 3 minutes apart or 4, 8 minutes apart
or 11. They’d last 30 seconds or 2 minutes and everywhere in between and they
felt like they were doing something, but it was still unclear to me whether or
not this was labor.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">A little after 11 o’clock, I opted for a bath and that’s about
when things started feeling intense. I had trouble speaking through them, and I
started losing the calm, relaxed demeanor I had been determined to maintain. They
were still all over the place – 7 minutes apart, 10 minutes apart, 8 minutes
apart, 30 seconds long, and one that was 3 minutes long – but I was finally approaching
a place where I was convinced this was <i>probably</i>
the real deal. I had never had a labor like this before – labor with Ewan and
Austen had followed a fairly regular and predictable pattern as we got closer
to birth, and the spacing and length of the contractions I was experiencing this time around threw us off.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We hemmed and we hawed about calling. It didn’t seem
possible that the intensity I was experiencing could accompany false labor, but
James’ memory held a slightly different narrative.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">After one particularly long and intense contraction, we
looked at each other and asked, “Should we call? Is it time to call?” still not
completely sure of whether or not we would be having a baby soon.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">About half past midnight, we called the midwife and she asked
about the spacing and length of the contractions. I told her about how they were all
over the place in terms of spacing, and how their length had been timed at
anywhere from 30 seconds to 3 minutes up until the moment we had called. I told
her about the symptoms I had noticed that morning and what I had experienced
throughout the course of the day, and she said she was coming.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I was so relieved.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But in my mind, I entertained just two possibilities: 1) Either
this was labor and I was still several hours away from birth, or 2) It wasn’t
labor and they’d go home and I’d have a baby another day.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">They arrived about 45 minutes later. I had moved to the bed,
lying on my side, breathing through another contraction. When it was over, they
checked my progress.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Here we go,</i> I
thought. <i>They’re going to tell me to stop
playing jokes on them and call them when I’m <u>really</u> ready to have a
baby.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Instead I heard this: <i>You’re
ready to push.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>What?</i> I was
stunned. Shocked. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-family: inherit;">WHAT?!</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Time stood still for a few seconds while I attempted to
digest this information. <i>On the next
contraction, get ready to push.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Mouth still hanging open, eyes wide with incredulity. I can only imagine the look on my face. Ready to push? That wasn't a possibility I had entertained even remotely.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">WHAT.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I
wish I had a picture of that moment after we told you. You were in complete
shock," the midwife told me later.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He was born about 30 minutes later, and about 45 minutes
after their initial arrival. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We never thought to photodocument any of this experience
(like we did so thoroughly with Ewan and Austen’s births), uncertain as we were
it was the real deal. So there’s one photo of me holding him, just moments
after his earthside arrival. (It’s certainly not the prettiest picture of me,
but I’m going to let you guess how much I care about that.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/kirstenmichelle/15723886491" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="the one and only photo from the birth of my third child by Kirsten, on Flickr"><img alt="the one and only photo from the birth of my third child" height="426" src="https://farm4.staticflickr.com/3945/15723886491_2989b741c2_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Streiter Teagan<br />
Born 2 November 2014 @ 2:05 am<br />
8 lbs 7 oz, 21.5 inches</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I’m so glad we called when we did!” I said over and over
and over.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">And so here we are, two (living) children at home, adjusting
to life together. We’re encountering some expected challenges and adjusting to
our new normal. Austen’s so sweet with him, saying hello and asking how he’s
doing, giving him kisses on the head and patting him gently. She’s very excited
and proud of her new baby!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<center>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/kirstenmichelle/15726231671" title="streiter3 by Kirsten, on Flickr"><img alt="streiter3" height="360" src="https://farm9.staticflickr.com/8130/15726231671_d32cd0857d_z.jpg" width="640" /></a>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/kirstenmichelle/15542267489" title="streiter1 by Kirsten, on Flickr"><img alt="streiter1" height="360" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7470/15542267489_83f2bd21eb_z.jpg" width="640" /></a>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/kirstenmichelle/15542322979" title="streiter_triptych by Kirsten, on Flickr"><img alt="streiter_triptych" height="378" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7527/15542322979_d15a64da13_z.jpg" width="640" /></a>
<a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/kirstenmichelle/15108203084" title="streiter2 by Kirsten, on Flickr"><img alt="streiter2" height="360" src="https://farm8.staticflickr.com/7525/15108203084_04606e4ac1_z.jpg" width="640" /></a><br />
</center>
</div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I couldn’t be happier. All things considered, the labor was quick and easy, and I
feel pretty darn amazing. Streiter has a mellow temperament and took to
nursing like a champ, which is something that was so frustrating and difficult and
tear-filled for me for the first three weeks or so of Austen’s life.</span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We’re all so in love with our little man!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">(Oh, and I should also mention: Austen was home the entire time and slept through the whole thing! She's a rock star.)</span></div>
kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064478678164369045.post-8433144513060120362014-06-16T13:19:00.000-04:002014-06-16T16:32:50.225-04:00bambino #3Most expectant parents I know anticipate the 20-week ultrasound with some eagerness and happy anticipation. <i>Oh, we get to see the baby!</i> and if you're the type of couple that wants to find out the sex, <i>Today's the day we find out if we're buying ballerina tutus or baseball caps!</i><br />
<br />
Ever since Ewan, there has never been such a thing as a routine test or ultrasound in any of my pregnancies. And so it was no surprise to me to wake up this morning well before it was light, and check the time on my phone.<br />
<br />
<b>3:30 am: T-minus 6 hours to appointment time.</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
UGH.<br />
<br />
I reminded myself of all the things that were supposed to help me stop worrying: although not impossible, it was statistically unlikely that we'd have another child with a heart defect or other life-threatening abnormality. I was just feeling this way because our very first experience of a 20-week ultrasound threw us into the deep end of every expectant parent's worst nightmare. It probably wasn't going to happen like that again.<br />
<br />
I breathed in deep, exhaling slowly.<br />
<br />
There was no going back to sleep, and no ever going back to the days of blithely expecting the Best News Ever when you've already been the "someone else" to whom some of the Awful Things have happened.<br />
<br />
I let out a breath of relief when everything the ultrasound tech saw today was normal, perfect, healthy as can be. Baby was perfectly developed in every respect, and flipped around from top to bottom a couple of times, probably just to show off and impress us.<br />
<br />
I know pregnancies are common, and that healthy babies are born every day, but ever since Ewan I think that it's not overstating it in the least to say that IT IS A FRIGGING MIRACLE that any of us come out that way, with all our parts in the right places and working as they should.<br />
<br />
And so we don't take it for granted. We're so grateful to God for another very spunky, healthy child (so much for having a mellow one this time around, eh?) and for the chance to be parents to another sweet kiddo.<br />
<br />
So, without further ado, Baby #3 is a ...<br />
<br />
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<br />
P.S. We're leaning toward one name in particular, but aren't totally settled on it yet, so no news on that front just yet. :)<br />
<br />
<b>NOTE: </b>For those of you who may not be familiar with our story, the monkey in the picture belonged to <a href="http://www.team-ewan.com/" target="_blank">our first child, Ewan</a>, who passed away at 16 days old after bravely enduring several surgeries to treat a complex congenital heart defect. From the time he was five days old (his first open-heart surgery) until the day he died, he usually had his arm wrapped tightly around it.kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064478678164369045.post-44533944643990695742014-06-13T13:07:00.000-04:002014-06-13T18:53:43.967-04:00... and so it goes.So, no sooner do I stage my blogging comeback than I quickly fall off the face of the blogosphere again.<br />
<br />
Heh. <i>Heh heh</i>.<br />
<br />
Not long after my last post, I learned I was pregnant with our third. And not long after that, came the very strong and persistent feeling that I needed to sleep all day, only to be interrupted by those sudden and even more pressing urges to vomit. And then we had family from out of town visit, and then, and then, and then ...<br />
<br />
I might have been more motivated to write again were it not for the pesky, prickly, and unwavering feeling that the internet is not a very safe place to be these days. Peruse the comboxes on any article or blog post that dares pose an opinion of any sort, and you know what I mean. Internet trolls are alive and well and multiplying ugly little troll babies who can't play nice.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
And it's not just the trolls I worry about. I've even found myself refraining from online interactions with people I know if I suspect a difference of opinion will arise. I've participated in very few discussions of any sort online (but have observed a lot more), and I can't think of many times where I came away feeling like, <i>Wow, that was really productive and I think we all have a deeper understanding and appreciation of where the people who think and believe differently than me are coming from. </i>Usually, the tone is something more akin to, <i>Those people are ignorant jerks and my goodness, I feel so, so righteous in my rightness! </i>I don't doubt there are places where the dialogue is something more like the former description, but I'm guessing that's the exception.<br />
<br />
(This is why in my online life, I tend to stick to cute kiddo pictures and funny, pithy family updates.)<br />
<i><br /></i>
I'm not interested in mud-slinging, in using internet to yell at people or be yelled at. I hate the presumptions that occur, the far-fetched inferences, the detailed and ultimately certain reading in between some very broadly spaced-out lines that occurs between total strangers. People can be crammed into some very tight and ill-fitting boxes. I find the whole thing stressful, distracting, and distasteful. It's bad manners on crack.<br />
<br />
