tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-42573563037216312052024-03-19T14:38:01.286-05:00He's Not Finished With Me YetKathy Castorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14472704791064291744noreply@blogger.comBlogger59125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4257356303721631205.post-69934050533639662982012-01-02T20:44:00.001-06:002012-01-10T18:26:38.566-06:00A step out of celebration...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUqbEEUbjRBX_sHKAozoIcYlqJWJ7cMXO2aCAS9UTFPh5Rpfa32IbnC5Dg8hZRfpgg20mSeBBO3xuwHfZgKUroDhEdrxK2mFTX6ShaqnB1l8ZD6_LgBmUCmsX9Qi4iOBPkMlUvUuN6dBw/s1600/Alabama.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><img border="0" height="240" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUqbEEUbjRBX_sHKAozoIcYlqJWJ7cMXO2aCAS9UTFPh5Rpfa32IbnC5Dg8hZRfpgg20mSeBBO3xuwHfZgKUroDhEdrxK2mFTX6ShaqnB1l8ZD6_LgBmUCmsX9Qi4iOBPkMlUvUuN6dBw/s320/Alabama.bmp" width="320" /></span></a><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's been an unusual Christmas. Sand instead of snow. The sound of the surf, rather than the sound of a silent winter's night. Extended gift giving as travelers arrive to join the family vacation one day after the next. An Alabama Gulf Coast Christmas is very different for this northern girl. And yet, there are elements of Christmas that are clearly and comfortably present .... Loved ones gathered together, good food and an abundance of treats, laughter and merriment among young and old alike, the exchange of treasures, deepening relationships with family members, the warmth of a "home", and the unspoken expectation that, in a year, this comfortable and familiar celebration will unfold yet again.<br /><br />And yet, as I reach for another chocolate truffle and pour another glass of cheer, the thought suddenly occurs to me...for more children than I can ever imagine or could possibly count, December 25th is filled with none (or very little) of the above. And, for a moment, I need to step out of my celebration and recognize the need for action in this world. For those of us who live in relative abundance and have no doubt to whom we "belong", cannot possibly fathom what it must be like to live each day unsure of what the next will hold or whom to call family. Yet this is the sobering reality of so many children (approximately 50 million) in Africa this Christmas.<br /><br /><br />There is, however, hope. Across Africa, there are people and organizations dedicated to the lives of children who seem to have no hope. There are people who live each day making sure that children without families are fed, cared for, loved, and, as much as possible, given some sense of family. My middle son, Benjamin, started his life with such people.<br /><br />It would take me a long time to sufficiently describe TLC, the orphanage in South Africa where Ben spent his early months. TLC (insert link) was started by the Jarvis family who saw the need for the orphaned babies and young children of SA to be cared for with dignity, love, and compassion. Their desire is to see all children become a part of forever families...so that they will never question to whom they belong or what tomorrow will bring. TLC has done remarkably well meeting that goal by matching babies to families from all over the world and caring for them deeply before that match occurs. Yet, it is a sad reality that many babies are seen as "unfavorable" for adoption. They may be older children, be HIV positive, or have other illnesses or circumstances that make them hard to place. When that happens, the Jarvis family often opens their own family and adds one more to their mix. None of this is conventional, practical, or financially sound...but, it meets needs...the deepest of needs of children who deserve forever families and the sense of belonging. We are forever grateful for the unconventional and impractical TLC family and what they gave to us 9 years ago.<br /><br />There is hope. But it doesn't come without a cost. Jabu Africa is working with frontline agencies like TLC to help spread hope by providing some of the finances that never come easy in this "line of work". By supporting Jabu Africa, individuals have a chance to respond to a need that is not going away any time soon and to impact the lives of children who desperately need and absolutely deserve a place to call home. <br /><br />I have loved this Alabama Christmas. I have loved taking a spontaneous plunge in the cold Gulf waters and walking for miles on the beach. I have eaten far too much and burned off far too few calories. Yet, the very best thing about this Christmas has been spending time with my husband's family (all 17 of us) and trusting that no matter what comes, we are forever family. And, that secure sense of belonging is something all of us should be able to soak in from time to time.