tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-18744681060810140372024-03-21T05:27:24.997-07:00Nature of Grace -- Linda Elmore TeeplePhilip Yancey says "every writer has one main theme, a spoor that he or she keeps sniffing around, tracking, following to its source." My spoor is GRACE. I write about Grace because I want everyone to "get" grace. There's a life-changing difference between understanding grace at the head level and experiencing grace at the heart level. God continually reminds me of his grace through nature--the nature of the great outdoors, the nature of the human heart, and the nature of relationships.Linda Elmore Teeplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992540061223759795noreply@blogger.comBlogger127125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1874468106081014037.post-21668933867799927782014-05-11T11:14:00.002-07:002014-05-11T11:22:37.174-07:00Celebrating My Children on Mother's Day<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Over the
years, I have written poems about my children. The writing came so easily—sometimes
being awakened from deep sleep, with phrases or verses already formed—that
I consider them inspired.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "MS 明朝"; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast;"> </span><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<!--EndFragment--><br />
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Poetry is <i>not</i> my forte, but my poems are heart-felt, oozing with love for my
precious gifts from God. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">There are three additional children for whom I've not written
poems, but I love them as dearly as my birth-children:</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><b>Kristy</b>: You are this mother's dream of a wonderful wife for my son, an awesome mother to my grandchildren, and a precious daughter of my heart.</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><b>Evan
Jason</b>: Thank you for naming me Nina, for being so entertaining, loving, and <i>so much </i>like your father.</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><b>Joshua
David</b>: I love your generous heart,</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"> your delicious chocolate-coated kisses, and </span><span style="font-family: Arial;">your propensity for climbing (just like your daddy).</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">This
Little Boy</span></span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">In honor
of Matthew Joel</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">—“gift of
God”—</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">This
little boy with eyes of blue,</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Who stole
my heart when he was new;</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Now
stands and gazes down at me,</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Who once
came only to my knee.</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">This
little boy with curious heart,</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Who
frazzled me (it was his art!);</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Now
calmly sits and contemplates</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Maturity,
on which he waits.</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">This
little boy with hugs galore,</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Whose
fleeting kiss made my heart soar;</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Now shuns
a motherly embrace,</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Delivers
no more hearts with lace.</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">This
little boy of energy,</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Who
climbed all things as if a tree;</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Now
concentrates his power that be,</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Discovering
truths in all he sees.</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">This
little boy who stole my heart,</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">With whom
reluctantly I part;</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Now
carries off a mother’s tear,</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">But
memories will hold him near.</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">Friendship
Tea</span></span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">In honor
of Bethany Joy</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">—the joy
of my heart—</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Sipping
Friendship Tea with me,</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Reading
Riley’s poetry;</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Lost
together in the rhyme,</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Losing
track of evening’s time.</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Stumbling
over words so quaint,</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Enjoying
pictures that they paint.</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Sharing
tales of friendship true,</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Discovering
friends in me, and you.</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">A poetess
and protégé,</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Create an
image on this day,</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">That
finds its way into my poem,</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">That
springs from mother-heart’s rich loam.</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">My
Special Love</span></span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">In loving
memory of Jason David</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">January
26,1977</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">—my
special love—</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">T’was<b> </b>deep
one night you beckoned me</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">“It’s
time,” you said, “for me to be.”</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">We
hastened through the cold and wind</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">To care
of doctor—our neighbor, and friend.</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Excited,
fearful, innocent, on shaky knee,</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">To
hospital, “Daddy” hastened “we.”</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">With
morning’s light you did arrive,</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">With
haste and urgency did doctors strive,</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Your tiny
heart and lungs to awake,</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">With many
a prayer said for your sake.</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Mid
afternoon, the angels came,</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">(the
doctors said, “no one’s to blame.”)</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">And
winged one tiny soul above,</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">A part of
me—my special love.</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">My heart
holds dear over many a year,</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">My
special child, midst many a tear.</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">A
mother’s heart, fragile, yet true,</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">A love so
heavy, when only new.</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Arms
outstretched, so full of love;</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">No one to
cuddle, no one to love.</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Through
stages of grief I stumbled slow.</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">To
husband’s arms daily I go.</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Tears
without number; waves, crashing grief;</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Storm so
incessant, beyond my belief.</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Healing
so slowly, fragile and frail,</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Through
numberless days of existence I sail.</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Feeling
so weak, like Paul of Tarsus,</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">I
gradually discover a path to catharsis.</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Leaning
heavily on Father above,</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">With
wide-eyed wonder, discover His love.</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">He
brought me through and drew me close,</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Blessing
me with longed for repose.</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">One tiny
son, destined to die,</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Turned my
eyes upward toward heavens on high.</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Like
God’s own Son, he leadeth me,</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">To
Father’s arms and the peace I now see.</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: large;">My
Special Love—Part 2</span></span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">In memory
of Abigail Hudson, June 10, 1986</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Precious
child of Janet Hudson.</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">For whom
God awakened me, in early</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">morning
hours, to write, <i>My Special Love,</i></span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">in its
entirety.</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">For
Janet:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">One tiny
hand reaching out to you,</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">leading
you onward to a world anew.</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">When once
again angels open heaven’s door,</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Arial;">Jesus
will hand you the gilt you adore.</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">From
mother to mother our hearts will convey,</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Our pain
was well worth it—</span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">For the
joy of <i>this</i> day.</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"> </span><span style="font-family: Times;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Linda Elmore Teeplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992540061223759795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1874468106081014037.post-54767942786700482952011-09-16T08:44:00.000-07:002011-09-16T08:44:02.281-07:00life IS fragile<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px;"> <!--StartFragment--> </span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: medium;"><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 12.0pt;">Last night I signed into writing.com to catch up on my mail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A shudder vibrated through me as I read a message from Karen: “There is no good way to </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">share this with you. One of our members passed away on Sept. 11.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">I have been a member of writing.com for less than a year and I don’t know people very well—except for rixfarmgirl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rixy is one of those gems of a friend who is new in my life—someone I know will become a forever friend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And now, she is only a memory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am stunned, shocked, numb, and so sad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">The way writing.com works is, you post your own writing to be reviewed and you review the writing of others.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of my essays caught Rixy’s eye, she saw potential in me and began to mentor me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I consider her my anchor at writing.com—and even though she is no longer alive, she will continue to be my anchor.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">Rixy was a retired English teacher and published author and in her retirement continued to encourage and mentor other writers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She gave meaty constructive criticism that is worth its weight in gold.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Forgive me, Rixy, for mixing my metaphors and clinging to cliches—sadly I’m not writing for perusal of your reviewing eye.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Oops, “sadly” is one of those pesky adverbs you wont let me get away with!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I’m starting this sentence with “and” and putting this in parentheses—also one of your pet peeves!)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">With Rixy’s encouragement, I signed up to take a writing class in the writing.com New Horizon Academy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am taking “NaNoWriMo & the 30-Day Novel,” which begins in October.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rixy was to be one of the instructors.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">I signed up, in part, because Rixy was one of the instructors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Also because I thought it would be a great way to s-t-r-e-t-c-h myself as a writer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every day I question, “What have I gotten myself into?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>NaNoWriMo is short for National Novel Writing Month—and I not a fiction writer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, I hoped that, under Rixy’s tutelage, I could be successful.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The goal of NaNoWriMo is to write 50,000 words in 30 days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gulp…<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-align: center; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">I responded to the e-mail about Rixy’s death, asking if there was anything I could do to help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Karen responded, “If you want to help, you can do your very best in the NaNoWriMo course. That would mean a lot to Rixy.” <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-size: 13.0pt;">Rixy, I will be writing for you!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And if a novel evolves, I will dedicate my very first novel to you.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;"><br />