I used to love -- as in really, really love -- this whole blogging thing. I was reconnecting with old friends and making some great connections with new people I never would have met otherwise. Now I find I can't approach it (or almost any social media interaction) without at least a tinge of anxiety because of what I've observed and admittedly, my own fair share of bad experiences.<br />
<br />
I'm not likely to get into current events or politics or any big hot-button issues. Just not my cup of tea, really. It's just me and my life and some thoughts, and I don't pretend to think that it's going to be for everyone. I don't care about stats or traffic or being a famous blogger. I just want to write and connect with a few folks and for everyone who chooses to be here to know it's really okay if we can't be eye-to-eye on everything. We can still be friends. <i>Promise.</i>kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064478678164369045.post-89749740506210102042014-02-10T10:07:00.000-05:002014-02-15T12:26:54.850-05:00I believe ... :: #1<b>"I believe"</b> is a little series I'm trying out in order to affirm those every day beauties, miracles, and simple loveliness that is easy for me to overlook.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * * * *</div>
<br />
I believe I've never regretted putting down my phone or closing the computer in order to play with my kid.<br />
<br />
I believe in getting dressed and making an effort with my appearance even if I have no plans of leaving the house. I also believe in staying in lounge pants all day long and choosing a nap or a mini "Castle" marathon over a shower.<br />
<br />
I'm pretty sure my daughter's laughter is the best palliative for life I know of.<br />
<br />
I believe in coffee. And chocolate.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
I believe in sitting down, taking a deep breath, taking it all in, and being really thankful.<br />
<br />kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064478678164369045.post-88582460833923351292014-01-29T08:22:00.001-05:002014-01-29T15:11:12.764-05:00Coming back.I promised myself months ago, before the fireworks burst and fur-clad celebrities announced our transition from 2013 to 2014 in Times Square, that I was going to write again. And here we are at the end of January, these being my first words to be pounded out -- my first attempts at putting anything "out there."<br />
<br />
Having a small child at home provides a ready excuse for avoidance, as well as the unending cycles of laundry and dishwasher loading and emptying and picking up bristle blocks and flashcards off of the floor.<br />
<br />
I call it an "excuse" because it is. I consider motherhood and keeping the house running to be my first and most important work, but it isn't my only work. Writing is my work, too. And I've been running away from it as surely as Jonah ran as fast as he could in the opposite direction when God told him where to go, what to do.<br />
<br />
I've been so afraid. I can see clearly how silly this is sometimes, but when I access a readily available catalog of blogging memories, I remember that the fear, however silly or wrong or restrictive and binding it may be, is not without reason.<br />
<br />
When I first started blogging, I met new friends and reconnected with others. I made soul connections in what, at the time, felt like the most improbable way. Across geographic distances that would have made meeting any other way impossible, we had meaningful conversations. The internet felt like a great cozy living room or your favorite coffee shop -- the one with knobby wood floors, eclectic furniture, and tattooed baristas.<br />
<br />
Somewhere in the course of my tenure as a blogger, my experience changed. While I maintained those meaningful connections, those cozy conversations with kindred friends, there were also those I could have done without. The critical stranger's voices, those that were only too happy to criticize and cut down, to lambaste and state assumptions about me as fact. Anonymous comments were cyber hit-and-runs, hateful words left without a face or name.<br />
<br />
It didn't take much of this for the cozy living room to become a distant memory. The internet had come to feel more like a Roman arena where thousands of spectators crowded in and pressed forward, cheering as the victims du jour were ripped limb from bloody limb by the lions, the crowd cheering <i>More, more. Please pass the popcorn.</i><br />
<br />
I wanted no part of it.<br />
<br />
I may share someday what has prompted my return. It's enough now to say that, for a thousand reasons, I know it's the right thing. I still see the arena and lions and crowd of spectators, and I still feel trepidation at volunteering myself like this. But I'm choosing not to let it chain me anymore. I've let loose the shackles, rubbing wrists that are reddened and raw and out of practice at doing this thing.<br />
<br />
It's time to write again.<br />
<br />
<i>Breathe.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>
<a href="http://www.theveryworstmissionary.com/2014/01/say-anything.html" target="_blank">P.S. Jamie the Very Worst Missionary wrote about this recently, too and I may have shouted AMEN and fist-pumped at the end of it.</a>kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064478678164369045.post-59132625714353456592013-09-13T08:26:00.004-04:002013-09-14T11:42:11.704-04:00storm & sun<i>Emotional hangover</i>. That's what I call this.<br />
<br />
Austen wakes in the wee hours, before we see the first hints of sunlight creep through the bedroom shades. I leave her room, hardly able to keep my eyes open. But when I return to bed, pull the sheets and the comforter up to my chin, releasing the sigh that means I'm settling in, sleep still doesn't come.<br />
<br />
My Dad had a heart attack on Monday. A hundred and one little miracles later, and he's still with us.<br />
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<br />
<br />
<i>If just one little thing had gone differently that day ...</i><br />
<br />
But it didn't. <i>It didn't</i>, I remind myself, attempting to avoid long, imaginative trips into a nightmarish might-have-been. It is what it is (sedation, wait-and-see, we don't know yet), but those short forays into the hypothetical nightmare remind me to fall on my knees thankful for this limbo.<br />
<br />
And here I am, over three thousand miles away. I could do no more were that geographical gap closed, and yet the knowledge that he's far away in a hospital bed has me searching airfares, considering any and all means of traversing the distance between us.<br />
<br />
I fell apart last night, thinking of how I want him to get better, of how I wanted him to wake up so I could hear the laugh that I could identify blindfolded out of a thousand laughs in a crowded room. I thought of how the last thing I talked to him about was our malfunctioning fridge, leaking water all over our kitchen floor. Did I tell him I loved him before I hung up?<br />
<br />
So it's early, and these tears prick, this lump hurts my throat. Driving home yesterday, I saw dark and ominous storm clouds on the horizon and right in the midst of them, those illuminated by the sun, shafts of light boldly piercing through the spaces between the bulbous tufts of white.<br />
<br />
Yes, I thought. This is what this is: the storm and the sunlight, all in the same view.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
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* * * * *</div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>Updates on Dad's recovery <a href="http://dalesrecovery.tumblr.com/" target="_blank">HERE</a></b></div>
kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064478678164369045.post-62026844108928070122012-08-22T13:06:00.002-04:002012-08-22T13:50:05.718-04:00The SisterhoodI'm lying on an old homemade quilt on a bed in a room that isn't mine. It feels cool against my arms and bare feet. I can almost feel my cells seeping into its fibers. The flannel pillow case carries the scent of its surroundings. It is soft and worn, having carried its dreamer through many nights. Light filters through the reds and greens from the stained glass on the opposite wall.<br />
<br />
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I need sleep, but I can't close my eyes. I hear the clink of a handful of silverware against silverware in the nearby kitchen, the clattering ring of dishes against each other. I hear the sizzle and pop of cooking things, the snap of dry noodles about to be dropped into a pot of boiling water.<br />
<br />
I hear the voices of friends, and laughter. I hear them entertaining the babies.<br />
<br />
The ceiling fan over me spins steadily over my head, the blades sending down rhythmic blasts of cool air from the white ceiling. The whirring sounds to me like a drone of bees. As it whirs and hums, I consider: I'm tired, but sleep won't come. The time we have together is already slipping through our fingers.<br />
<br />
I prop myself up on the bed, looking across the room. I see myself reflected over the prescription bottles, the dark glass jar encasing the candle that isn't burning. My body is ravenous for rest, but my soul is hungrier for them, their company, their conversation: these sisters spread out on a map, living on geographical points that refuse to touch.<br />
<br />
I am getting up.kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064478678164369045.post-86921678656970587962012-05-23T07:38:00.000-04:002012-05-23T08:59:00.884-04:00Three.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kirstenmichelle/3711216656/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="kirsten+james_0401__052309_IMG_8507 by kirsten.michelle, on Flickr"><img alt="kirsten+james_0401__052309_IMG_8507" height="1024" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2636/3711216656_e9c5ddd813_b.jpg" width="683" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">23 May 2009<br />
Photo by <a href="http://jenfoxphotography.com/">Jen Fox Photography</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
People meeting us for the first time think of us very much as "newlyweds" when we share how long we've been married.<br />
<br />
<b>Three years.</b><br />
<br />
(Feels more like forty-three. But in a good way.)<br />
<br />
"Oh, you're still in that honeymoon phase," we often hear.<br />
<br />
<b>Ha. That's kinda funny.</b><br />
<br />
It may have been "only" three years, but it included James' prolonged and unintentional unemployment (close to two years), a fairly major religious shift, the birth of our first child and his death, a cross-country move, a separation of three months and several thousand miles while I was fresh into a second pregnancy (and all the throwing up that attended it), packing up our apartment, and leaving the job I had been at for over eleven years, and then there was the birth of our second child.<br />
<br />
<b>What honeymoon phase?</b><br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kirstenmichelle/7246372600/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="family by kirsten.michelle, on Flickr"><img alt="family" height="1024" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7218/7246372600_836cc5e036_b.jpg" width="683" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">23 May 2012<br />
A lot has happened in 3 years.</td></tr>
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<br />
It's not a contest and I suppose it really doesn't matter whether someone else thinks of us as a pair of blissed out "newlyweds" who know little of life's travails. When I look over my shoulder at the three years between that day and this one, I'm pretty darn sure that James and Kirsten are going to make it, holding hands, loving and in love as ever.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kirstenmichelle/3710417517/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="kirsten+james_0572__052309_IMG_8826final by kirsten.michelle, on Flickr"><img alt="kirsten+james_0572__052309_IMG_8826final" height="427" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2457/3710417517_3c199c632d_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Jen Fox Photography</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Happy anniversary to my love. Knowing what I know, I would say "yes" all over again.kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064478678164369045.post-25820105123533143932012-04-25T12:33:00.003-04:002012-04-25T12:33:59.283-04:00Elimination Diet :: Day 11Yeah. Here we are at Day 11. Crazy!!<br /><br />If this post had a subtitle, it might be "True Confessions", or something like that. Sigh.<br />