</span></div>Kathy Castorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14472704791064291744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4257356303721631205.post-7255184938349663152011-11-26T01:51:00.000-06:002012-01-10T18:23:29.512-06:00I'm Back (at least I think I am)<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2lnzcHPbSnpQU4y4RU0F9kmgjYE9aCUBhw_KY5yan-LUEjIlV3M1eZFsAoODR8QALgP1qvmJfcNZ_24RVQh_gRx-T_oGeAzjaf5kzDS9izrBOdBPQIQB4qlTLhKVmTACUJdC_L2n1bw4/s1600/calendar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="143" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2lnzcHPbSnpQU4y4RU0F9kmgjYE9aCUBhw_KY5yan-LUEjIlV3M1eZFsAoODR8QALgP1qvmJfcNZ_24RVQh_gRx-T_oGeAzjaf5kzDS9izrBOdBPQIQB4qlTLhKVmTACUJdC_L2n1bw4/s200/calendar.jpg" width="200" /></a>Far too long. That's how long it has been. Simply far too long since I have taken the time out to sit and write. It hasn't been that long since I've thought about writing...I think about it nearly every day. But, to sit and write...that just hasn't happened in far too long.</div>
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So here I am, deciding that I must write. Something. Anything. Words on a page to start the flow again. I hope.</div>
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Why, pray tell, has it been so long? Life, I suppose. It managed to get busy...busier than I anticipated or hoped for. It hasn't been an all bad kind of busy, but neither has it always been of the all good variety of busy either. Some of it has been "fabulous and fun" busy-ness. Some of it has been "I'd rather just bury my head in the sand" busy-ness. And, in the midst of living this full life, I ran out of time and energy to stop and write. Hopefully, it is just a hiccup. Hopefully, I'll be back to writing on a somewhat regular basis again soon.<br />
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In the meantime, for the moment, I'll write about my kids.<br />
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I have three of the coolest kids ever. They stretch me - sometimes to the point of pain - and challenge me in ways that I never imagined any kid could. I see in each of them glimpses of the Divine... something He has put in each of them, to make me understand Him more. And, I see in each of them glimpses of Ken and I as we rub off on them in our day to day. That scares me, actually. Unfortunately, I know that not all of me that is rubbing off is the very best of me. Oh, would that I could be perfect in all circumstances for the sake of others! It is those not so lovely rubbings that I pray God will overshadow with His grace and goodness. He can do that, you know. And, every day, I see glimpses of the uniqueness of each of my children...that which sets them apart from the others and from me. It is, all at once, wonderful and scary to watch them grow into their own. Wonderful... as I see their unique gifts, talents, interests, and personalities more fully emerging. Scary... as I see the that time only advances and there is no turning back the clock. I cannot keep them young and under my wings forever. Nor can I iron out all their imperfections (and, in truth, I shouldn't really want to). And, before I know it, my oldest will be leaving the nest. So, wonderful and scary as it is... I have three amazingly cool kids who are growing into amazingly cool people right before my eyes.</div>
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Tonight, during dinner, we discussed Thanksgiving...all that we have to be thankful for. Our lists were long and full of good things, events, and people. After talking about all that we are thankful for, however, we also discussed the reality that we are among the richest and healthiest people in the world. Something to be thankful for? Yes, absolutely! But, it is also something that should make us uncomfortably thankful...and honestly unsettled. It is something that should not be easy to swallow.<br />
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This is not a new discussion in our home. It has, in fact, been a topic of previous posts. And yet, each time we discuss it, it brings about the humbling and pressing reality that we must somehow respond . As people who call ourselves followers of Jesus, we are responsible to care for the hurting in the world. So, tonight we decided we would act by picking out and ordering items from the <a href="http://donate.worldvision.org/OA_HTML/xxwv2ibeCCtpSctDspRte.jsp?go=gift&xxwvCampaign=1136161&section=10389" target="_blank">World Vision Gift Catalog.</a> The gifts were small, but meaningful and beneficial...to someone in the world and to us. In the end, the children chose 5 ducks, 2 rabbits, 2 soccer balls, and a set of mosquito nets. A tiny drop in a huge bucket.