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</div><!--EndFragment-->Linda Elmore Teeplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992540061223759795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1874468106081014037.post-49985865118664992112011-08-31T09:52:00.000-07:002011-08-31T09:52:50.284-07:00Man with a Missional Heart<!--StartFragment--> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuZxPjKpSArkwvx1OoTTdUiwD3-19j58T6tQcIiJnza8fW96ZH9gh8zkGy4btTTPZULv6Dl6sz1YujNeM-PMVImsbWW-MFJxiv_Nm2F3PTBd3wOT6RCrJU0gvyC6EzQW_LmTi-teeWHc6o/s1600/PICT0410.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="257" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuZxPjKpSArkwvx1OoTTdUiwD3-19j58T6tQcIiJnza8fW96ZH9gh8zkGy4btTTPZULv6Dl6sz1YujNeM-PMVImsbWW-MFJxiv_Nm2F3PTBd3wOT6RCrJU0gvyC6EzQW_LmTi-teeWHc6o/s320/PICT0410.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Rex and Linda - '09 <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; font-style: normal;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Guatemala </span></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; font-style: normal;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">mission trip </span></i></span><br />
on hotel roof with volcanic mountain in background.</span></i></td></tr>
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying,</i></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?”<o:p></o:p></i></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I said, “Here am I. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Send me!” <o:p></o:p></i></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> <strong><span style="font-family: Cambria; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Isaiah+6:8&version=31"><span style="color: windowtext; font-weight: normal;">Isaiah 6:8</span></a> </span></strong><strong><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-weight: normal; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">NIV</span></strong></i><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /> <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p></o:p></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Few things bring tears to my husband’s eye, but the words of Isaiah, whether read directly from scripture, or vocalized in music, cause Rex to choke and tear up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He takes the words personally, from God to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Traveling with my optometrist husband on eye care mission trips is one of the highlights of our life together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’ve been to Honduras, Costa Rica, Guatemala, and Kenya and want to keep going on mission trips.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s one problem, however: my health problems.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fibromyalgia and chronic pain in my right leg, caused by a hodge-podge of issue in my spine, makes walking painful and arduous.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYKa4EV9bjvRn_sjSaQFWGnwNcaoZMjWX3KBOdMhGTGIrPGNaYa4YEu8mbiuxc2Zi7wWkisnJ3KmFMYNhMuxijpz34b8K5Xm2EMfJzhm8L5WWwkHVMI0sA8Q_Wb4nnvq6xqI-Z6c23OWRQ/s1600/iiwk11-logo-high-res-large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYKa4EV9bjvRn_sjSaQFWGnwNcaoZMjWX3KBOdMhGTGIrPGNaYa4YEu8mbiuxc2Zi7wWkisnJ3KmFMYNhMuxijpz34b8K5Xm2EMfJzhm8L5WWwkHVMI0sA8Q_Wb4nnvq6xqI-Z6c23OWRQ/s200/iiwk11-logo-high-res-large.jpg" width="148" /></a>Last winter we signed up to go on a fall mission trip to Honduras with our church but cancelled out a few months later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No way would I be able to negotiate the steep walking paths in Canchias, the mountain village where we were to go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was disappointed for me, but even more disappointed for my husband.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In July, it became apparent that my left knee, injured in my early 40’s—when I bent down to tie my shoe, no less—needed a total knee replacement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I chose to have the surgery the same week as the mission trip we were missing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somehow, this soothed my disappointed heart, legitimizing my absence from the team.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My dear husband, without telling me, decided that he would go on a different mission trip—to our home, to take care of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Several days into my recovery, I was thanking him for being so attentive to my needs and he replied, “I decided that I would make serving <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you</i> my mission.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">He touched my heart and took my experience of his love to a deeper level.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My love for Rex deepened in like proportions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What an amazing man!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If only all spouses and caregivers were this loving and compassionate.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6oiXsU-MtrMWDhyphenhyphenuXIpdnIsJYQk8Wwg-TY6k-iCl5LyGOvgolpnWxnXxXzENrjtsBUjwtusLEJRcMrq3dUA7h6hs7XRgk3yKLlHR-GYfR9D8Ba71fZ8e3BhJ23MY8hbghFdAAZi_uKx5t/s1600/PICT0326.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="182" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6oiXsU-MtrMWDhyphenhyphenuXIpdnIsJYQk8Wwg-TY6k-iCl5LyGOvgolpnWxnXxXzENrjtsBUjwtusLEJRcMrq3dUA7h6hs7XRgk3yKLlHR-GYfR9D8Ba71fZ8e3BhJ23MY8hbghFdAAZi_uKx5t/s200/PICT0326.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of Rex's satisfied patients</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal">I know the limitations of my illness affect us both.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">This has to be difficult for my hubby who is an always-on-the-go guy.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">If he’s not playing racquetball or golf, he’s water-skiing or riding his bike.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">He loves to work in the yard and is a Mr-fix-it extraordinaire.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">For years, he has taken one week of his vacation time (unpaid) to provide eye care to thousands of people who rarely, if ever, see an eye care specialist.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span> </span></span>He has a heart for missions. To think that he chose to be my servant—God’s servant—is a gift of grace beyond measure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">Rex, you are my gift of grace from God!</span></div><!--EndFragment--> Linda Elmore Teeplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992540061223759795noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1874468106081014037.post-17862824663062533012011-08-19T19:20:00.000-07:002011-08-22T07:06:19.752-07:00Fragile: Handle with CareMy son and daughter-in-law have attempted to help their three-year-old son Evan understand that Nana is fragile and can’t handle being tackled or jumped on, like Daddy and Papaw can.<br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Evan is catching on to the concept of fragility quite well. One day he told his mommy, “Nana is fragile. She’s old, like Panda.”<br />
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Yes, it’s funny and I take no offense, but our fourteen-year-old lab Panda is, in my opinion, far more fragile than me. Poor girl has lost most of her sight and hearing and depends on smell to locate where she is and who is present. Her spindled legs spread-eagle on her when she walks on tile or hardwood—her Bambi-on-ice impression. Famous for her jumping ability, she now collapses in a lump on the floor when attempting to leap onto our bed and the sofa. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLTXwkT4IURoNYocAgMbK20SdCzuIEHtZx9rc4iG_IOcqyN3Hig7rRjQPSBJEOZYMGaEFbdz0mRUVA5wPN6tapjvMebJm50hY4PRgeaDbDx5e-Vm3QWqwigGbxMfzpEwRhtPXM-_nv54fE/s1600/iiwk11-logo-high-res-large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLTXwkT4IURoNYocAgMbK20SdCzuIEHtZx9rc4iG_IOcqyN3Hig7rRjQPSBJEOZYMGaEFbdz0mRUVA5wPN6tapjvMebJm50hY4PRgeaDbDx5e-Vm3QWqwigGbxMfzpEwRhtPXM-_nv54fE/s200/iiwk11-logo-high-res-large.jpg" width="147" /></a>Just this week, Evan and his two-year-old brother Josh stayed with my husband and me for a few days. Seeing stick-it notepads on my desk, Evan asked to have some. He then proceeded to plaster the notes everywhere. I didn’t see the pattern until he stuck one on my leg. He was marking everything in the house that was fragile! His accuracy was amazing: TV screen, china cabinet, glass top tables, decorative items—and Nana.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">During Invisible Illness Week—September 12-18—we hope to raise awareness regarding the difficulties people face when dealing with chronic pain and illness. My precious Evan is far more aware than most adults. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I hope you will follow Evan’s admirable example and increase your awareness of invisible illness and how you can support those who deal daily with chronic illness and pain.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Check out invisibleillnessweek.com today.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">If you are dealing with a chronic illness and pain, Rest Ministries—an online support ministry—invites you to explore restministries.com and get connected with other people who understand what you are going through.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">You don’t have to be old, like Panda—just fragile.</div>Linda Elmore Teeplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992540061223759795noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1874468106081014037.post-90037686895725948622011-08-12T07:27:00.000-07:002011-08-12T07:33:44.067-07:00Invisible Illness blog post—August 12, 2011<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px;"><b>What is an invisible illness? </b></span><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Consider this: <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr style="mso-yfti-firstrow: yes; mso-yfti-irow: 0; mso-yfti-lastrow: yes;"> <td style="border: 1.0pt; border: solid black; mso-border-alt: .5pt; mso-border-alt: solid black; mso-border-themecolor: text1; mso-border-themecolor: text1; padding: 0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; width: 6.15in;" valign="top" width="443"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-pagination: none; mso-text-indent-alt: -.5in; tab-stops: 11.0pt .5in; text-autospace: none; text-indent: -.5in;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-pagination: none; mso-text-indent-alt: -.5in; tab-stops: 11.0pt .5in; text-autospace: none; text-indent: -.5in;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Nearly 1 in 2 Americans (133 million) has a chronic condition. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-pagination: none; mso-text-indent-alt: -.5in; tab-stops: 11.0pt .5in; text-autospace: none; text-indent: -.5in;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">By 2020, about 157 million Americans will be afflicted by chronic illnesses, according to the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-pagination: none; mso-text-indent-alt: -.5in; tab-stops: 11.0pt .5in; text-autospace: none; text-indent: -.5in;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">That number is projected to increase by more than one percent per year by 2030, resulting in an estimated chronically ill population of 171 million. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-pagination: none; mso-text-indent-alt: -.5in; tab-stops: 11.0pt .5in; text-autospace: none; text-indent: -.5in;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Sixty percent are between the ages of 18 and 64 <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-pagination: none; mso-text-indent-alt: -.5in; tab-stops: 11.0pt .5in; text-autospace: none; text-indent: -.5in;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">90% of seniors have at least one chronic disease and 77% have two or more chronic diseases <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-pagination: none; mso-text-indent-alt: -.5in; tab-stops: 11.0pt .5in; text-autospace: none; text-indent: -.5in;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">In the United States 4 in 5 health care dollars (78%) are spent on behalf of people with chronic conditions. <i>The Growing Burden of Chronic Disease in American, Public Health Reports, May June 2004 Volume 119 Gerard Anderson, PhD</i><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-pagination: none; mso-text-indent-alt: -.5in; tab-stops: 11.0pt .5in; text-autospace: none; text-indent: -.5in;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: .5in; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; mso-pagination: none; mso-text-indent-alt: -.5in; tab-stops: 11.0pt .5in; text-autospace: none; text-indent: -.5in;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 9pt;"><span style="font: normal normal normal 7pt/normal 'Times New Roman';"> </span></span><i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 9pt;">Source: </span></i><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 9pt;">Chronic Care in America: A 21st Century Challenge, a study of the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation & Partnership for Solutions: Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, MD for the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation (September 2004 Update). “Chronic Conditions: Making the Case for Ongoing Care”.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 9pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">If you don’t see a cane, wheelchair, walker of some other form of assistance, then there may be an invisible illness lurking beneath that beautiful smile and cheery voice. People with chronic illness and pain can be masters at disguising their true emotional and physical status. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">At home I feel free to grimace and groan as I cope with pain, but in public, I do my best to appear “normal.” I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">want</i> to be normal. I want <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">you</i> to think I’m normal. I also want you to think I’m coping well and accept my limitations and restrictions on activities with an air of grace. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">The truth is, I struggle with this every day. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">I suffer from the mental malady of the “used-tos.” I <i>used to</i> be able to walk a long way, ride my bike as long as I’d like, take my adorable grandsons on outings. Activities that I<i> used to</i> take for granted are now off limits. Places that I <i>used to</i> go—like Honduras and Guatemala on mission trips—now seem to be out of my reach. I <i>used to</i> hike in the woods, just me and my dog Panda, enjoying nature together. I <i>used to </i>spend hours weeding in the garden and now my neurologist informs me that this is just as strenuous an activity as playing football. This may sound like an exaggeration, but I know he is telling me, that, for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">me</i>, weeding is a danger to the precarious condition of my spine. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">The truth is, I an envious of other people who are able to do these things. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">The truth is, even though I go to God and depend on him in the midst of my pain, sometimes I am mad at him. </span></div>Linda Elmore Teeplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992540061223759795noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1874468106081014037.post-70555900086000375752011-08-09T16:53:00.000-07:002011-08-25T09:05:12.809-07:00Invisible Illness blog post—August 9, 2011<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; font-weight: normal;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhboiCwKPVyUL7zBHyPK7MzWBtxBxmCPZqkFcObjB-qgy64ixp6LNB5-avRDL0-AMtqTf57D1WlqV5lURlZMl1WmAxw2LUXO5CeZrBU0MlVRwIybSP_sEd2hNktfJLkCXsvaXa2ct9zqA7/s1600/iiwk11-logo-high-res-large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhboiCwKPVyUL7zBHyPK7MzWBtxBxmCPZqkFcObjB-qgy64ixp6LNB5-avRDL0-AMtqTf57D1WlqV5lURlZMl1WmAxw2LUXO5CeZrBU0MlVRwIybSP_sEd2hNktfJLkCXsvaXa2ct9zqA7/s200/iiwk11-logo-high-res-large.jpg" width="148" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px;"><b><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">For many years, I have written what I call my “ponderings.” I write about my personal experiences, poking fun at my own foibles and tying my thoughts into a Biblical lesson about God’s grace. I love nature and find wonderful metaphors with which to spin these nuggets of truth; truth as I see it. I am not a theologian or minister. I just like to ponder and encourage others to ponder along with me.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">I have a very active imagination, and yet—it seems silly to say—I do not have the gift for writing fiction. I have to write from my own experience, boring as it may be. I liken myself to Bert on Sesame St. who collects paperclips and likes pigeons. What do I have to say that would be of interest to someone else? In spite of such reservations, I find that writing nurtures me, and I hope that what I write encourages others to treat themselves with a little bit more grace and gentleness, and to welcome God’s gift of infinite grace.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">As Invisible Illness Week approaches, I hesitate to write about my aches and pains. I’d much rather write about what a pain in the neck I can be! Writing is one way that I escape from inhabiting my pain-filled body. So to write about what I want to escape seems counterintuitive. I am taking on this challenge because I believe in the ministry of Rest Ministries, the sponsor of Invisible Illness Week; and I support the mission of Invisible Illness Week. I want to do my part to increase public awareness about invisible illness. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">What is it like to have an invisible illness? <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">What is it like for my family? <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">How can my friends and family be supportive? <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">What are my fears for my future?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">What do I miss the most, due to the constraints of my health?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">What does a good day look like for me?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">What does a bad day look like for me?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">What helps me through the pain?<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">These are the type of questions I will be “pondering” over the next few weeks. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">I invite you to read some of my earlier posts along with what I will be blogging about my experience with invisible illness. I’m much more than my diagnoses and hope to give you a reason to chuckle about my foibles while also learning about invisible illness.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt;">Thanks for reading!</span></div>Linda Elmore Teeplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992540061223759795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1874468106081014037.post-89032816013098488532011-08-05T05:42:00.000-07:002011-08-05T05:42:49.751-07:00INVISIBLE ILLNESS WEEK--September 12-18<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhboiCwKPVyUL7zBHyPK7MzWBtxBxmCPZqkFcObjB-qgy64ixp6LNB5-avRDL0-AMtqTf57D1WlqV5lURlZMl1WmAxw2LUXO5CeZrBU0MlVRwIybSP_sEd2hNktfJLkCXsvaXa2ct9zqA7/s1600/iiwk11-logo-high-res-large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhboiCwKPVyUL7zBHyPK7MzWBtxBxmCPZqkFcObjB-qgy64ixp6LNB5-avRDL0-AMtqTf57D1WlqV5lURlZMl1WmAxw2LUXO5CeZrBU0MlVRwIybSP_sEd2hNktfJLkCXsvaXa2ct9zqA7/s320/iiwk11-logo-high-res-large.jpg" width="237" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">What is Invisible Illness Week? </div><div style="text-align: center;">Check out invisibleillnessweek.com and find out! </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I will be blogging about my own experiences with invisible illness over the next few weeks--so check back with me and learn more about what it's like to have an invisible illness. </div>Linda Elmore Teeplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992540061223759795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1874468106081014037.post-46675220684228347562011-06-14T22:10:00.000-07:002011-06-14T22:16:18.240-07:00Handicapped, Disabled or Differently-abled?<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align: left;"><b><span style="font-size:11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;font-family:Arial;mso-bidi-font-family:Arial">Traveling in the Wheelchair of Life—Part 4</span></b><span style="font-size:11.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt; font-family:Arial;mso-bidi-font-family:Arial"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt; font-family:Arial;mso-bidi-font-family:Arial"><o:p></o:p></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 15px; ">In this day and age of politically correct language, I’m thoroughly confused on when to use certain terms, lest I cause offense. When is it proper to refer to someone, such as myself, as handicapped, disabled or differently-abled?</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:13.0pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;font-family:Arial;mso-bidi-font-family:Arial">When it comes to sports, I’m definitely handicapped — a congenital defect encoded in my genes. My instinctive reflex to dodge or duck when a ball flies my way, desperately weak ankles and poor eye-hand coordination make me likely to be last picked in all but the most domestic activities. Challenge me to a bed-making race, and I’ll win blue ribbons for speed and neatness. Challenge me to cleaning a bathroom and ... well, you’ll win that one.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:13.0pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;font-family:Arial;mso-bidi-font-family:Arial">I am currently disabled due to knee surgery and a lengthy healing process requiring that I not put weight on my left leg. I get by with the use of a wheelchair, walker, and hopping-about on my right leg. The latter requires modest athletic ability, which as I pointed out earlier, I am lacking. Your prayers for my safety are coveted.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:13.0pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;font-family:Arial;mso-bidi-font-family:Arial">And I am differently-abled in ways too numerous to list. While you may be able to slam a baseball over the fence, I am able to slam computer keys and produce words and thoughts that are equally a hit in my field of play. I am able to listen by the hour (which comes in handy on my job as a therapist) while you may be a non-stop gabber. Don’t ask me to do any form of math and I’ll not ask you to define or spell esclandre, prosopopoeia or guerdon. (Cheer up; I don’t even know what they mean — I’m just messing with you.) We’re just differently-abled, you and I.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:13.0pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;font-family:Arial;mso-bidi-font-family:Arial">Recently I decided to negotiate the grocery store in one of those nifty motorized carts that are now provided for the handicapped, disabled, and/or differently-abled individual. You may not have ever noticed, but a grocery store is an obstacle course in disguise. All those produce, baked goods and soda pop displays, set at angles to keep the physically-abled from racing through the store, are a nightmare for those of us on wheels.