<br />
For the most part, things have been going really well. I've been eating elimination-diet friendly food quite happily, but sadly, it's been an entirely different story for James. It seems the diet, rather than eliminating irritating foods for him, has exposed some new ones. In addition to the need to avoid anything in the onion family (onions, garlic, leeks, etc.), we've always had to take it easy on the beans and legumes with him, as well as <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cruciferous_vegetables">cruciferous vegetables</a> (broccoli, cauliflower, kale, to name just a few). When I started experimenting with quinoa for breakfast dishes as well as dinner dishes (remember how excited I was about quinoa in the last post?) this time around -- which we had had plenty of times before -- it seemed that was troubling him, too. Brown rice? Also out of the question for this guy.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bean salad with a white wine/cumin vinaigrette. Yum!!</td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
Are you kidding me?! After everything else we've cut out or strictly limited for him in addition to the foods eliminated on the diet, it really leaves very little.<br />
<br />
So, he broke rank yesterday. He ate a cookie and then followed it up with some Sonic burger.<br />
<br />
I'm still adhering to the diet (and feeling <i>sooooooo</i> much better), but not without my flubs for the past week and a half. One of the disadvantages of having done this before is a "Hey, I know what I'm doing!" attitude, and consequently, being a bit lax in reading labels. I put some vanilla extract in one of my quinoa breakfast experiments (which, by the way, was delish!!) which contains alcohol and sugar -- two banned ingredients. I might get away with the alcohol part by saying it was cooked away anyway, but the sugar? Yeah, even though it was a small amount I put in, not cool for the elimination diet.<br />
<br />
And no, I still have not had ANY coffee -- not that I don't miss it. <i>Sigh</i>.<br />
<br />
Some of you may be wondering about any weight loss since I mentioned in my initial post that that was a byproduct of my first experience with the diet. There has been some (2 pounds below my pre-pregnancy weight -- yeay!!), but not much to brag about. I seem to keep fluctuating within a two-pound range of the same weight. I'm guessing the loss hasn't been substantial this time around because before we officially started the diet, I had already cut out the offending elements of gluten, dairy, and most sugar -- three <b>major </b>things that, if they're a regular part of the way you eat -- will cause a big change in your body if you cut them out completely.<br />
<br />
I should also confess that I'm considering breaking rank a bit, too -- at least temporarily. If you read <a href="http://www.team-ewan.com/">my other blog</a>, then you know that my Mom and sister are in town (yeay!!) to visit that sweet baby Austen. We considered this ahead of time when planning to start the diet, but now that they're here, we're wondering how realistic it is for me to adhere to it the whole time they're visiting (one week). (No Sunday brunch at the Briarpatch? C'mon!!) So ... all that to say that I intend to remain faithful to the diet, but considering our company, I am not going to be too legalistic if it's going to be disruptive to our time together, or make for a less enjoyable experience.<br />
<br />
<i>I know, I know. </i><br />
<br />
I'd love to say that I'm going to be a die-hard elimination dieter, but if having a baby in the house for 3 months has taught me anything, it's that it's good to shoot for the ideal situation, but to be realistic too.<br />
<br />
Sigh.kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064478678164369045.post-80062186191055947942012-04-16T18:08:00.000-04:002012-04-16T19:15:03.880-04:00Elimination Diet :: Day 2<b>Yawn.</b><br />
<br />
It's Day 2 of the elimination diet, and in my mind what that really means is Day 2 with NO COFFEE. (Whimper). It's also Day 2 of wondering why in the world I've committed myself to this yet again. And then I put it on the internet, so now I've got to follow through.<br />
<br />
<i>Pffffft</i>. <b>Why am I doing this again?!</b><br />
<br />
Oh yeah. I want to feel good, have more energy, rid my diet of crap, and all that.<br />
<br />
So just in case anyone reading this is thinking of doing an elimination diet of this or any other sort, I want to be upfront about some of the obstacles/discouragements/roadblocks I've encountered in my experiences.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
*****</div>
<br />
<b>Obstacle #1: TIRED!!</b><br />
I remembered quickly one of the many things that makes this diet difficult, and it's this: there's a whole lot of TIRED right at the beginning. Nobody warned me about this before I did the diet for the first time, so if you're thinking of doing something like this, let me tell you: you're going to be extraordinarily tired for the first 3 days or so (like many things, I imagine this is different for everyone) while your body adjusts to a brand new way of eating.<br />
<br />
You will never be so tempted to cheat and indulge in your morning coffee, that cup of green tea, or reach for that can of soda. <b>DON'T DO IT.</b> As they say, this too shall pass.<br />
<br />
<b>Obstacle #2: Inconvenient</b><br />
Another thing that makes this diet difficult is that it's hardly convenient. When you eliminate all the foods on the list (and any foods that contain any of the ingredients), it pretty much leaves foods in their natural state, and you cursing at every nutritional facts label you see. Even the vast majority of those of us who pride ourselves on eating healthy are in the habit of reaching for convenient, prepared foods (think: sauces, dressings, marinades, dips, bread, cereal, granola bars, I could go on and on ...). The majority of them will not be elimination diet friendly.<br />
<br />
Case in point: I like having chicken salad on some gluten-free crackers as part of my lunch. Since mayonnaise contains eggs, I knew that was out. So I looked up the ingredients of Vegenaise (a vegan version of mayonnaise) and was going down the list of ingredients until I got to the last one: <b>lemon juice concentrate.</b><br />
<br />
Are you kidding me?! Citrus? (another elimination diet no-no). Everything on the ingredients was diet-legal up until that point. And obviously a very healthy alternative to mayonnaise, but not okay for this particular diet.<br />
<br />
<i>Argh.</i><br />
<br />
Yeah. No matter where it falls on the list of ingredients, anything that contains anything that's not allowed is ... well, not allowed.<br />
<br />
<b>Obstacle #3: Rationalizing</b><br />
We took a 3-hour nap yesterday afternoon, we were so tired. Though I've tried it before with making exceptions to the diet for myself, it just doesn't work -- even with a lot of self control. I found myself asking James, "Should we allow ourselves a cheat day?" and "Should we do the elimination diet, except for the caffeine part?"<br />
<br />
You know what he said to me? <br />
<br />
<b style="font-weight: bold;">"CHEATER!!"</b><br />
<br />
That's right. Barely one full day down, and I was proposing that we cheat. Even if I'm 99.999% certain that caffeine doesn't offend my body in any way, the diet is easier to stick to if you keep to the whole thing. Because if you allow yourself one exception, pretty soon it's two, then three, and before you know it you're like, "What elimination diet?"<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>*****</b></div>
<br />
<b style="font-weight: bold;">What we've eaten</b><br />
So, I did promise to share some of the things we've eaten so far on the diet to demonstrate that this can be done!! (Need to practice what I preach, eh?)<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://distilleryimage8.instagram.com/2f50dd0a869d11e19e4a12313813ffc0_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><b><img border="0" height="400" src="http://distilleryimage8.instagram.com/2f50dd0a869d11e19e4a12313813ffc0_7.jpg" width="400" /></b></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Quinoa with chicken, sauteed kale & grape tomatoes with a white wine-cumin dressing</td></tr>
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If you haven't yet discovered quinoa (pronounced "keen - wah"), it's time you did. Though it cooks and acts like a grain in a lot of ways, it's actually a seed. It's extremely versatile and very, very healthy (think: protein, fiber, and amino acids). I grilled some chicken with salt and pepper, and did the same in a separate pan for the kale and grape tomatoes. Then I added <a href="http://www.myrecipes.com/recipe/chicken-couscous-salad-10000000630133/">this dressing</a> from a Cooking Light recipe.<br />
<br />
And it was yummy.<br />
<br />
As far as breakfasts go, I had to be inventive. While there are plenty of permissible grains and starches on the elimination diet, I'm trying to limit those as much as I can. It took a lot of chopping, but this is what we came up with:<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://distilleryimage3.instagram.com/aefd068a872111e1a9f71231382044a1_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><b><img border="0" height="400" src="http://distilleryimage3.instagram.com/aefd068a872111e1a9f71231382044a1_7.jpg" width="400" /></b></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sweet potato & tofu hash with kale, sweet peppers, and mushroom</td></tr>
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<br />
Prep-heavy, to be sure ... but definitely worth the effort.<br />
<br />
If you'll excuse me now, I'm off to enjoy another dinner. Stay tuned. :o)kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064478678164369045.post-69056496673301034232012-04-14T15:07:00.005-04:002012-09-28T16:40:28.006-04:00Elimination Diet Reprise!... and now we take a detour from our traditional fare for something else: <b>FOOD.</b> Oh yeah, baby. Food ... which, as it turns out, has spiritual dimensions when you consider our relationship to it.<br />
<br />
But I digress.<br />
<br />
<b>What's up</b><br />
Tomorrow, James and I are beginning a three-week elimination diet. Though the word "diet" has more or less been co-opted to mean changing one's eating in order to lose weight, the primary purpose of this particular diet is to help identify food sensitivities.<br />
<br />
<b>A brief history of the elimination diet</b><br />
I was introduced to the <b><a href="http://www.healthdesigns.com/Elimination_Diet.html">Modified Elimination Diet</a></b> in 2006 when, after over a year of suffering an undiagnosed digestive ailment and getting nowhere with modern medicine in regards to diagnosing and remedying the problem, I went to a naturopath. Doing this elimination diet was the first course of action. There are many versions of "elimination diets" out there, but the one I've linked to here is the one I did previously and as it turns out, the one we're about to start. After doing the diet, I learned my body was particularly sensitive to gluten (a protein found in wheat, oat, spelt, kamut, rye, and barley grains) and dairy. So I cut them out of my diet permanently and it was amazing how much better I felt.<br />
<br />
And though the goal was not to lose weight, I lost 14 pounds in the three weeks I did it. Yowza!!<br />
<br />
<b>Why we're doing it now</b><br />
While pregnancy was extraordinarily forgiving on my food sensitivities, the postpartum period is not. I cut out gluten and dairy again, but I was still having some tummy troubles (believe me, it's better if I spare you the gory details). So on the elimination diet we go! My goal is primarily to identify food sensitivities and for James, the main goal is help restore a healthier eating pattern.<br />
<br />
<b>What it is, how it works</b><br />
If you haven't looked at the link, this elimination diet cuts out the following food groups:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Gluten </li>
<li>Dairy</li>
<li>Eggs</li>
<li>Caffeine</li>
<li>Fruits: citrus, strawberries</li>
<li>Sugar</li>
<li>Alcohol</li>
<li>Meats: red meat, pork</li>
<li>Nuts: peanuts, pistachio, macadamia</li>
</ul>
<br />