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEAASiDdeyMs7EcdluD_DpdWS-tip8XWYq_WD-CAbeJDhkEXJYVjgk72-C03rNx54Tm-lG4CxG2I9gSB5gsPAL5y7KyTbb8FqRP8JcR1WAM6s0nzWVnAOUm6i7qtGccMz1z7UlN-59T78/s1600/world+vision.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEAASiDdeyMs7EcdluD_DpdWS-tip8XWYq_WD-CAbeJDhkEXJYVjgk72-C03rNx54Tm-lG4CxG2I9gSB5gsPAL5y7KyTbb8FqRP8JcR1WAM6s0nzWVnAOUm6i7qtGccMz1z7UlN-59T78/s1600/world+vision.bmp" /></a>The coolness of my kids came out during this time once again. They discussed what they would like to give (it was way more than what we did give) and why. They talked along with us about how sad it was that where you live might well determine how much you have or how likely you are to even survive. Ben and Elly counted out loud to understand the horrifying statistic that every 6 seconds someone dies of malnutrition. I did the math with Ben to figure out how many people that equals in one day. Sobering. And, near the end of the discussion, Ben, honestly and sadly asked, "why does it seem like all these people "in danger" have brown or dark tan skin?" simply pointing out the obvious dominance of color on the pages of the World Vision Catalog. Even my not-yet-6-year-old daughter knew there was something wrong with that. A brief and certainly inadequate attempt was offered to begin unraveling that loaded question. Ugh. And then, the shopping continued. In all of it, the excitement my kids experienced when trying to do something to help right the wrong was very cool. When the gifts were ordered, there was a palpable energy in the room. A moment of rightness in the reality of wrongness.</div>
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I hesitate at times to write about something like this, by the way. I do not want anyone to think more highly of us than they ought...nor do I want to sound as if I am bragging. Believe me, the amount that we spent in relationship to all that we have does not merit bragging rights. It is, in fact, one of those things that, Biblically, we should do "in secret" (Matthew 6:4). Yet, I guess I write it because maybe it will encourage someone else to do the same and because it is a way to share about how my kids are growing into themselves in really good ways. And, selfishly, so that one of these days, when I feel grumpy about them being selfish over something, I can look back and read about tonight...when their thoughts were held captive by others, not themselves.</div>
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I hope to find my way back to the keyboard again this weekend. It felt good to take the time to write after such a long time away. Though, it is now far too late and I should be asleep. Oh well. Hopefully something good comes out of the words on the page that makes it worthwhile. Good night and thanks for stopping by!</div>Kathy Castorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14472704791064291744noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4257356303721631205.post-5089707507730869812011-08-11T21:20:00.000-05:002012-01-07T16:46:53.366-06:00Castor Kids For a Cause<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A few weeks ago, I received something in the mail from the Gospel for Asia organization asking for money to provide wells in India. I was moved as I read about the plight of people who don't even have clean water to bathe in or drink. It was not that this was new news to me. In fact, we are fortunate to be are friends with an amazing couple (the Chees) who are doing well and filter work in Cambodia with Samaritan's Purse. Another friend, Russ, used to do the same work in an African country. But, as I sat there with my three children, eating to their full at lunch and planning to take a cool dip in the lake, the weight of this situation struck me more deeply. The contrast to our lives was so great.</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I shared the story with my children, reading excerpts from the letter. We talked about how hard that must be...how life is so different for so many around the world. We talked about how good we have it here in North America and, more specifically, within our own home. I shared with them how we are some of the richest people in the whole world; a fact that seems shocking in light of where we are on the local "income scale" (i.e., we are certainly not "rich" locally). I also shared with them how, even in the state and town that we live in, there are people who have very little and may struggle to make ends meet. </span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This was not the first time that we have discussed the inequitable distribution of life's goods and riches. I have been known to remind my children who claim, "I'm <em>starving!