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:13.0pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;font-family:Arial;mso-bidi-font-family:Arial">The scariest part for me, however, was backing my buggy up when I failed to stop in time to collect the particular cookies or laundry detergent I was after. Putting my vehicle into reverse set off an obnoxious alarm, not unlike that installed on road construction equipment. I’m not noted for my vehicular backing ability, so I recommend you clear the aisle, street or driveway if you see and hear me operating any mode of transportation in reverse.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:13.0pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;font-family:Arial;mso-bidi-font-family:Arial">The most difficult aspect of grocery shopping, however, was getting into the freezer cases for my weekly supply of Lean Cuisine and Skinny Cow Ice Cream Bars. The freezer doors at my store open outward rather than sliding aside. If you want to feel differently-abled, I invite you to attempt to line up a mobile cart, just so, open the door and lean in for your item.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:13.0pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;font-family:Arial;mso-bidi-font-family:Arial">I do wish to thank all the kind people who helped me retrieve the Wheat Chex and other items stowed on the top shelves. My thanks, also, to those who did not laugh at me and those who pretended to nonchalantly get out of my way (I know you were scared to death and wanted to run for your life!) There are a lot of kind-hearted, gracious and tolerant people eager to be of assistance.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:13.0pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;font-family:Arial;mso-bidi-font-family:Arial">But I am truly baffled by those who were oblivious to this first-time mobile grocery cart driver, who wasn’t quite sure what she was doing. For future reference, I suggest that you look both ways from now on when you cross a grocery aisle to make sure you are not in my line of fire.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;margin-bottom: 13pt; "><span style="font-size:11.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;font-family:Arial;mso-bidi-font-family:Arial"><i>”We have different gifts, according to the grace given us.”</i><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;margin-bottom: 13pt; "><i><span style="font-size:11.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;font-family:Arial;mso-bidi-font-family:Arial">Romans 12:6</span></i><span style="font-size:11.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:14.0pt;font-family:Arial;mso-bidi-font-family: Arial"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:13.0pt;mso-pagination:none;mso-layout-grid-align: none;text-autospace:none"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size: 14.0pt;font-family:Arial;mso-bidi-font-family:Arial">FYI: Esclandre, prosopopoeia, and guerdon were the final three words in the National Spelling Bee, held on May 30, 2008.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Linda Elmore Teeplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992540061223759795noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1874468106081014037.post-77831133835194808052011-06-12T04:17:00.000-07:002011-07-01T05:49:59.610-07:00Luscious Legacy - Father's Day Tribute<span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 18px; font-family:Arial, sans-serif;font-size:13px;"><div align="center" style="text-align: left;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6666;">I wrote this years ago. Just this week, I was asked to share a favorite childhood memory to introduce myself to a Rest Ministries summer study group. Of course, this came immediately to mind. I love berries, both for their flavor (not to mention their vibrant colors and fruity fragrances) and for the family legacy and memories that burst into the present when I bite into their juiciness.</span></b></div><div align="center" style="text-align: left;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6666;"><br /></span></b></div><div align="center" style="text-align: left;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6666;">Blessings,</span></b></div><div align="center" style="text-align: left;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#FF6666;">Linda</span></b></div><div align="center"><em><br /></em></div><div align="center"><em>“Then God said, ‘Let the land produce vegetation:<br />seed-bearing plants and trees on the land<br />that bear fruit with seed in it,<br />according to their various kinds.’<br />And it was so… And God saw that it was good.”<br />Genesis 1:11-12</em><br /></div><br /><br />One hot, summer day, when I was a little girl, my daddy introduced me to the delicious hunt for strawberries. We were visiting Grandma and Grandpa Reuman, my mother’s parents, in Attica, New York. Their large home—hand built by Grandpa—overlooked a picturesque valley. I doubt that Dad and I talked much out there in the field behind the house, but just being with him and having him all to myself was a real treat. I couldn’t resist popping a few of the reddest and juiciest sun-warmed treasures into my mouth right there in the field.<br /><br />Suddenly, the muted, country quiet was broken by an alarm sounding from Attica State Prison, far off in the valley, alerting the community that a prisoner had escaped. The harsh sound scared me to death, and I just knew that the escapee would come get me! Dad tried to allay my fears, explaining that the occasional escapee was usually a “trustee,” a prisoner who was trusted enough to work outside the wall. Such prisoners were typically due to get out of prison soon, but the security of what was familiar was more appealing than freedom, so they’d head downtown to a bar and wait to be captured, successfully extending their tenure. My fears were soothed and we enjoyed our berries with Grandma’s homemade shortcake.<br /><br />Strawberries have always been a vital part of my summers, even when I did not have easy access to a strawberry field. During the summer, our neighborhood was frequented several times a week by a truck laden with berries. I got just as excited when I heard this truck coming as I did for the ice cream truck (well, almost). These luscious, locally grown berries sold for the tempting price of four quarts for a dollar. Mom would make shortcake and we’d top it all off with a generous spritz of Reddi-Wip. Dad registered his appreciation with groans of delight and lots of lip-smacking.<br /><br />Before moving to Anderson, my husband and I lived in Northern Michigan where I went berry picking around the 4th of July. When we returned to Indiana, I couldn’t wait for July to come around, only to discover that I was a month late! You can bet I didn’t make that mistake twice.When my parents retired and moved to Anderson to be near my family, Dad and I took up pickin’ once again. For several years, we went to a local fruit and vegetable farm, oftentimes accompanied by my kids, Matt and Beth, who were as young as I was when I picked my first berry. Later, Dad put in a big garden next to his condo, a generous portion of it dedicated to strawberries.<br /><br />Bethie and Grandpa loved to trek out to the strawberry patch where Beth would load up her t- shirt with berries and bring them in, thrilled with her payload. It was a special time between little Beth and Grandpa, reminiscent of my own special times with my strawberry-loving papa. I plan to take my own grandkids pickin’ someday!<br /><br />Exodus 20:5-6 tells us that God promises his love <em>“to a thousand generations of those who love me and keep my commandments.”</em> Just think: when we receive God’s love and respond with obedience, we pass God’s love on to the next one thousand generations! Is “a thousand generations” simply a metaphor to emphasize the abundance and availability of God’s love? I don’t know. But if the flapping of a butterfly’s wings in Indiana can impact the ecosystem in China, then I certainly think God’s love has its own eternal “butterfly effect.”<br /><br />Just as we receive a legacy from our Heavenly Father, our own family legacies are also passed on. Enjoying strawberries together is a love-filled legacy, a crimson thread in the enduring weaving that is my family. Such a simple act of grace! Every Father’s Day—appropriately celebrated during strawberry season—I fondly remember my strawberry-loving father, Frank Elmore. Thanks for the legacy, Dad!</span>Linda Elmore Teeplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992540061223759795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1874468106081014037.post-72777244892176281362010-12-14T04:13:00.000-08:002010-12-14T04:37:13.310-08:00"Rhythms of Grace"<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><i>"</i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><i>Are you tired? Worn out?</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><i>Burned out on religion? </i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><i>Come to me. </i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><i>Get away with me and you'll recover your life. </i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><i>I'll show you how to take a real rest. </i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><i>Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. </i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><i>Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. </i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><i>I won't lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. </i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><i>Keep company with me and you'll learn to live freely and lightly." </i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><i>Matthew 11:28-30 (The Message)</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:'Charis SIL', charis, Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span class="woj"><i>“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.</i></span><i> </i><span class="woj"><i>Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.</i></span><i> </i><span class="woj"><i>For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” </i></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><i>Matthew 11:28-30 (<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">NIV</span>)</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">I find Christ's words of encouragement and comfort apt for application during the busy days of Advent. An invitation to slow down, remember who we are awaiting, and follow his example in our approach to the Christmas season. Shop, bake, wrap gifts, journey to family gatherings via the "<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">rhythms</span> of grace.'</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><i><br /></i></span></div>Linda Elmore Teeplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992540061223759795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1874468106081014037.post-86812173409363403852010-11-16T13:51:00.000-08:002010-11-16T13:58:31.094-08:00OUT OF THE MOUTH OF BABES<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp7cC3lELCn42T0Gbk8j3Z2YR-motILfKJvo-eC0mBgw-PDg74wMO7n3G9xccNnwjrtVPJquhT4ghH7InPM_Nwefh4N1gMgTSu8eDwKaBcBIu9sjkOEYLpmsSR-hvbzqxFyYvjv0KHcjUu/s1600/evan+and+josh+004-2.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp7cC3lELCn42T0Gbk8j3Z2YR-motILfKJvo-eC0mBgw-PDg74wMO7n3G9xccNnwjrtVPJquhT4ghH7InPM_Nwefh4N1gMgTSu8eDwKaBcBIu9sjkOEYLpmsSR-hvbzqxFyYvjv0KHcjUu/s200/evan+and+josh+004-2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540270001148488802" /></a><br /><!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">Recently during dinner at my son Matt’s house, he asked his three-year-old son, “Who is in your family?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Evan thought for a few seconds, and said, “umm… Daddy, Mommy, Josh… and Evan.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Sitting directly across the table from my grandson, I declared, “I’m in this family, too!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Evan chomped and swallowed before answering me with a swift correction, “No, you’re my grandson.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We (the adults, that is) laughed hysterically.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Evan continued eating as if nothing special had occurred.