The idea is that you cut out ALL of these foods for a period of three weeks (and any foods that contain any of the offending ingredients listed above) to "cleanse" the body, and then add the foods back one at a time at the rate of one food type every other day to gauge how your body reacts to it. If it's one that's not so good for you, it's amazing how quickly you'll be able to notice how the body reacts to the food.<br />
<br />
<b>The challenge</b><br />
Looking at that list, you may be thinking this is impossible. To be sure, it is a challenge. Eating this way eliminates virtually all processed/convenience foods and forces the dieter to get his or her calories elsewhere. It forces you to get creative. As someone who stayed faithful to this diet for a period of three weeks, I'm here to say that with some careful planning, it can be done.<br />
<br />
Though we don't officially start until tomorrow, I've been concocting elimination diet-friendly meals in preparation for the three-week haul. Take a look at today's diet-friendly lunch:<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kirstenmichelle/7077186267/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="elimination diet-friendly fare by kirsten.michelle, on Flickr"><img alt="elimination diet-friendly fare" height="600" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7137/7077186267_0ffa2dba66_z.jpg" width="600" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grilled turkey burger patty with avocado & sea salt; Sauteed kale & grape tomatoes; Baby Carrots</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Delicious. Satisfying. And it's so pretty!<br />
<br />
So what I'd like to do is chronicle our progress with the diet for you periodically. Don't worry, I'm not going to write about what we had for every single meal, but I'd like to share some of the more interesting ones with you to demonstrate that a person cutting out these foods can eat some tasty, tasty meals in spite of all that's being cut out.<br />
<br />
That's right. This is potentially the most boring series of blog posts EVER.<br />
<br />
<b>A few extra notes:</b><br />
<ul>
<li>This diet isn't meant to be exhaustive, as in: it's not going to eliminate every single possible potentially-irritating food for every single person. It just doesn't, and I'm not claiming that it does.</li>
<li>To wit, we won't be consuming anything in the onion family (including garlic, leeks, etc.) because bad things happen when James eats these (another instance where the gory details are better spared). We're also excluding broccoli because I'm nursing, and bad things happen for Austen when I eat it.</li>
<li>The chart provided in the link says to eliminate salt, but going off of the guidelines handed to me by my naturopath in 2006, we're leaving it in. We're not <i>completely</i> nuts, after all. Also, stevia is a sweetener that's permitted in the diet (again, something from the lips of the naturopath).</li>
</ul>
<div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kirstenmichelle/6931106070/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="one last latte ... by kirsten.michelle, on Flickr"><img alt="one last latte ..." height="600" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7200/6931106070_50e4ca2eec_z.jpg" width="600" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An elimination diet no-no</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>You didn't ask, but I'll tell you:</b></div>
<ul>
<li>I think it's going to be most difficult for me to give up my morning latte (containing the offending elements of caffeine and sugar in the soy milk). That is some "yum!" and "aaahhh!" that I'm seriously going to miss!</li>
</ul>
<div>
<br />
<i>And </i>... here we go!!</div>
kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064478678164369045.post-68149550755164596942012-04-06T18:10:00.002-04:002012-04-07T12:29:44.969-04:00The First Good FridayIf you've read the <a href="http://lattesandrainydays.blogspot.com/p/faith-spirituality.html">Faith & Spirituality</a> page on this blog, then you know that up until my early thirties, my Christian faith was practiced and lived out in a non-denominational evangelical setting. Though from infancy through this point in adulthood I had attended a number of different churches, Good Friday always looked pretty much the same: the service would be spent describing and mourning the suffering and death of Christ. Prior to our dismissal, the pastor would remind us in his own words of the following truth: "Friday happened, but Sunday's coming."<br />
<br />
He would be referring, of course, to the celebration of the resurrection -- the point at which Christ achieved victory over death and hell, the point at which we sing triumphant sounding songs. And then came the day when little boys would be outfitted in new miniature suits and and little girls in floral dresses and shiny white shoes.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kirstenmichelle/6905740196/" title="processed_kirsten_042311_0002_wm by kirsten.michelle, on Flickr"><img alt="processed_kirsten_042311_0002_wm" height="427" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7106/6905740196_b26d461357_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<b>But it was still Good Friday.</b><br />
<br />
It was a little over a decade ago where this trend -- jumping ahead to Easter Sunday before the sun had set on Good Friday -- started to make me uncomfortable. What was so wrong with sitting with the truth of Christ's suffering and death for awhile? We may be living in and looking forward to the truth of the resurrection, but would it kill us for just one day to internalize what it meant for Christ to suffer, and to understand my role in it? There wasn't anything wrong necessarily with looking forward to Sunday, but what was the hurry?<br />
<br />
<b>What was so wrong with letting Friday be Friday?</b><br />
<br />
My first Good Friday as a Catholic came about two years ago. As I sat in the pew during the Good Friday Mass, I uttered a brief and silent prayer to God: I wanted to feel the weight of that day, and I wanted to feel it like the disciples felt it.<br />
<br />
<i>Someone I love has died a shameful death.</i><br />
<i>I ran away from him, disowning him when I should have risen to his defense.</i><br />
<i>A perfect man has been wrongfully accused, offending every natural sense of justice.</i><br />
<i>He was there because of the things I had done.</i><br />
<br />
No prayer of mine has ever been answered so quickly.<br />
<br />
It wasn't long before tears were running down my cheeks, one after the other until they streamed down my face. I started to choke with the crying, wiping my face with the back of my hand, sniffling and reaching for the tissues in my purse.<br />
<br />
We were all invited to come forward and venerate the cross, to kneel and touch him, to tell him we were sorry. When it came to be my turn, I touched the pierced feet, knelt, and wept. There was no guise of dignity left in how I cried. I simply didn't care. My grief was real.<br />
<br />
<i>My Savior was dead, and I had done it.</i><br />
<br />
Good Friday, and my Jesus is dead and in the tomb.kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064478678164369045.post-30518598600473641482012-04-01T08:09:00.001-04:002012-04-01T08:57:40.931-04:00Pleasing to the Eye {Genesis}<div style="text-align: center;">" ... when the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was a delight to the eyes, and that the tree was to be desired to make one wise, she took of its fruit and ate; and she also gave some to her husband, who was with her, and he ate."</div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Genesis 3:6 (NRSV)</b></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kirstenmichelle/4811238554/" title="dreamy apricots by kirsten.michelle, on Flickr"><img alt="dreamy apricots" height="427" src="http://farm5.staticflickr.com/4121/4811238554_325baed1c5_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
It wasn't long after I stopped blaming Eve for the introduction of sin into the world that, realizing were I in her place, I probably would have done the same thing (alright, alright -- hold the "probably"), that I shifted more toward empathy for her. Don't get me wrong, I knew she made the wrong decision, the consequences of which were utterly catastrophic -- but I started to wonder if she weren't getting even more of a bad rap than she deserved.<br />
<br />
Reading Genesis this time around, I felt like I understood her a little better.<br />
<br />
Staying away from the one thing God said to stay away from should have been easy enough, at least in theory. But then (with the help of the serpent) she gets another look at what God had forbidden. <i>Look at this tree, </i>she says. <i>It's so beautiful! The fruit looks delicious: soft, plump, and perfectly ripe. So fragrant! It would be a shame for it to go uneaten. And why wouldn't God want me to gain wisdom? Wisdom is a good thing, right? I am hungry after all, and haven't tried this particular variety of fruit before. I could have misunderstood what He meant.</i><br />
<br />
Maybe she reached out a hand and stroked the skin of the fruit, and put her nose against it to breathe in the scent that made her mouth water, taste buds tingling in anticipation. Aside from having an appetite for it, she was able to use observation and her own reasoning abilities to see it was good for food. How could she go wrong? "Good for food"? A "delight to the eyes"?<br />
<br />
<b>It seems perfectly reasonable not only that she should <i>want </i>to eat it, but that she should actually <i>do it.</i></b><br />
<br />
Except that everything went wrong after that -- and we're all living with the weight of that choice. Welcome sin, welcome pain. Welcome strife, welcome evil and enmity. Welcome, shame. Welcome curse, welcome punishment. Welcome, the cascade of events that led to the cross.<br />
<br />
That's the crazy thing about evil in the world, I suppose. While it might very well look like an obviously dark and sinister thing, more often than not I suppose it could look much like those apricots up there: pleasing to the eye, good for food, ripe and fragrant and utterly delicious, sparkling on the tongue. Utterly innocent. Good, even. We look at it and we think, <i>Yes, I not only <b>can </b>pluck this fruit and take it in, but I <b>should</b></i>.<br />
<br />
<b>From what we can see, why on earth would anyone warn us against it?</b><br />
<br />
But I have to admit that that like Eve, I can be deceived. <i>Even </i>when applying my intelligence. <i>Even </i>when I possess the best of intentions. <i>Even </i>when avoiding the fruit I find so pleasing to the eye seems like the wrong thing. <i>Even </i>when taking it seems to be the sophisticated, compassionate, and socially acceptable thing to do.<br />
<br />
Look at those apricots. It's hard to believe that a taste of something that looks as wonderful and appetizing as that could invite the tumult and disaster that it did. But still, looking at them, I wonder: <i>How could I go wrong?</i>kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064478678164369045.post-56949619011429069352012-03-24T13:04:00.001-04:002012-03-25T09:37:38.921-04:00His Image & Likeness {Genesis}When I have a few (or, in fact, several) minutes free in the morning after my morning coffee has been consumed and before the baby wakes, I've started again at the beginning: as in, "In the beginning ..." reading as many chapters as I can before she starts to stir.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kirstenmichelle/3600255609/" title="IMG_4078 by kirsten.michelle, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_4078" height="427" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3612/3600255609_1ac628bc8d_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><i>So God created man in his own image,</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>in the image of God he created him;</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>male and female he created them.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Genesis 1:27</b></div><br />
The first chapter or two of Genesis reads like poetry, but only breaks into actual poetry at two pivotal and poignant moments: the creation of humankind, and the creation of the woman specifically (appropriate, I think).Whether or not you take these words literally, the sudden insertion of poetry asks you to pause and take a breath, to regard these moments as something sacred: everything else from daylight to the ocean and giraffes and the octopus was spoken into existence, but with humankind, God uses His own hands to form them, animating them with His own breath. Humans are the only creatures that are like Him, the only ones whose first breaths were from Him.<br />