</em>", about what starvation really looks like by showing them pictures or videos of people who are <strong>truly</strong> starving. It was not that long ago when my kids were complaining about not having enough toys or things to do when I showed them video of children rummaging through garbage heaps to find something to keep or sell. Even driving through poorer areas of Minneapolis or the subburbs has sparked conversation about economic differences. Yet, most, if not all, of these discussions also touch on the similarities between us all and the basic needs and rights we all have. And, almost all of these discussions lead to the question, "how should we respond?"</span></div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It is remarkable that even young children know that there is something wrong with people living a world away in utter poverty. They understand that it is not right that there are homeless people and children without families within a short drive of our sheltered life. A 5 year old knows that it is horribly sad for someone to go to bed having only eatten one meal during the day. A 9 year old understands, at some level, the problems that might come from having no clean water. A 12 year old realizes that we have significant benefits simply because of where we were born and where we live. Bono stated it well when he sings, "where we live should not decide whether we live or whether we die." And yet, that is the realitiy for many, isn't it?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As we talked about the lack of fresh water in India, babies without families, and families without food, we again came to the question, "how should we respond?" Over and over in God's Word it says we are to take care of widows, orphans, and strangers. As Jesus followers, we have a responsibility to help those in need and to love our neighbors as ourselves. With that in mind, the kids and I brainstormed some ideas that might help us love our neighbors as ourselves and deal with some of the needs of the world. It was fun to watch and listen as this discussion took place.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A few days later, with nothing else pressing in the schedule, my three kids and I hatched one of our plans. We began to bake. Each child took responsibility for one recipe while I took on a fourth and oversaw all operations.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwZNia3f78kSCnLT9hpNi3EhMoqex5Gj2PiAFrHX41uwwqIIGc-iAZqT0D30ZcNgAuhyZOYwmPMtXwbiCtZQRMIDnFpzb9FnyQlh7-Wn9oe9uvUErLKlpqZPScItLfVfFdJg32-IH01Og/s1600/IMG_6983.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwZNia3f78kSCnLT9hpNi3EhMoqex5Gj2PiAFrHX41uwwqIIGc-iAZqT0D30ZcNgAuhyZOYwmPMtXwbiCtZQRMIDnFpzb9FnyQlh7-Wn9oe9uvUErLKlpqZPScItLfVfFdJg32-IH01Og/s320/IMG_6983.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVLSNMr58bpMeHWm9iSsCpJTNKkCYJ6tiTVH87FFoXjlQ7frvpfa24dES09Uqhy-fGaoVUgYwJN6omHEV2gV-SlOPXubp1qqVQnqpjDCncLt5seTrGXLxcelQz5n5DvfYme2BJrFGGGVU/s1600/IMG_6987.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVLSNMr58bpMeHWm9iSsCpJTNKkCYJ6tiTVH87FFoXjlQ7frvpfa24dES09Uqhy-fGaoVUgYwJN6omHEV2gV-SlOPXubp1qqVQnqpjDCncLt5seTrGXLxcelQz5n5DvfYme2BJrFGGGVU/s320/IMG_6987.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGFHRyIrH6eeUVLTvLSkrlIY7OEoB5PCy57hTPIRQDeRDSplxE7T0fCorLo1DBi1JxdDg4j62MRz0fax9r79oK-aKUm_O5u2kCFD0mSwnXoMUsxnFiBZ1m3-ggk7n5OewQGvWsqJ4nheU/s1600/IMG_6990.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGFHRyIrH6eeUVLTvLSkrlIY7OEoB5PCy57hTPIRQDeRDSplxE7T0fCorLo1DBi1JxdDg4j62MRz0fax9r79oK-aKUm_O5u2kCFD0mSwnXoMUsxnFiBZ1m3-ggk7n5OewQGvWsqJ4nheU/s320/IMG_6990.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Don't worry, she washed her hands after loving on her doggy!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table> <div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJP1XnNqBEwLIiGYw5ZujgWzyKZ2MAXLwosdb-FRjBYCBdROvcx5eFvdVXLU6eCtAkzJ_Cq9SFzBGM5Pb2OJI8jz4w3QdLwK2nYx8VyY8glC7k9QjK5qx9v_SC7aFLeB5kqswNMNspnIE/s1600/IMG_6982.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJP1XnNqBEwLIiGYw5ZujgWzyKZ2MAXLwosdb-FRjBYCBdROvcx5eFvdVXLU6eCtAkzJ_Cq9SFzBGM5Pb2OJI8jz4w3QdLwK2nYx8VyY8glC7k9QjK5qx9v_SC7aFLeB5kqswNMNspnIE/s320/IMG_6982.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh13bKwF-OGRbT0c8cO72KGHWpgAMVkvSatgUEeEwvTteAstsV-I4k2eRH9qq7smNuLS5CNgxdPge_S9b0LFsKz51mKo3RcZ2C-0JzyR-HgOOdrC7SHrC2W_9-zw6Rz0vDLyRDT1_6iRSk/s1600/IMG_6984.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh13bKwF-OGRbT0c8cO72KGHWpgAMVkvSatgUEeEwvTteAstsV-I4k2eRH9qq7smNuLS5CNgxdPge_S9b0LFsKz51mKo3RcZ2C-0JzyR-HgOOdrC7SHrC2W_9-zw6Rz0vDLyRDT1_6iRSk/s320/IMG_6984.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd55vk184w0DWVHwDY-otSCRoRT4Llx3yDBC_0iUhapaGoxID5ObaEKM83s8yXekACxlqDEbPLDrheo-drUhUfyEjn_SWbYTMV0tbkB0SQHXeZttlIqJLsnxL4K3-EHZt0gs9ym7JweUI/s1600/IMG_6985.