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I suppose he’s used to eliciting laughter and is too young to question whether we were laughing <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">at</i> him or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">with</i> him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Linda Elmore Teeplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992540061223759795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1874468106081014037.post-20751877646872301342010-11-16T13:29:00.000-08:002010-11-16T13:38:48.333-08:00QUESTIONS FOR GOD<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align: left;">I recently was invited to contribute an essay to a book being published by David Liverett, a wonderful artist from my hometown of Anderson. Writers were asked to choose one question that, if given the opportunity, we would want to ask God. Each essay is accompanied by a portrait of the author, created by David. Many hours of love and talent went into the portraits and it is an honor to be included. Here's my question for God:</p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal">“Suffer Little Children…”<o:p></o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><em><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN;mso-bidi-font-weight: bold"><o:p> </o:p></span></em><em><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN;mso-bidi-font-weight:bold">“All things work together for good.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Romans 8::28</span></em></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.25in;tab-stops:.25in">My life is woven together with countless questions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Some have found answers; some remain a mystery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>A few have faded; I’ve made peace with the unanswerable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But there are several tenacious tendrils of wonderment wound tightly around my heart that will not untangle nor let go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.25in;tab-stops:.25in">Is it a boy or a girl?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I had pondered this question while pregnant with our first child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>On January 26, 1977, I got my answer, but discovered that I had been asking a moot question.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Our son, Jason, was delivered by emergency C-section and lived only a few hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>“God, why did my baby die?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Did I do something wrong?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Is my faith so flawed that I need to learn a lesson through this tragedy?”<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"><o:p></o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.25in;tab-stops:.25in">When I went to my follow up doctor’s visit after giving birth, the only question I had for my doctor stuck in my throat like a wad of cotton.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It took several attempts before he could decipher my tearful mumbling, “Did he hurt?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I suppose my question was really for God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>“Did my innocent child suffer pain while en utero?”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.25in;tab-stops:.25in">Christmas 1977 I again was pregnant and gender was definitely irrelevant:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>“Is this baby healthy?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>“Will my baby live—or die?” were the questions that weighed upon my grieving yet expectant heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"><o:p></o:p></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.25in;tab-stops:.25in">If given the opportunity to ask God one question, it would be this: “Why don’t you intervene when innocent children are suffering?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I understand the concept of free will in your divine design, but can’t you make an exception where children are concerned!”</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.25in;tab-stops:.25in">As a therapist, I work with survivors of childhood traumas perpetrated (intentionally, or not) on vulnerable children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Threads of infection spider out from the wound into the far reaches of spirit and personality, disfiguring a promising future…</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.25in;tab-stops:.25in">Notice that I did not say that the wounded <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">person</i> is disfigured.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>All of humanity is created in God’s image and may be made whole by Jesus’ suffering, death and resurrection. God is in the business of reweaving the tattered shreds of our lives into something good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.25in;tab-stops:.25in">When Joseph, son of Jacob, was reunited with his brothers in Egypt, he said to them, “<em><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN;mso-bidi-font-weight:bold">You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>(Genesis 50:20)</span></em></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;text-indent: 0.25in; "><em><span lang="EN" style="mso-ansi-language:EN;mso-bidi-font-weight:bold"></span></em><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal"> Heavenly Father, open my heart and eyes to your presence </i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">in the midst of suffering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>May I trust you will work it for good.</i></p> <!--EndFragment--> <!--EndFragment-->Linda Elmore Teeplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992540061223759795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1874468106081014037.post-12282560798206578552010-11-16T13:13:00.000-08:002010-11-16T13:26:00.956-08:00TWO PLUS ONE EQUALS FOUR<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoTitle">I have the distinct privilege of having two of my essays on raising Leader Dog puppies accepted for inclusion in the very first anthology about service dogs: <b>Two Plus One Equals Four: Sharing the Partnership of People with Disabilities and Their Assistance Dogs. </b> This book is the brainchild of Kathy Nimmer of West Lafayette, IN. The following are my two essays.</p> <p class="MsoBlockText" style="text-align: center;margin-left: 0in; "><b>Loving and Letting Go </b></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.25in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt">Dog lover that I am, I’m always on the alert for opportunities to increase my lap time with the canine community. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>One spring I found myself drawn to a “Leader Dogs for the Blind” booth at the Lion’s Club Home Show, an annual event in my community.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Every year I would stop at this booth to admire the Labrador retrievers, German shepherds, and golden retrievers sporting blue bandannas and jackets declaring, “Future Leader Dog.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.25in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt">I began entertaining the notion of becoming a puppy raiser and convinced my husband to join me in this venture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>In June 2003, Grace Marie, an adorable, seven-week-old yellow lab, came to live with us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.25in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt">“How on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">earth</i> are you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">ever</i> going to give Grace up?” everybody wanted to know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Even though I knew that Grace was the property of Leader Dogs for the Blind and I signed an agreement to bring her back when they recalled her litter, I loved her as my very own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I reminded myself daily that Grace had a destiny and that it was my role—a temporary role—to prepare her for her life of service.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.25in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt">It had been years since my husband and I had housebroken a puppy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We’d forgotten what it’s like to be rudely awakened in the middle of the night to the pathetic, heart-retching, irritatingly, high-pitched howls of a baby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Totally erased from our minds were the chilly treks outside to feign excitement over a few dribbles and plops, only to return to the house to clean up puddles and piles of “oops—didn’t-make-it-to-the-door-in-time!” messes, as an energized whirlwind of fur whipped around us, nipping at our frigid feet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.25in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt">Like all puppies, Grace had a mischievous nature and a proclivity toward destruction.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Gracie loved pushing our buttons and hearing us shriek, “No! I mean, ‘Leave it!’ (proper Leader Dog vernacular) <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Grace, I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">said, ‘Leave it!’<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></i>Good puppy!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Good leave it!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.25in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt">Grace was most endearing in her “undearingness.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It was hard not to laugh at her when she stole socks and unmentionables from the bedroom, and with a twinkle in her eye, engaged us in a lively game of keep-away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Panda, our family “goldendor” (half golden retriever/half Labrador retriever), would launch into retriever mode, tackling Grace so we could confiscate the illicit item.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.25in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt">Gracie’s most memorable heist occurred one morning when I was hurriedly preparing food and gathering up things I needed for a very busy day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I was running late and making numerous trips to the garage to load items into the van.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>For some unknown reason, the van alarm kept going off and the doors kept locking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I was growing increasingly more frustrated by the minute—until I happened upon Grace in the dining room, contentedly munching on my hubby’s remote van key that she had lifted from his nightstand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>My frustration immediately evaporated and I chuckled out a less-than-convincing, “Leave it!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.25in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt">As a first-timer Leader Dog puppy raiser, I was overly anxious about being a good foster parent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Unlike <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">all</i> the other Leader Dog puppies that I heard fellow puppy-raisers proudly bragging about, Grace was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">not</i> content to lie quietly at my feet, walk obediently by my side, or keep her trap shut in church.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>One Sunday, she joined in on the anthem as the choir sang.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>On another occasion, she could not restrain from expressing her opinion regarding the pastor’s sermon. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.25in"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt">“What am I doing wrong!”</span></i><span style="font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt"> I wondered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>“If I were a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">good</i> mother, my baby would be better behaved.” <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.25in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt">In time, I learned to accept Grace for who she was (active, verbal, stubborn, creative, sneaky…) and not worry about ironing out all her personality wrinkles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Just between you and the uptight, inhibited part of me, I take devious delight in Grace’s antics, wishing I, too, could occasionally let myself “bark” during the sermon, chew holes in someone’s favorite new sweater, and pig out on the dessert designated for company.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.25in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt">While I wanted Grace to become a model Leader Dog, I secretly hoped that her trainers would not be able to extinguish all of the quirks that make Grace so exasperating and yet so entertaining.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>In truth, I also wanted her future partner to realize just what we went through to raise this dog for him or her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>(“Grace can be <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">so</i> ornery sometimes—her puppy raisers must have been absolute <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">saints</i>!”)