<br />
It's so terribly intimate.<br />
<br />
I don't know what it all means, but I think it's worth contemplating. I think of the C. S. Lewis quote from "The Weight of Glory" about how <a href="http://blog.dhbc.ca/2010/01/05/youve-never-met-a-mere-mortal/">none of us has ever met a mere mortal</a>. I think of how I think of myself, how I treat other people. I'm not God and neither are they, but something about them is like Him and even for all the ways in which the world and the people in it can seem so screwed up, it bespeaks a certain dignity due to everyone -- no matter how old or young or small or weak or helpless or marginalized or misunderstood.<br />
<br />
If only it were easier to hold this truth when staring the real world square in the face. I wonder if I will be able to remember when I hold a crying baby, when the first story my face tells is one of how little sleep I've gotten, and when the headlines have me wanting to lock the door and put bars on the windows -- that when human beings were made, the words chosen to tell us the story were pure poetry.kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064478678164369045.post-36104768804926979992012-02-21T19:00:00.003-05:002012-02-21T19:16:42.492-05:00IncarnationI find myself looking at her often and thinking a million and one different things about the Holy.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kirstenmichelle/6811767759/" title="austen :: 2 weeks + 1 day by kirsten.michelle, on Flickr"><img alt="austen :: 2 weeks + 1 day" height="427" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7143/6811767759_5754bb1460_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
But lately she's had me contemplating the Incarnation -- the act of word made flesh, the moment God became a man, of the infinite emptying Himself and becoming an embryo.<br />
<br />
She's so vulnerable. She's needy. She's entirely dependent on her father and I for her care and sustenance. She needs to be fed. She cannot dress herself. If we do not change a soiled diaper for her, it will not get changed. If she is sick, she cannot take herself to the doctor. If she needs anything, she cannot articulate it for us.<br />
<br />
Jesus was the same way as a baby: vulnerable, needy, dependent. It's hard to think of the man who multiplied loaves and fishes, commanded the waves, and wielded the power to undo even death as vulnerable as she is. It's almost impossible to wrap my brain around the fact that God would condescend to become someone so utterly defenseless to care for himself as a baby: needing to be fed, dressed, and to have his soiled diapers changed. To be rendered mute but for His cries, to trust two of His own created for His every need.<br />
<br />
This is the God of the universe.<br />
<br />
In caring for her, I see Him anew and am in increasing awe of His humility.kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064478678164369045.post-58705777475681044772011-12-18T15:24:00.003-05:002011-12-18T15:40:19.940-05:00My Sorrowful Mysteries :: Tales of a Spiritual Life After Death (Part 5)<b><a href="http://lattesandrainydays.blogspot.com/2011/11/my-sorrowful-mysteries-tales-of.html">Read Part 1</a></b><br />
<b><a href="http://lattesandrainydays.blogspot.com/2011/11/my-sorrowful-mysteries-tales-of_28.html">Read Part 2</a></b><br />
<b><a href="http://lattesandrainydays.blogspot.com/2011/12/my-sorrowful-mysteries-tales-of.html">Read Part 3</a></b><br />
<b><a href="http://lattesandrainydays.blogspot.com/2011/12/my-sorrowful-mysteries-tales-of_09.html">Read Part 4</a></b><br />
<br />
And then one day, He was back.<br />
<br />
It wasn't all glory and trumpets and flashes of light. It was one of those mornings where I was awake well before I wanted to be. Unable to slip back to sleep, I rubbed my eyes and rolled out of bed, wandering into the living room. I had just finished reading through the book of Luke and decided maybe this would be a good day to start the book of John. So I opened my Bible and started reading. And I didn't stop reading until I finished.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kirstenmichelle/6522084255/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="Stained glass by kirsten.michelle, on Flickr"><img alt="Stained glass" height="640" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7168/6522084255_582cc530f4_z.jpg" width="361" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Transfiguration</td></tr>
</tbody></table></div><br />
By then I was sleepy enough to try closing my eyes again to see if sleep would return. I reclined on my left side on the couch, Bible wrapped up in my right arm. I woke up about an hour later, and there He was.<br />
<br />
<i>Oh. There you are</i>, I said out loud.<br />
<br />
He was back -- just as if He had never left.<br />
<br />
Having a sensed experience of His presence again infused my prayer and study life with new vitality. My prayers no longer boomeranged off the wall and fell at my feet. My frustration and anger had dissipated. After a couple of weeks like this, I dared to ask Him about the past year. Why the silence and darkness? What was the purpose and good of leaving me in the dark when I needed Him? Every time I asked, I got the sense it wasn't time for me to know. It was easy for me to be thankful for what we had together again. Though my curiosity continued to seek satisfaction, I let it go when I saw the answer I sought could not be forced.<br />
<br />
It was just a couple weeks later that I was practicing <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lectio_Divina">lectio divina</a> in a passage of John 10 -- the one where Jesus identifies Himself as the good shepherd. I had spent time focusing on various aspects of the passage and the one I found myself drawn to initially had to do with Jesus seeking out others who weren't there, but that He still counted as part of the fold.<br />
<br />
But in spite of my efforts to focus there, I kept getting tugged back to a few verses before that:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq"><b>I am the good shepherd. I know my own and my own know me, just as the Father knows me and I know the Father. And I lay down my life for the sheep. </b></blockquote>Sensing that Jesus had something for me here, I followed Him, directing my attention to the words on the page. I read these words slowly over and over again and in the middle of one of my readings, He interjected all of the sudden: <b>I know you, Kirsten. I KNOW YOU. </b>If I could have seen His face, I imagine it would have been just inches from mine. I would have been able to feel the warmth of His breath. I imagine His hands would have clasped mine to keep me from turning the page, to make sure I heard what He was saying to me. I'm sure I could have felt the nail marks in His palms myself.<br />
<br />
<b>I know you.</b><br />
<br />
I stopped. And I burst into tears. For a whole year or more, I felt like He had forgotten me. Like He had really, <i>really</i> forgotten me. And here He was telling me -- not just every one of His sheep, but me -- that He knows me. He knows me. It was as personal as it could be. There was no mistaking He saw me, that He heard me -- and not just now, not just in this present moment, but the whole time.<br />
<br />
A week later, I was practicing lectio divina again, but this time in Mark 10 when Jesus rebukes the disciples for speaking harshly to those who would keep the little children from coming to Him. I found myself drawn to the last verse of the passage:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq"><b>And he took [the children] up in his arms, laid his hands on them, and blessed them.</b></blockquote>When it came to the oratio portion of the exercise, I knew I had nothing to lose. So I told Him: <i>This is what I wanted from You this last year. This is what I needed from You. I was hurting so deeply and I felt so alone -- I just wanted You to wrap Your arms around me and love me. I ...</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kirstenmichelle/6390317543/" title="sunroom by kirsten.michelle, on Flickr"><img alt="sunroom" height="640" src="http://farm7.staticflickr.com/6019/6390317543_868524e4f4_z.jpg" width="427" /></a></div><br />
It wasn't long before a very clear picture formed in my mind. I was still in my rocking chair in the sunroom, but this time He was holding me. In this picture, He had taken me up in His arms and held me, my head resting against the warmth of His chest, hearing His heartbeat, letting the tears come. He didn't say anything, but simply held me there.<br />
<br />
I fell into tears again. After a year of feeling not only invisible to Him, but untouched and untouchable, I saw Him holding me -- not only in that moment, but for the whole year before. He held me. And that's all it was. That is exactly what I needed and what I had been asking for. And finally, there it was. There He was.<br />
<br />
Those two experiences with Jesus brought a healing to my heart that I don't know how to describe. Though I still don't have many clear answers as to the why of it all, I do know that my year of darkness brought a hard-won and much needed purification. In that year, my sin was always before me in a way it had not been before. I saw my own ugliness all the time. The act of taking it to confession helped me to experience healing in those dark things inside me that whether I knew it or not, were damaging my soul.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kirstenmichelle/6386804557/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" title="prayer by kirsten.michelle, on Flickr"><img alt="prayer" height="427" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7024/6386804557_fee6ee190f_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A visual prayer exercise I completed after my two very personal experiences with Jesus.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
And it was a trial of my faith. In that year, it became so very much more than words and doctrines and giving my agreement to a list of things I believed to be factual or true. My spiritual life had been a life of the heart before this year of darkness, but now it was fuller. It was more. My heart had stretched and expanded, and the muscle had grown stronger through repeated testing. It was an act of the will and it was an act of the heart.<br />
<br />
I realized very early on that it was not anything I had done or didn't do that caused the darkness and similarly, that it wasn't anything I had said or done or didn't say or didn't do that brought Him back again. He came back when He knew it was time, and when it was time, He communicated those things to me that my heart most needed to know. Even so, there are still so many questions. I still am not certain if this was a true <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dark_Night_of_the_Soul">dark night of the soul</a>, or of it was something else. Though I can see plenty of the good fruit that came out of it, my curiosity regarding the question of why is still somewhat unsatisfied. But I can let that go. Not only is He back, but He was here the whole time. He showed me that.<br />
<br />
And now I know with unshakable certainty two very important things:<br />
<br />
<b>He knows me. </b><br />
<br />
<b>And He picks me up in His arms like a small child, never to let me go.</b>kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064478678164369045.post-39258491488470445252011-12-09T16:05:00.001-05:002011-12-14T19:57:25.982-05:00My Sorrowful Mysteries :: Tales of a Spiritual Life After Death (Part 4)<b><a href="http://lattesandrainydays.blogspot.com/2011/11/my-sorrowful-mysteries-tales-of.html">Read Part 1</a></b><br />
<b><a href="http://lattesandrainydays.blogspot.com/2011/11/my-sorrowful-mysteries-tales-of_28.html">Read Part 2</a></b><br />
<b><a href="http://lattesandrainydays.blogspot.com/2011/12/my-sorrowful-mysteries-tales-of.html">Read Part 3</a></b><br />
<br />