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.25in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt">One Saturday evening, the night before the children at church were to celebrate Grace’s first birthday, the birthday girl helped herself to ten of the twenty-four cupcakes cooling on the kitchen counter—paper liners and all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Several remaining cupcakes bore nose smudges, but evidently did not pass the sniff test.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I fully expected a puppy tummy ache to ensue, but Grace tolerated her sugar orgy extremely well.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.25in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt">That Sunday, as the children sang happy birthday to Grace, their cone-shaped, Sponge Bob hats askew atop their heads, I realized that this was also a good-bye party. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>That nagging question, “How on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">earth</i> are you <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">ever</i> going to give Grace up?” caused butterflies in my stomach.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.25in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt">A few weeks later, several carloads of puppy raisers, with their gangly, one-year-old pups squeezed between legs and bags of puppy supplies, caravanned to Leader Dogs for the Blind in Rochester Hills, Michigan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We were a solemn group, yet full of excitement and expectation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Tearful good-byes to pups were accompanied by mutually comforting hugs among the grieving puppy raisers, many of whom would journey back to Leader Dogs in a few weeks or months to collect another puppy.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.25in"><span style="font-size:12.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt">Six months later, when I had the opportunity to see Grace again and meet her partner, I cried tears of joy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I was thrilled to learn her destination was Costa Rica.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I had recently been on a mission trip with Volunteer Optometric Services to Humanity in Costa Rica.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt">Despite the language barrier, our mutual joy transcended all barriers. “How on <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">earth</i> would I <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">ever</i> give Grace up?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I now knew the answer: it is for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style:normal">this</i> moment that I raised her and let her go.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt"><b>Hope for the Holidays</b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size:12.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:10.0pt"><b> </b></span></p><b><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">June 2006 through September 2007 was a difficult and discouraging time for my family as we experienced a series of significant losses. My husband’s oldest brother, Mike, was diagnosed with terminal brain cancer in June 2006. Early in December he was admitted into a hospice care facility for his final days. That very same day, his other brother underwent emergency heart surgery. Within a day or two, I received the news that a friend had died of breast cancer after a courageous battle that began when she was only thirty-five. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">During the midst of all of this, we were waiting on a much-anticipated call came from Leader Dogs for the Blind. Our Leader Dog puppy, Hope, was due to be assigned to a blind person and graduate from the program as a full-fledged guide dog. However, the call we received was to inform us that Hope was being released from the program, due to being too timid. We were shocked and dumbfounded. How could this be? How disappointing!</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">As her puppy raisers, we were given first dibs on adopting her, and on December 26, 2006 my husband and I made the five-hour drive to Rochester Hills, Michigan to retrieve our very own golden retriever. When Hope first saw us from a distance, we weren’t sure if she recognized us. But as soon as we were subjected to the sniff test, she immediately recognized us. Her re-entry into our home was as if she had never left. If she was miffed with us for subjecting her to the rigors of kennel life and Leader Dog training, she never let on. She was her affable self. Our newest Leader Dog puppy was delighted to have an energetic playmate.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">Our Sunday school class had been praying us through one stressful situation after another. On the Sunday after Christmas when we shared that Hope did not graduate and become a Leader Dog, we received a brilliant beam of hope from a classmate. Following class, she wrapped her arm around my shoulders and said, almost prophetically, “God knew that </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">you</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"> were the ones who needed </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">HOPE </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">this Christmas.” </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">Prior to this, we’d only thought of Hope’s dismissal as a failure on our part as puppy raisers. Our friend’s insightful words flipped this perceived failure into a gift of God’s grace for grief-filled days. Yes, we indeed needed an infusion of hope during a very dark time. And how ironic that “God,” spelled backwards, is “dog.” <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; "><b></b></span></p><b><p class="MsoNormal" style="display: inline !important; "><span style="font-size:11.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">Hope, the golden retriever, and God’s hope continued to be with us as learned that my brother-in-law had succumbed to cancer. This providential ray of hope shone into 2007, offering support when my mother died in April, when our next-door-neighbor died of cancer in May, and in September, when the home of our other next-door-neighbor was destroyed by fire.</span></span></p></b><p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; "><b></b></span></p><b><p class="MsoNormal" style="display: inline !important; "><span style="font-size:11.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">Our beautiful, beguiling, Hope is a vivid and tangible reminder that we need never lose hope, no matter what losses befall us. Grief is inevitable, a side effect of love. And </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">HOPE </span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">is the golden retriever that sticks close to our side, and gently and faithfully leads us on.</span></span></p></b><p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal; "><b></b></span></p><b><p class="MsoNormal" style="display: inline !important; "><span style="font-size:11.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">Hope is gift that God intends for us to share with others. Thus, Hope and I are preparing to become an animal assisted therapy team. I have completed a course on Animal Assisted Therapy, and once Hope and I pass the Delta Society Animal-Handler Evaluation, we plan to visit senior living communities and other facilities where interaction with canines is beneficial. Maybe we can be a reading buddy team in a classroom. I am a Marriage and Family Therapist and Hope can be a valuable co-therapist, especially when working with children.</span></span></p></b><p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">The possibilities are endless—when infused with </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">HOPE</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment--> </b><p></p> <!--EndFragment-->Linda Elmore Teeplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992540061223759795noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1874468106081014037.post-13323635856138563182010-09-28T08:24:00.000-07:002010-09-28T08:28:40.505-07:00DELIGHT IN WHAT?<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:16.0pt;mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="font-size:11.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:16.0pt;mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana"><i>“For Christ's sake, I delight in weaknesses, </i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; "><i>in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties,” 2 Corinthians 12:10</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; ">Life for the Apostle Paul was akin to that of great leaders of recent history who have suffered for their faith. Some of these heroes may be world famous; some may only be known within your community or in the confines of your own home. Perhaps even you, in the midst of feeling imprisoned by chronic pain, are a Paul.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:16.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana"><o:p> </o:p></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; ">I find it hard to imagine strapping on Paul’s Birkenstocks. If I follow Paul‘s path, then I am to delight in…What?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Weakness?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Hardships?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Persecutions?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Difficulties? This sounds less than delightful. It reminds me of Christ’s imperative to, “take up your cross and follow me,”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; ">(Matthew 16:24)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:16.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana"><o:p> </o:p></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; ">Often in my prayers, I exclaim, “Lord, you don’t understand! I can fake it with my friends and sometimes get away with saying, ‘I’m just fine!’ when I’m really not okay. But you know my limits, and yet you want me to do What? And also take delight in my pain?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:16.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana"><o:p> </o:p></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; ">I wonder if Paul felt similarly, during the period of his life when three times he pled with God to remove his “thorn in the flesh.” I may not be persecuted and imprisoned for my religious convictions, but I feel betrayed by my own body as chronic pain disrupts and obstructs my life. Taking care of Me has become a fulltime job. And I waste valuable energy fanning the flames of frustration and fear with my, “What if’s…?” and “If only’s.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:16.0pt; mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana"><o:p> </o:p></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 15px; ">God’s response to Paul, and you and me, is, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness,” (2 Corinthians 12:9) This is an intriguing idea—that my weakness can be a venue for God’s grace and greatness. I am willing to struggle with this paradox.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-size:11.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:16.0pt;mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana"><i>Prayer: </i></span></b><span style="font-size:11.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:16.0pt;mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana"><i>Gracious God, help us to trust that your grace is sufficient. May your power be made perfect in our weaknesses.</i></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops:center 3.0in right 6.0in"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:16.0pt;mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:12.0pt;mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight:normal"><span style="font-size:11.0pt;mso-bidi-font-size:16.0pt;mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria; mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;mso-bidi-font-family:Verdana"><o:p> </o:p></span></b></p> <!--EndFragment-->Linda Elmore Teeplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992540061223759795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1874468106081014037.post-29450144302765797322010-08-28T21:43:00.000-07:002010-08-28T21:52:33.286-07:00GOD KNITS<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><!--StartFragment--> </p><p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="text-align:center"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"> <!