For all the true good confession and the other sacraments brought me, there was still one big problem: I was still covered in darkness where my relationship with God was concerned. He still felt remarkably absent. When I imagined Him with me, I saw Him sitting in a corner curled in on himself like a comma, holding his elbows, looking down. Present, but not engaged. Aware, but not acting. Hearing, but not answering.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kirstenmichelle/4004443696/" title="kirsten_5054 by kirsten.michelle, on Flickr"><img alt="kirsten_5054" height="640" src="http://farm3.staticflickr.com/2618/4004443696_ddfbd9d80a_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
This continued on for months and months: through my early days of grieving, through going back to work, through James coming to Florida three months ahead of me, through learning we were expecting our second child. So I kept praying; I continued to go to confession and I knew I could always find Him in the Eucharist. These weren't small things, I knew -- objectively, they provided me with the communion I knew I needed. But I still felt the loss of Him.<br />
<br />
When James and I were separated by some 3,000 miles -- him beginning a brand new job in Florida, me wrapping up my eleven-year career in telecommunications and our life and home in Seattle -- people told us that a three months separation "wasn't that bad" and that it would "go by quickly." It was easy to say when they weren't the ones suffering the separation. Yes, I was still married. James was still my husband and I was still his wife. We Skyped, we talked on the phone, and took advantage of those means available to us to stay in communication. But we lacked the experience of intimacy that we had enjoyed through our entire marriage up until that point. I don't care how much we spoke on the phone or saw each other's faces via webcam: it was not the same thing -- not even close.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kirstenmichelle/6474316233/" title="rosary & scripture by kirsten.michelle, on Flickr"><img alt="rosary & scripture" height="640" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7167/6474316233_ed411190f9_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
My relationship with God felt so much the same way during this period of silence: like we were a married couple separated by too many miles, but with no end in sight to the separation. I might still be God's child, and He might still be my Father, but I felt a million miles between us. I lacked the experience of intimacy we had once enjoyed. He never reached out and touched, He never offered His arms even when I begged for them. My feelings suffered. It was not the intimacy we once enjoyed -- it was not even close.<br />
<br />
One night not all that long ago, it reached a boiling point. It had been over a year since this divine silence had started and I was talking to James about how all of this felt. The floodgates opened and I let loose all my pent up feelings without the least care to edit them. <b>I'M SO SICK OF THIS!! WHERE THE F*** IS HE?? </b>I screamed. My face was flushed and I clenched my fists against the side of my head, pulling at my hair. I kept swallowing back the same large painful and bitter lump. Searing hot tears sprung into my eyes. <b>I MEAN, SERIOUSLY -- WHAT THE HELL DOES HE WANT FROM ME?! </b><br />
<br />
There were no answers waiting for me on the other side of that question -- not even difficult ones.<br />
<br />
I had remembered that during another dark season of my life, <a href="http://cloudbyday-firebynight.blogspot.com/search/label/job">I had turned to the book of Job</a>. Though he is patient both with God in His silence and the friends who would have done better to remain silent in the ashes with him rather than postulate as to the many things for which God might be punishing him, Job reaches his breaking point, too. He's had enough and he wants an answer. And who can blame him? After losing all his property, possessions, and his entire family, God has remained completely silent. If he's not being punished and he hasn't cursed God, turning his back on Him like the devil had tempted him to do, then what gives? What's the point in God permitting Job's suffering to extend so far as it has?<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kirstenmichelle/6481702159/" title="irish cemetery by kirsten.michelle, on Flickr"><img alt="irish cemetery" height="427" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7011/6481702159_35be0743fd_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
It is about the point when we're all really getting tired of the friends insisting on Job's sin and with Job countering their claims in insisting on his rightness that Elihu shows up and (finally) injects some sanity and wisdom into the scene. His answers don't come neatly packaged, and while as answers they are true, they aren't terribly satisfying. What it really boils down to is that as good a guy as Job is (and he is!), he isn't perfect. And because God loves Job, He cares about sparing his life from what Elihu refers to as "the Pit."<br />
<br />
Read Elihu's words:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">"In a dream, in a vision of the night,<br />
when deep sleep falls on mortals,<br />
while they slumber on their beds,<br />
then [God] opens their ears,<br />
and terrifies them with warnings,<br />
<b>that he may turn them aside from their deeds,<br />
and keep them from pride,<br />
to spare their souls from the Pit,</b><br />
their lives from traversing the River.<br />
...<br />
"God indeed does all these things,<br />
twice, three times, with mortals.,<br />
<b>to bring back their souls from the Pit,</b><br />
<b>so that they may see the light of life.</b>"<br />
(Job 33:15-18, 29, 30)</blockquote> And again ...<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">"He does not withdraw his eyes from the righteous,<br />
but with kings on the throne<br />
he sets them forever, and they are exalted.<br />
<b>And if they are bound in fetters<br />
and caught in the cords of affliction,<br />
then he declares to them their work<br />
and their transgressions, that they are behaving arrogantly.</b><br />
<b>He opens their ears to instruction, </b><br />
<b>and commands that they return from iniquity.</b><br />
If they listen, and serve him,<br />
they complete their days in prosperity,<br />
and their years in pleasantness.<br />
But if they do not listen, they shall perish by the sword,<br />
and die without knowledge.<br />
The godless in heart cherish anger;<br />
they do not cry for help when he binds them.<br />
They die in their youth,<br />
and their life ends in shame.<br />
<b>He delivers the afflicted by their affliction,</b><br />
<b>and opens their ear by adversity.</b><br />
(Job 36:7-15, emphasis mine)</blockquote><br />
It is God who, in the opening pages of the book of Job, affirms Job's righteousness (1:8, 2:3). Elihu here says that even the righteous have transgressions and sins -- that even they need instruction and to "turn from iniquity." So really, neither Job nor his friends were entirely right -- but they weren't entirely wrong, either. While Job wasn't without fault, it wasn't the case that God was punishing him. God was, in fact, doing the most loving thing in weeding out any further iniquity and pride in the man He affirmed to be "blameless and upright."<br />
<br />
The phrase that hit me over the head like a mallet was "He delivers the afflicted <b><i>by </i></b>their affliction." Think of it: suffering is not the thing from which Job needs to be delivered. Rather, suffering is the means of deliverance: from sin, from the pit of hell. God wants Job to be truly holy, to keep him from going to the place to which unholiness leads.<br />
<br />
<b>God wants Job to be holy because He loves him.</b><br />
<br />
Well, then. That was interesting. That was very interesting, indeed. It wasn't at all what I was looking for, but it was a point of much-needed light.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>To Be Continued & Concluded in Part 5</b>kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064478678164369045.post-42434663497876243332011-12-05T11:42:00.001-05:002011-12-05T14:32:00.334-05:00My Sorrowful Mysteries :: Tales of a Spiritual Life After Death (Part 3)<b><a href="http://lattesandrainydays.blogspot.com/2011/11/my-sorrowful-mysteries-tales-of.html">Read Part 1</a></b><br />
<b><a href="http://lattesandrainydays.blogspot.com/2011/11/my-sorrowful-mysteries-tales-of_28.html">Read Part 2</a></b><br />
<br />
<b><i>Bitter. Hard and bitter and resentful and hurt. Anger. Fury. Resentment and bitterness and hardness. Bitter bitter bitter, hard. Self-righteous. Selfish. Hard bitter bitter bitter anger and fury.Violent. Hateful. Hate hate hate resentful bitterness.</i></b><br />
<br />
This grief and its cousin, my spiritual darkness, were incredibly good at one thing: bringing up in me every remotely dark and evil thing that was then or ever had been in my soul. They burned under me like a fire, melting me to a molten liquid and making all the vile and dirt in me rise to the surface. It was horrid to look at and even worse to taste in my mouth. But like David, I could not ignore it: <i>For I know my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me </i>(Psalm 51:3).<br />
<br />
Ever before me. <b>Ever. Before. Me. </b>Swirling round me like gnats. <i>Ever before me</i>.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kirstenmichelle/3309775983/" title="kneel to pray by kirsten.michelle, on Flickr"><img alt="kneel to pray" height="433" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3603/3309775983_661a7ab6fe_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
And it drove me to the confessional. Perhaps I didn't go as often as I should have, but every time I went it was a welcome relief to spew out the sin I had confessed to God a hundred times in private, but that somehow still left a foul film in my mouth. Perhaps it was because instead of being met with the hollow echo of my own words and His resounding silence, it was a chance to hear sound counsel and receive compassionate understanding instead. Most of the time, my confessors knew my circumstances and could put in perspective for themselves where this was all coming from. When this wasn't the case, I explained what had happened.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">"My son, my firstborn, died of a heart defect recently. Everything went wrong. Everything. God made my baby with a heart too broken to sustain his life. How does a loving God do such a thing? And now God is gone and my friends are having perfectly healthy babies and I hear complaining about such entirely stupid and trivial things -- they didn't have to live in the NICU and just days after giving birth to their first child, wait up all night while blue-smocked surgeons with long faces kept coming to tell me my child might not make it. I did everything right and I know it doesn't matter, but damnit, <b>I DID EVERYTHING RIGHT!</b> I never got to take him home and dear God, I wish my worst problem was spit-up or a diaper blow-out or having him cry in the middle of the night, but he's dead and he won't be crying anymore. And it's not fair and now I feel so bitter and hard against people who have what is normal and I don't say anything to anybody about it -- I don't say anything to them because anything I do say to them about their experiences with their children will probably make them feel guilty and I'm not sure that even if I try my best to say something kind that instead it will come out full of the hard and bitter lump in my soul that is growing stronger and developing sharp teeth -- so I don't say anything. I don't say anything to them, but ..."</blockquote><br />
I struggled for words.<br />
<br />
"It's corrosive, isn't it? Like an acid."<br />
<br />
"Yes! Like an acid that is burning a hole in me, and ..."<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kirstenmichelle/3309821771/" title="IMG_2750 by kirsten.michelle, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_2750" height="427" src="http://farm4.staticflickr.com/3619/3309821771_a63a59872e_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
This is how it went most of the time for me. It wasn't the contained and outwardly pious exercise so often portrayed in film -- I spewed out all the filth and ick that had been building up in me that I couldn't stand to carry with me anymore -- that, in fact, I feared would burn a hole through my soul that wouldn't ever close up again. I preferred my encounters face-to-face instead of from behind a screen, even with my face all puffy and red and wet, mascara streaking down my cheeks. It wasn't required of me, but it was part of me being honest, part of being utterly transparent. After so much time of feeling hidden and invisible, I needed to feel seen, even if it was like this -- <i>especially </i>if it was like this.<br />
<br />
My confessors never excused the things they heard from me -- they never sugar-coated it or treated my sins as anything other than they were. They never told me that feeling hateful and bitter and resentful against God and my neighbor were okay because of what I had been through. But they did put it in perspective for me, encouraged me to continue speaking with transparent honestly to my God of the empty chair about how it all felt. I knew they were right.<br />
<br />
I walked away each time feeling like what I imagine the woman caught in adultery and brought before Jesus felt -- her sin was publicly on display, her shame obvious. There was nothing and no one at all she could hide behind. But the one person who had a right to do it if anyone did didn't condemn her. He knew exactly what she had done and yet extended grace to her when she had cause to fear that she would be dragged to a bloody death in a pit of stones.<br />
<br />
And it felt like a little bit of me came back each time I walked away from the confessional not only unscathed, but seen. I had not only escaped death, but was given a chance at an entirely new life.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>To Be Continued</b>kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064478678164369045.post-36056063356216669362011-11-28T09:05:00.005-05:002011-11-28T09:20:58.882-05:00My Sorrowful Mysteries :: Tales of a Spiritual Life After Death (Part 2)<div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><b><a href="http://lattesandrainydays.blogspot.com/2011/11/my-sorrowful-mysteries-tales-of.html">Read Part 1</a></b><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>I know it feels like He's gone. You feel alone, abandoned, ignored. You feel like you inhabit the blind spot that goes unchecked: that He doesn't see you and doesn't care to see you. You feel punished. But that's not what's real. It feels like He's gone, but He actually is here. I know you want to fall apart in the safety and boundary of His arms. I know that it feels like you are dissolving, falling to pieces without anything to catch the fragments as you are pulled apart. I know it feels nothing like it, but He actually is here. I know you're afraid, that you feel like you're falling and dying, but you are safe. </i></div></div><div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kirstenmichelle/5286686689/" title="a time to mourn by kirsten.michelle, on Flickr"><img alt="a time to mourn" height="427" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5088/5286686689_96ec801bb9_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Much of the time over this period of a year or more was spent with a relentless internal dialogue attempting to keep a lid on my emotional blender. Though I knew my feelings of abandonment and anger were valid enough and permitted those emotions to churn and stir as they may, I also kept reminding myself they weren't the final arbiters of reality. In other words, just because I felt like God had abandoned me to my sorrow did not mean that He had. And so I lived in that exquisite tension between the opposites of what I knew by faith and what I felt, reason and emotion each pulling against each other in a tug-of-war that had me at the middle, threatening to pull my limbs from their sockets, and send my mind well beyond the bounds of sanity. It was mentally, physically, and emotionally exhausting.<br />
<div><br />
</div><div>I knew there was only one place I could go. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I turned to the One who all my feelings protested had left me behind -- an irony not lost on me. I felt a bit like Peter in John's gospel. Offended at His teaching that if they do not eat His flesh and drink His blood they have no life in them, a large contingent of Jesus' followers leave His side. Jesus asks Peter if he is going to leave as well, and Peter says, "To whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life." There is a sense of resignation and acceptance in what he says; a sense of "I don't understand this eating Your flesh and drinking Your blood thing. Frankly, it sounds more than a little crazy. But I know too much now. I've seen too much now. I believe too much to leave now. I know who You are."</div><div><br />
</div><div>And so it was with me. This feeling of Christ being absent had heaped the pain of abandonment and neglect upon the still raw pain of my loss, but honestly -- where else could I go? He was the only one who had what I needed. </div><div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kirstenmichelle/6411424635/" title="rosary by kirsten.michelle, on Flickr"><img alt="rosary" height="427" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7150/6411424635_0f2bda7a11_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
</div><div>So every day, I went to Him in the <a href="http://www.ewtn.com/devotionals/prayers/rosary/sorrowful.htm">sorrowful mysteries</a>. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I had taken up the practice of the rosary shortly before becoming Catholic, having found there what many Catholic faithful had found before me: among other things, an experience of deepened intimacy and union with Christ. But in this season, time spent in the sorrowful mysteries did not mitigate the intense feelings of aloneness. They did not serve to lift the heavy fog in which I was mired, nor did they bring to me the God-hands that I hoped would keep me from separating like newsprint left in water too long. But I did find in them someone who knew what it was to feel abandoned and alone, someone who in a moment of intensest agony cried out loud, asking why God had forsaken Him -- and even in proclaiming that, did not sin. </div><div><br />
</div><div>And so I prayed through those mysteries just as one might sit down and direct the most intimate concerns of her heart out loud to an unoccupied chair in an empty room. It always felt as though I was talking to no one, that my words boomeranged off the wall and came back to me, falling into a jumbled heap at my feet every time. I related to Jesus in His passion as you might relate to an historical figure in a textbook, finding commonalities in our feelings about what we suffered, but unable to forge a real relational connection.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kirstenmichelle/6418438449/" title="empty chair by kirsten.michelle, on Flickr"><img alt="empty chair" height="427" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7030/6418438449_39729c7c06_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
No matter how many times I picked up my piles of words again, I never got a response from the One to whom they were directed. I heard only the words themselves and the sound they made as they echoed back at me from the emptiness of that room, clattering against each other and falling to the floor in front of me with a loud metallic clang. But continuing to offer them was all I could do. I found no comfort in offering them, but I did find what I presumed to be comfort's distant cousin: an allowance to grieve and a permission to feel abandoned -- and to say so. It was knowing that the Christ who felt so absent to me -- who seemed no more present to me than George Washington -- felt the same thing at one time, too.<br />
<br />
I didn't like this reality at all, and often let my God of the empty chair know exactly what I thought of it. I expressed anger and frustration. I told Him I felt neglected and forgotten. And like a small child, I just as often said nothing at all, but stretched out my arms, expressing my desire to be held and comforted, to experience the promises of solace and healing that seemed to leap from the pages of Sacred Scripture. But just as with my grief, I didn't see what choice I had. I decided to lean into the reality I had rather than the one I wished for, knowing I could no more make God show up in the way I desired Him than I could will the earth to stop spinning or make the sun move around the earth. There were no secret magical incantations or prayers I could offer, no list of bullet points I could follow that would change any of it. He is not anyone's puppet. I knew it wasn't anything I had said or done that caused His seeming disappearance and in the same way, there was not anything I could say or do that would bring Him back to me.<br />
<br />
But I still needed Him, and it still hurt.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kirstenmichelle/6344168966/" title="jesus on the cross by kirsten.michelle, on Flickr"><img alt="jesus on the cross" height="640" src="http://farm7.staticflickr.com/6119/6344168966_01a2e7fe69_z.jpg" width="427" /></a></div><br />
And so I set up camp in the sorrowful mysteries. I was utterly alone and in the cold there, but it was the only place I seemed to belong. As I held each moment of His passion in my mind, I wept and prayed with Him, felt the rending and tearing of flesh from bone with Him, and felt with him the mockery of the gawkers. With Him, I carried my cross and cried out in agony as we both hung there, our arms pinned down wide, wondering out loud where was God now.<br />
<br />
<b><br />
</b><br />
<b>To Be Continued</b></div>kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064478678164369045.post-50269904006035763822011-11-22T08:05:00.051-05:002011-11-22T08:05:00.211-05:00My Sorrowful Mysteries :: Tales of a Spiritual Life After Death (Part 1)Depending on when you asked me over the course of the year between <a href="http://www.team-ewan.com/">Ewan</a>'s death and the first anniversary of it, I might have felt everything or nothing as I realized that important anniversary was approaching. It's hardly surprising that losing my son and nearing the first anniversary of the night he died in my arms would give rise to a wide range of emotions, each of them bubbling up from the depths of me and popping when they rose to the surface, meeting the free air. Perhaps even less surprising is the number of questions I had for God to which his death gave rise.<br />
<br />
Though "why?" is a natural question and one that, in the throes of some black and turbulent nights, was asked frequently enough, it was never at the top of my list. I can't imagine that there's a single answer God could give me that would satisfy the empty arms that had been prepared to cradle my baby, or the aching breasts whose milk had dried up. If my son wasn't coming back to me healed and whole, then even the best answer God Himself could provide to the question of "why?" would be utterly unsatisfying.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kirstenmichelle/5270342246/" title="grief & faith by kirsten.michelle, on Flickr"><img alt="grief & faith" height="492" src="http://farm6.staticflickr.com/5124/5270342246_307e43e0a0_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
It wasn't the actual loss that I questioned, or even why <a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Psalm+139&version=NASB">God tenderly knitted Ewan together inside me</a> with a heart too broken to sustain his life so much as it was the question of where God was in the weeks and months that followed. I read any number of Psalms or other scriptures that spoke of His care for the brokenhearted, or how He captures every tear. I read of a God who provided His brokenhearted faithful with comfort and solace and protection. So why did I feel so utterly abandoned? Why did I feel like, after He attended to us in those final moments of Ewan's life, that I was anywhere but beneath the shadow of His wings?<br />
<br />
I can't tell you how many nights I sat in the rocking chair in a dark and empty nursery, clutching the armrests with white knuckles, weeping hard enough to break the windows. I can't tell you how many times I fell to the floor in a heap and pounded my fists until I thought they might break through the floor, begging for some form -- any form -- of comfort and solace. I can't tell you how many times James held me in bed, my body curled up tightly in the fetal position, my spirit wracked with a pain deeper and more exquisite than I had ever known as I kicked and screamed and thrashed and wept and clawed and begged. I wondered when the grief might kill me -- it was not a question of "if." It was the loss of my son, yes. But it was also that I felt like Jesus was leaving my broken heart unattended in the aftermath. If I ever needed some divine arms around me, it was in those moments. But if they were there, I didn't feel them -- not in the slightest.<br />