--StartFragment--> </span></i></p><i><p class="MsoNormal"><i> “For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb,” Psalm 139:13</i></p> <!--EndFragment--> </i><p></p><p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.25in">Knit one, purl one. Knit one, purl one. Knit one, purl one. Every summer my family would travel from Indiana to New York to visit my aunt for a week. During those visits, Aunt Marge always took time to teach me how to knit, crochet, sew, and embroider. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.25in">My aunt’s unconditional love for me was a portal through which I envisioned and believed that God loves me. Aunt Marge had shortcomings, just like everyone else, which helped me believe that a perfect God would continue to love me, in spite of my slipped stitches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.25in">Years later, when I was pregnant with my first child, every month, without fail, I received a package from Aunt Marge. I eagerly opened each box to discover beautiful handmade baby clothes and blankets. What a demonstration of love! The hours involved in each creation were countless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>And, of course, I, too, was sewing and crocheting for my baby—with the skills that Aunt Marge nurtured in me. </p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.25in">During my pregnancy, I “just happened” upon Psalm 139. I dearly love this metaphor of God knitting—my Heavenly Father sitting long hours in a rocking chair, lovingly creating me. I have a feeling that this same Needle Artist is just as active in my life now, repairing tears and patching my worn spots.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.25in">Those monthly packages, wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine, were the embodiment of my aunt’s unconditional love for me. Reminders of God’s love are packaged in the Bible—and tucked away in my heart, just waiting to be opened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.25in">At the age of sixty, I am now a cherished antique, and must be handled with care. I need to accept who I now am—tattered though I may be. We can trust that God is still stitching and patching our lives, even though the patterns may include such dark threads as anxiety, pain, fear, discouragement, anger and grief.</p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent:.25in">Knit one, purl one. Knit one, purl one. Knit one, purl one.</p> <!--EndFragment-->Linda Elmore Teeplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992540061223759795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1874468106081014037.post-58636956780178264262009-10-31T07:30:00.000-07:002009-10-31T07:38:57.412-07:00GARDEN OF EDEN<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">“The Lord God made all kinds of trees grow out of the ground—trees </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">that were pleasing to the eye and good for food…. God took the man</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> and put him in the Garden of Eden to work it and take care of it.” </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Genesis 2:9, 15 (NIV)</span><br /></div><br />Many people believe that the story of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden is merely myth. As a nature lover and tree-hugger, I find it quite credible.<br /><br />The wooded area behind my house is my Garden of Eden—the sacred place where I walk pensively with my Creator. And yet, this small area of woods vividly represents our fallen world—the garden after Adam and Eve sinned.<br /><br />The forest landscape is scarred by timber harvesting of oak, walnut, cherry, elm and sycamore trees. In the meadow, beneath towering poles hung with heavy wires, the wildlife habitat is like a war zone. Viable trees, shrubs, grasses and wild flowers were ripped from the ground by heavy equipment to clear and widen the easement.<br /><br />Before the devastation, there was a trodden path that meandered through the trees and meadow, connecting to another well-worn trail that hugs the banks of the White River. The river trail used to be passable, but now, much of the path is strewn with crowns, severed from their trunks and left to wither and decay.<br /><br />Beneath these fallen crowns are younger trees, their spindly, supple trunks bent low to the ground under the dead weight of expired elders. The crowning glory of foliage sweeps the forest floor, wildflowers interwoven with the branches, like a grapevine wreath strung with anemone, violets, bluebells, mayapple, asters, spring beauty, toadshade, daisies…<br /><br />I miss my leisurely walks along the riverbank. Climbing through the dying crowns is like trudging through the wreckage of a tornado. It is difficult to recognize—or visualize— what once was. Now I must clamber over immense trunks and climb through a maze of branches. The spirits of the trees whisper among themselves in the breeze as I wend my way through the tombstones of their cemetery.<br /><br />Recently, a friend said, “the land has a way of recovering on it’s own.” Yes, and no. I wonder how many critters have fled to quieter meadows and woods, safe from bulldozers. Those one-hundred-plus-year-old trees are goners; it will take as many years for saplings to reach heights necessary to recreate the canopy. I’ll be fodder for trees by then.<br /><br />Even though I must resign myself to the victimization of the woods, it remains my sanctuary. Just as I now walk with God through the havoc of the woods, so I must walk with God through the turmoil of my life. With God’s help I weave my way through this fallen world and he weaves a floral wreath of promises to care for me, no matter what befalls me.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go.<br />Genesis 28:15 (NIV)</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />I am with you always.<br />Matthew 28:20 (NIV) </span><br /></div>Linda Elmore Teeplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992540061223759795noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1874468106081014037.post-39789760470912454852009-08-01T04:57:00.000-07:002009-08-01T05:01:53.572-07:00"NOoooooo!" - August 1, 2009“Evan, eat your green beans, please.”<br /><br />“No,” replies my twenty-month-old grandson, his hazel eyes locked intently with mine. <br /><br />Hmmm… I never had this problem with his daddy, Matt, who inhaled “greensie-beansies” by the can-full. Matthew was master of the “NO!” under most other circumstances. Surely I can get this sweet son of his to eat his beans. <br /><br />Evan’s vocabulary is rich in ways to resist. There’s the sing-songy “NOoooooo…,” with O’s streaming from his O-shaped mouth, like bubbles streaming from a bubble wand. Initially, his Mommy and Daddy thought this was cute, but it quickly lost its charm as Evan’s vocabulary of “no” grew. <br /><br />As with my green beans example, there is the matter-of-fact “no,” with eye contact emphasis, testing the adult, “How far can I go?” <br /><br />Then there’s the quiet “no,” with a slight movement of his head back and forth, when he is engrossed in an activity, such as playing with the remote control. <br /><br />And, of course, the emphatic “NO!!!” said with eyes ablaze in vehement opposition, that makes living with a toddler so charming.<br /><br />I relish those blessed times when a toddler says “no,” and then immediately obeys. “This is MY idea to comply, not yours!”<br /><br />Imagine yourself a toddler in relationship to your Heavenly Father. I routinely get stuck in spiritual toddlerhood, my first reaction to God’s nudging usually some form of “no.” I take consolation from my Biblical ancestors: <br /><br />Moses employed the “Who, ME?” tactic, when God spoke from the burning bush, saying, <span style="font-style: italic;">“I am sending you to Pharaoh to bring my people the Israelites out of Egypt." </span> Moses queried God, <span style="font-style: italic;">"Who am I, that I should go to Pharaoh…?"</span> (Exodus 3:10-11 NIV) <br /><br />The Old Testament prophet, Jeremiah, adopted the, “I’m too young” line of defense when God informed him that before he was even born, <span style="font-style: italic;">“I set you apart and appointed you as my prophet to the nations.” </span>Jeremiah replied,<span style="font-style: italic;"> “I can’t speak for you! I’m too young!” </span> (Jeremiah 1:6 NIV)<br /><br />Jonah utilized the “Flea-to-the-Sea” strategy when God instructed him to take bad news to the people of Nineveh. Due to acting like a spineless jellyfish, Jonah landed in “time-out”—in the belly of a whale.<br /><br />There are countless ways to say “no” to God. For example, God says that my body is the temple of the Holy Spirit, but I mistreat it by ingesting the wrong things, eating too much, and by not getting proper exercise and sleep. God wants me to be a good steward of my time and talents, but I squander both of these gifts far too often. I let my fears of rejection and abandonment get in the way of standing up for God’s truth and the welfare of others. <br /><br />To be called a child of God is both an honor and a reflection of the reality that, spiritually, I will always be a child in need of my Father’s guidance and discipline. As parents, we have our children’s best interest at heart when we “don’t take no for an answer. “ God does, too.Linda Elmore Teeplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992540061223759795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1874468106081014037.post-79724872358604095852009-07-22T08:46:00.001-07:002009-07-22T08:49:51.311-07:00JOSHUA DAVID TEEPLE<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQo_mlQN3UXLWmZOCfVAj23E5fsdWpwWV6-p1eDkNrSXyI9nlgAUP7LsrRjwif5F9hERPQOUUNhIVdXnuc0b_QLk5TXI-A7oqW1OD1aMwxo8-8GHVddPE0IZeFNl3Bw8p4CyQjLi9dsNsT/s1600-h/joshua+david+005.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQo_mlQN3UXLWmZOCfVAj23E5fsdWpwWV6-p1eDkNrSXyI9nlgAUP7LsrRjwif5F9hERPQOUUNhIVdXnuc0b_QLk5TXI-A7oqW1OD1aMwxo8-8GHVddPE0IZeFNl3Bw8p4CyQjLi9dsNsT/s400/joshua+david+005.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361311542118944242" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:180%;">Born July 21, 2009</span><br /><span style="font-size:180%;">7 lbs. 10 oz</span><br /></div>Linda Elmore Teeplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992540061223759795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1874468106081014037.post-10874308614024013832009-07-22T08:45:00.000-07:002009-07-22T08:46:05.041-07:00PAPA MATT AND HIS TWO BOYS, EVAN & JOSHUA<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW5E1-b5YSpjEcHQfhf9QinIFR4EL0lENZIuz-0jQ_ODf2wKmpr_fColxzql0Aua5h0bDp2Ckpu-XsLRnoBJfEu3_ZXEquY5VyIUXyBlAYiuMGx6eP2TrFlRnuYzGDUAIAYf9ZSOTaLHp-/s1600-h/joshua+david+007.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW5E1-b5YSpjEcHQfhf9QinIFR4EL0lENZIuz-0jQ_ODf2wKmpr_fColxzql0Aua5h0bDp2Ckpu-XsLRnoBJfEu3_ZXEquY5VyIUXyBlAYiuMGx6eP2TrFlRnuYzGDUAIAYf9ZSOTaLHp-/s400/joshua+david+007.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361311205216985522" border="0" /></a>Linda Elmore Teeplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992540061223759795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1874468106081014037.post-70946618883687659842009-07-22T08:43:00.000-07:002009-07-22T08:44:59.244-07:00MAMA KRISTY AND HER NEW BOY<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA51qCenCsG2UZAnuX21HmS28EtpL_rQSy81xzjK20D_N1IqIikPfIYd8FhgO9g7BYXy-oADCXUJ57OZwwIr7q89FglFHRst1PW6AbLr7Yxv7Q9bGxrDpaQxGSsraVNWXfjSPY3ye7Stm9/s1600-h/joshua+david+008.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA51qCenCsG2UZAnuX21HmS28EtpL_rQSy81xzjK20D_N1IqIikPfIYd8FhgO9g7BYXy-oADCXUJ57OZwwIr7q89FglFHRst1PW6AbLr7Yxv7Q9bGxrDpaQxGSsraVNWXfjSPY3ye7Stm9/s400/joshua+david+008.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361310886280620962" border="0" /></a>Linda Elmore Teeplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992540061223759795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1874468106081014037.post-34216194661366869762009-07-22T08:41:00.000-07:002009-07-22T08:43:41.745-07:00BIG BROTHER EVAN MEETS JOSHUA<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiBYEdZ-AM491_WT2ETliKQshDPLCV0ZaDJGyK2_qvKR5r4_kh0V-69jkm6o6kw1d53BflmX0CRp1U8j6HNF6B3n7lmYABnORo0MmHLgBnvUwxLcyE2BqTrjherzPZTk9rmHwYBBH18ed5/s1600-h/joshua+david+003.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiBYEdZ-AM491_WT2ETliKQshDPLCV0ZaDJGyK2_qvKR5r4_kh0V-69jkm6o6kw1d53BflmX0CRp1U8j6HNF6B3n7lmYABnORo0MmHLgBnvUwxLcyE2BqTrjherzPZTk9rmHwYBBH18ed5/s400/joshua+david+003.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5361310487033593474" border="0" /></a>Linda Elmore Teeplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992540061223759795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1874468106081014037.post-28567466379243685162009-07-06T18:59:00.000-07:002009-08-01T05:07:10.772-07:00FINDING NICK - July 4, 2009<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">“I know the plans I have for you…plans to give you hope and a future.” </span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Jeremiah 29:11(NIV)</span><br /></div><br />This is the story of a boy and his dog who met in prison; the Indiana Women’s Prison in Indianapolis. I am privy to this saga, because the dog was my dog, Faith.<br /><br />Faith is the third puppy my husband Rex and I fostered for Leader Dogs for the Blind. At one year of age, Faith returned to Leader Dog School to begin formal training. Six months into training, she was released from the program due to kennel stress. We adopted Faith, with the intent of finding her an alternative avenue of service.<br /><br />Canine Partners of the Rockies, a program that matches dogs with adults with disabilities, eagerly accepted her, only to release her a few weeks later. Though her guide dog skills were excellent, they did not transfer well for wheelchair work. As her “mom,” I was distressed that my golden girl had not yet found her purpose in life, or a home and family to call her own.<br /><br />The boy in this story is Nick, a nine-year-old with Down’s syndrome. At age 2 ½, Nick was speaking simple sentences and enjoyed singing songs with his mom. Then one day, Nick disappeared into a private reality, no long speaking, singing, or answering to his name. When Nick was eight, he was finally diagnosed with autism.<br /><br />Nick is a sweet, loving child, but when upset, he cries, screams, hits, bites, and throws things. In public, he often refuses to hold a parent’s hand, runs of, and plops to the ground to stage a “sit in.”<br /><br />Nick’s mom, Katrina, intuitively knew that her son would benefit from having a service dog. Although Nick does not have the usual disabilities for which people typically receive service dogs, this determined mom searched for a program that could help him.<br /><br />During the same time period, my husband and I were contemplating a third placement for Faith—and that is when God brought Faith and Nick together, via the Indiana Canine Assistant Network.<br /><br />After several months of training, Faith was ready to be matched with a child. Three days into “team training,” when the child and parents work intensively with the service dog and trainer, Nick began speaking—<span style="font-style: italic;">to Faith</span>. Like most children with autism, he needed something to spin, but one day in training, Nick threw his cup and pencil to the floor and made a beeline for Faith.<br /><br />Faith was allowed to go home with Nick during training and one night, when Nick was crying, Faith went to him. Nick wrapped his arms around Faith and cried into her fur. With Faith’s comforting presence, Nick’s behavior did not escalate into rage or violence.<br /><br />Nick is beginning to interact more with humans as well. He speaks in sentences. He sings with Mom—the tunes and lyrics he knew at 2 ½, intact.<br /><br />“I’ve searched for my son for all these years," says his mom, “and it took a dog to find him.”<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">“Prayer is the key to Heaven, but FAITH unlocks the door.”</span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I dedicate my column to the ICAN trainers<br />at the Indiana Women’s Prison.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">You are awesome! God bless you!</span><br /><br /><img src="file:///Users/lindateeple/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/moz-screenshot.jpg" alt="" /><img src="file:///Users/lindateeple/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/moz-screenshot-1.jpg" alt="" /></div>Linda Elmore Teeplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992540061223759795noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1874468106081014037.post-56604841810079417602009-06-09T05:28:00.000-07:002009-06-09T05:31:23.999-07:00FLEDGING - June 2 2009<div style="text-align: center; font-style: italic;">Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.<br />They will soar on wings like eagles…<br />Isaiah 40:31 NIV<br /></div><br />There’s a nice young couple who have taken up residence in our home—on a support beam situated on the underneath side of our second story deck. It ‘s a safe place to lay a few eggs, sit a spell, and then hatch some young’uns. From nest construction to empty nest, I’ve enjoyed peeking in on my houseguests.<br /><br />Ladies (and gents), have you ever noticed how fast another mother’s pregnancy proceeds? My pregnancies dragged on at a tortoise pace while everyone else’s pregnancies fly by like the hare in Aesop’s fable. An avian gestation goes by in a flash—for a bird the size of my housemate, approximately 11-14 days. Once hatched, baby birds grow at the speed of light, so you need to be alert and observant if you want to catch the action.<br /><br />When Mama bird’s behavior changed from incubating her eggs to making umpteen trips to the grocery store, I began making bed checks on the nest several times a day to see how the babies were growing. I was elated when I first caught sight of little pin-feathered heads and beaks popping up. Then one day a baby bird was pushed out on the edge of the nest, due to cramped conditions, and I knew that, of necessity, the babes would take flight soon.<br /><br />Later that same day I heard a commotion in the direction of the nest and looked over in time to see one fledgling flutter like a befuddled butterfly, fighting to gain altitude. Its wings were flapping wildly and he was darting this way and that, like a kite being played by a fickle wind. But soon he was able to control his wings and negotiated a less than perfect landing on a tree branch.<br /><br />I walked over to the nest to inspect it to see if anyone else had fledged. As I tilted my head to look up at the nest, the three remaining babies fled the scene and immediately flew to nearby branches. I sat in wonder as I watched the fledglings flying back and forth. It was like watching my child taking off on her maiden bike-flight. I felt the same pride and elation that I have every time one of my kids masters a new challenge. “Whoo hoo!”<br /><br />In a week’s time, “my” baby birds (I tend to quickly develop attachments to animals) were transformed from pathetic, helpless, naked newborns into teenagers, eager to earn their flying licenses and receive their flight wings. What an amazing miracle!<br /><br />Do you ever feel like a baby bird being forced out of your security nest, fearful that you won’t be able to wing it? Over and over in life we find ourselves in new and challenging positions, pushed out of our comfort zone. Put your hope in your heavenly Flight Instructor and let God carry you—and “soar on wings like eagles.”Linda Elmore Teeplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992540061223759795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1874468106081014037.post-59818408019665909112009-05-10T18:04:00.000-07:002009-05-10T18:17:17.426-07:00"GRACE MEANS GIFT" - May 2, 2009<div align="center"><em>“For by grace are ye saved through faith;<br />and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God.”<br />Ephesians 2:8 KJV<br /></em></div><p></p><p>When I was forty-something, my mom gave me her most prized possession—her mother’s Bible: a lady-like sized, leather-bound King James Version, with petite print.<br /><br />What I treasure most about this Bible is my Grandmother’s written notes. My own Bible has many passages highlighted and underlined, with comments written in the margin, the really good pages dog-earred. So with great interest I opened Grandma’s Bible to see what passages were most dear to her. Leafing through its delicate pages yielded only one, concise comment—but it is a comment that speaks volumes.<br /><br />In carefully executed cursive, at the top of the “Presented to” page, Grandma wrote “grace means gift.” That’s it. Grace means gift. After my initial disappointment, my heart swelled with the realization that this one tiny phrase was the “heart” of my grandmother’s heart.<br /><br />At the time I discovered her note, I was in the midst of my own discovery of God’s grace. I’m always amazed (but not surprised) at God’s impeccable timing. If I had read Grandma’s comment a couple years earlier, would it have had the same impact? I think not. God saved this precious discovery for a time when I would be most able to receive the full impact of its blessing.<br /><br />Grandma’s legacy—the realization of God’s amazing grace—was passed down to me through my mother. I’m not referring here to Mom handing over Grandma’s Bible to me, but to her own faith journey. Every time she shared her personal encounters with “grace means gift,” with me, her face glowed and her voice took on the quality of music—an expression that made me say to myself, “I want that! I want to have what she has!”<br /><br />Even though my mom was raised in the church, it wasn’t until she was 59 that she really “got” grace. In her eighties, Mom wrote her autobiography for her children and grandchildren, and in it she stated, “Unknowingly, there had been a struggle in my life as I wavered back and forth for many years, trying to earn my own salvation FOR God, instead of accepting it as a free gift FROM God through Christ!”<br /><br />Each one of us has to experience our very own encounter with grace. Grace is such a difficult concept to grasp. But once we’ve “got” grace, we want to share it. And it is through demonstrating grace toward others that we help them “get” grace.<br /><br />We can lead our loved ones and friends to the water trough of grace, but they have to taste it for themselves in order to experience its refreshing, life sustaining truth. Often times, we arrive at the water trough via trauma, crisis, loss, grief—literally dying of thirst, spiritually. Care for a sip? </p><p>Grace means gift! </p><p align="center">In memory of my grace-filled grandma<br />Wilhelminia Schelesky Reuman<br />1887-1972</p>Linda Elmore Teeplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992540061223759795noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1874468106081014037.post-46610333809139875872009-04-13T16:50:00.000-07:002009-06-09T05:32:20.504-07:00PASSPORT TO PASSOVER--AND BEYOND - April 4, 2009During March, my daughter, Beth, led a mission trip to Antiqua Guatemala for Ambassadors for Children. My husband, Rex, and I also went to Guatemala on a medical mission with People Helping People. Beth was in Guatemala from the 7th to the 14th; we were there from the 14th to the 21st. <br /><br />On March 14, we were like “two ships passing in the night,” in the Guatemala City airport as Beth and her team were checking in to ticketing to leave Guatemala, at the same time that our team was arriving. There is no crossing over from the “departures” side to the “arrivals” area, and there wasn’t even an opportunity to wave at each other through a window. To be that close to my daughter in a foreign country and not give her a hug was pure torture.<br /><br />When traveling out of the country, one’s passport is a traveler’s most precious possession—even more valuable than my aerosol hairspray, which was confiscated at the new Indianapolis terminal. I didn’t carry this document with me to the clinic site or while sightseeing or shopping, but I was always a bit anxious when it was not on my person.<br /><br />While I tend to be a worrier in my normal life, beyond the U.S. borders I develop the mind of a Stephen King. What if our bus is ambushed by bandits, we’re robbed and abandoned on the side of a winding mountain road, without currency or documentation? Or what if a volcano erupts and…<br /><br />Even more important than a passport issued by our government is our spiritual passport, given to us by God: GRACE. We are birthed into grace when we are born, for God’s grace permeates everything. It’s like air which is necessary for life, but we can’t see it. Or like water to a fish: invisible, but essential.<br /><br />No need to purchase this passport: just say “yes” to God’s free gift of grace. While not tangible or visible, you can “feel” and “see” it in the way a grace-filled person demonstrates grace to those around them. This spiritual document can’t be lost or stolen. There is no expiration date; no need to renew it or pay for it, and then wait ten weeks for it to arrive in the mail. And, best of all—no ugly mug shot that you’re stuck with for ten years; our image is a reflection of Christ.<br /><br />As we observe Holy Week, remember that the events of Christ’s last week of life—his entry into Jerusalem, the Passover meal taken with his disciples, his passionate prayers in Gethsemane, his arrest, beatings, trial, conviction, crucifixion and burial—were all a part of God’s plan to redeem us. Our passports are stamped with Jesus’ blood.<br /><br />On Easter we celebrate God’s unlimited, uncontainable, unrestrainable Grace, as demonstrated in our Savior’s resurrection.<br /><br /><div align="center"><br /><em>“For by grace you have been saved through faith;<br />and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God.”<br />Ephesians 2:8 NIV</em><br /></div>Linda Elmore Teeplehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10992540061223759795noreply@blogger.com1