<br />
<i>My God, My God -- why have you forsaken me?</i><br />
<br />
This went on for several months, this knowing but feeling nothing of Him, but feeling all that weight of hell instead. It was like having a husband you love, but never seeing him. You might see evidences of his presence from time to time: a plate with food left on it that you know is not yours, or his shirt hung over the chair. Perhaps you hear his footsteps echoing in another room or detect his scent on the pillowcase next to yours. He might leave you a note saying, "I love you," but it's been ages since you heard him speak those words to you in person. You know he's there, but you never see him. You have forgotten the shape of his face under your hand, and how his fingers feel interlaced with yours.<br />
<br />
That is how it felt with me and God -- like the relationship that was supposed to be the most intimate and important of all relationships had been all but abandoned. I was doing my part, and it seemed that He was failing to hold up His end of the bargain.<br />
<br />
I had been walking with Christ long enough to know that just because I didn't feel Him didn't mean He wasn't present. I prayed, I continued to attend Mass regularly and participate in the sacraments. I continued to open the pages of Scripture to read and to study. I recognized and thanked Him for the things He provided. My faith and my devotion were not built on feelings, after all. I reasoned that perhaps I was feeling too many other things to feel Him. I thought that maybe the unending, infinite grief in our lives had crowded out my very finite ability to sense the supernatural. I thought that maybe when the raging sea died down to a calm, that I would perceive at least a shaft of sunlight and in it, the God whose presence I craved.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kirstenmichelle/6377535031/" style="text-align: center;" title="all at sea by kirsten.michelle, on Flickr"><img alt="all at sea" height="427" src="http://farm7.staticflickr.com/6228/6377535031_7a2f4c0626_z.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
Frankly, I was surprised when I didn't. I grew increasingly frustrated with trying to make sense of what felt like His prolonged and unmistakable absence -- trying to take something that felt so horrible and painful and make it out to be good and loving somehow. Oftentimes, having no words for my prayer, I would take to Him an image of me holding out my heart in front of him: dripping, shredded beyond repair, throbbing limply and weakly with what little life remained. Nothing ever happened, though. He never came and held me, never took my heart in His hands to mend it. He left me there, holding it with cupped palms and outstretched arms that ached and burned with its weight. It didn't matter how much I begged. He never took it from me, and never stretched out His hand to heal it.<br />
<br />
It started to feel like I was making excuses for Him. It was infuriating.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">I gave myself pep talks about keeping up faith despite my feelings. I knew with certainty what was true -- though in different ways, I had experienced enough crucible moments prior to Ewan's death to doubt His love and care for us in this one. But my fury grew, and I was having an increasingly difficult time understanding how His seeming absence could be for my good, or how it could be loving to leave me alone in the middle of a wide sea, heart dying in my own hands, when He had the power to save me.</div></div><br />
<br />
<b>To Be Continued</b>kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064478678164369045.post-19944375263097634262011-11-19T08:12:00.000-05:002011-11-19T08:13:58.560-05:00I'm Back!! {Lattes & Rainy Days Re-Launch Day}<div style="text-align: left;"></div><b>Welcome!! (And welcome back!!)</b><br />
<br />
Seeing as today is the 5 year anniversary for this blog, I thought it the perfect time to relaunch. I hope you'll take some time to look around and get familiar with the new surroundings. You will notice that not only does this space has a new look, but it has a new and clarified focus as well.<br />
<br />
Because we're kicking off the blog again with a new look and feel and focus, I thought it only appropriate to tell you about these things on video. Here, I give you a brief history of the blog, why I'm relaunching it now (and why I'm doing it at a time when I'm pulling back a bit from posting as frequently on Team-Ewan.com), and what you can expect from me in this space.<br />
<br />
(Please excuse the tired eyes and bad hair day.)<br />
(And is that video frozen at an attractive moment in time, or what?!)<br />
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<center><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="300" mozallowfullscreen="" src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/32350379?title=0&byline=0&portrait=0" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="400"></iframe></center><br />
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As I noted in the video, one of the biggest changes on the blog are the static pages you will see linked at the top of the blog. I've used these to provide a background and points of focus for readers who are coming back or those who are coming for the first time, as well as to keep those things clear in my own mind as I write and share in this space.<br />
<br />
Here's a quick rundown of what's on each page:<br />
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<b>Who She Is: </b>A brief (well, depending on your understanding of "brief") description of my background, where I'm from, and high points of my story over the last several years. A good place to get an idea of who I am if you don't already have a context for that.<br />
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<b>About the Blog: </b>On this page, I talk about what the nature and focus of the blog is. This helps not only me in clarifying what I'll be posting here, but will (I hope) help anyone who comes here know whether or not this is a space they want to read and/or be involved in. I explain here what you can expect from me in terms of content and how frequently I expect to have new posts available.<br />
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<b>Faith & Spirituality: </b>Because my faith and spirituality are things that I consider to be central to who I am, and will comprise a good deal of the content that will be found on the blog, I spend some time on this page explaining my faith history and where I'm coming from now.<br />
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<b>Reading List: </b>Also known as, "Letting the Internet Know Just How Big a Nerd I Am." This is just what it sounds like: a list of books that I'm reading now, that I've read recently, and that I hope to read soon in the future. Right now it includes only non-fiction works, but may at some point in the future include some of my favorite fiction works on there as well.<br />
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<b>Photography: </b>Pretty self-explanatory! On this page, I speak to my photography and the role it plays in my blogging. For anyone who's interested in using one or more of my photos on their own blog or website, there are also instructions on how to contact me so we can discuss the details of that.<br />
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<b>Other Venues: </b>Other places where you can find me!<br />
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Feel free to take your time exploring. Leave a comment if you wish. I'm excited to be back here and look forward to meeting you here again soon!!kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064478678164369045.post-39750242227672830542011-11-10T19:21:00.000-05:002011-11-15T23:05:48.569-05:00I haven't forgottenIt's been several months, I know.<br />
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I know how it looks, but I haven't forgotten about this space. I've been thinking about how best to use it -- or (sad to say) if to use it. The majority of my writing life is and has been happening at <a href="http://team-ewan.com/"><b>Team-Ewan.com</b></a>.<br />
<br />
It needs an overhaul, to be sure. But I think this space is here to stay. There's a lot I want to change. So in a few days, I'll be taking this offline (hopefully not for too long) while I make the changes. This space is going to stay the same in some ways, and change a lot in others.<br />
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And I hope you will come for the journey.kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064478678164369045.post-88201624687417278942011-07-27T12:15:00.000-04:002011-07-27T12:18:15.138-04:00Where I Belong<a href="http://www.team-ewan.com/2011/07/coming-home.html">I'm home now</a>. In (<i>gulp</i>) Florida. And it's so unfamiliar.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6134/5963983020_5ecffd6f2c_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6134/5963983020_5ecffd6f2c_b.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>One of the canals of the Winter Park scenic boat tour</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
The word home evokes a variety of emotional responses responses for me. I think of warmth and familiarity, a place where I am accepted and known. But I don't feel any of these things here. At least not yet. There are two or three people in the whole state who really know me, and only a few of the streets I've driven are acquiring even the faintest sense of the familiar for me.<br />
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I suppose it helps that I didn't expect to feel warm and familiar from the moment I set foot here. I expected I would be tired and frustrated, adjusting not only to a new locale, but also to a new reality: up until a couple of weeks ago, I had always been either a full-time student or full-time employee. And now (<i>gulp</i>), I'm neither. Our insurance agent used the word "homemaker" to describe my occupation. <i>Well ... if you insist</i>. The place and the title are so foreign and unfamiliar.<br />
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But I do belong here, nonetheless. It isn't a feeling, but rather a fact of this new life. James is here, his job is here. We are going to have a baby here (and more after this one, Lord willing) and are committed to building a life here.<br />
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Washington State will always be where I'm from, and if I think of home, I am naturally going to think of that place first.<br />
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But this place? <i>This is home now. </i>And it may not feel like it, but this is where I belong.kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064478678164369045.post-64090568666787657812011-06-16T10:31:00.000-04:002011-06-29T08:39:55.462-04:00Ewan's Marker... is in.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2585/5833490444_3bd2f1e26c_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2585/5833490444_3bd2f1e26c_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2625/5835806347_d6130b9c62_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2625/5835806347_d6130b9c62_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1064478678164369045.post-73335552046390437032011-06-09T16:23:00.000-04:002011-06-09T16:23:09.411-04:00A Good MemoryI was browsing through pictures on <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kirstenmichelle/">my Flickr photostream</a> today and came across this one from this past summer. It's my brother, his wife Annie, my sister, and a very pregnant me goofing off in the park and quite clearly, amusing ourselves.<br />
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And it just made me happy.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4110/4973351747_eda423e9ef_b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://farm5.static.flickr.com/4110/4973351747_eda423e9ef_b.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>kirstenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09789771023962578029noreply@blogger.com4