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd55vk184w0DWVHwDY-otSCRoRT4Llx3yDBC_0iUhapaGoxID5ObaEKM83s8yXekACxlqDEbPLDrheo-drUhUfyEjn_SWbYTMV0tbkB0SQHXeZttlIqJLsnxL4K3-EHZt0gs9ym7JweUI/s320/IMG_6985.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> <span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A few hours later, when the baking was complete and cookies were cooled, I assembled plates of approximately10 - 12 goodies. In addition, Zac helped me type out a note of explaination to hand out with our cookies.</span></div><div align="center"></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #17365d; font-size: 18pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: FrankRuehl; mso-themecolor: text2; mso-themeshade: 191;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Castor Kids for a Cause!</span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #17365d; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: FrankRuehl; mso-themecolor: text2; mso-themeshade: 191;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Finding creative ways to raise money for The Love of Christ Ministries (TLC), an orphanage in South Africa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #17365d; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: FrankRuehl; mso-themecolor: text2; mso-themeshade: 191;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">TLC believes that every child has the right to a loving and responsible family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Since April 1993, they have helped over 600 babies who have been abandoned or orphaned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Find out more about TLC on their website: </span></span><a href="http://www.tlc.org.za/"><span style="color: #17365d; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: FrankRuehl; mso-themecolor: text2; mso-themeshade: 191;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">www.tlc.org.za</span></span></a><span style="color: #17365d; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: FrankRuehl; mso-themecolor: text2; mso-themeshade: 191;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #17365d; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: FrankRuehl; mso-themecolor: text2; mso-themeshade: 191;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thanks for helping us make a difference!</span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijw4CILFF97GvRJ50kWsU_m-zIBQEb9sduGApmN3zkPd6ZLsmYbafIDyXI_ue9JspqAX9GVHP__pyCtkRRywmcKD-jr9CrT0lj_UCqCub6J04G6T-8JBLWcNDUyCXjxV7lJIYPAy6WgzQ/s1600/IMG_6991.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijw4CILFF97GvRJ50kWsU_m-zIBQEb9sduGApmN3zkPd6ZLsmYbafIDyXI_ue9JspqAX9GVHP__pyCtkRRywmcKD-jr9CrT0lj_UCqCub6J04G6T-8JBLWcNDUyCXjxV7lJIYPAy6WgzQ/s320/IMG_6991.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span style="color: black; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">With a cooler loaded up with 11 plates of cookes, the kids, Smudge, and I headed out to ask neighbors if they would like to help support our effort to raise some money for a South African orphanage near and dear to our hearts. Zac and I decided rather than "pricing" the cookie plates, we would sell them by donation. I honestly did not know how much one might possibly want to spend on these small plates of cookies. I anticipated that we might raise $30 - $40 during this first venture and would combine it with something else in a month or so. I admit, part way through the mess of baking I wondered whether I should have just sent that amount of money myself, rather than buying and donating ingredients and making a mess of the kitchen. But, I knew that this project was about more than just sending money to Afica. It was also about helping to mold my kids' hearts to view the world more and more with Jesus vision and to consider the needs of others as more significant than their own "comfort".</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPXrKL-l8UIdc1vukvRyHgHVseXLd4otX8R3DWzDSaeJXKfZWbJC-bFBxx-4Bu-3LEpvWnBckFf292M0Zl8u90KLc34xqlczWTFt_f40EEQAPnqr3cl9-gaPZWDoadY02eEFypUpQStNU/s1600/IMG_6995.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPXrKL-l8UIdc1vukvRyHgHVseXLd4otX8R3DWzDSaeJXKfZWbJC-bFBxx-4Bu-3LEpvWnBckFf292M0Zl8u90KLc34xqlczWTFt_f40EEQAPnqr3cl9-gaPZWDoadY02eEFypUpQStNU/s320/IMG_6995.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgosV6G8w_o1t_0Bcn4EE2ziIK61r4-P4nUgxDLl4pE_hKYo_omlkzeChO1QgBfeyx3pdEl3zdMCy_ZpdnPRPjm3g3mt8IQdzMqFTnqbB5C2LwtIe8MLaseqUskebNzgl249741f8YykIk/s1600/IMG_6996.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgosV6G8w_o1t_0Bcn4EE2ziIK61r4-P4nUgxDLl4pE_hKYo_omlkzeChO1QgBfeyx3pdEl3zdMCy_ZpdnPRPjm3g3mt8IQdzMqFTnqbB5C2LwtIe8MLaseqUskebNzgl249741f8YykIk/s320/IMG_6996.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBYuQ4tVpcbpP9Nw438hDPgZV5bLJTl5SLJEBxPYzw1Tv2riAuRKjMN8YWlCxULy8ccXR10odQe-BQc_S-bt-dI0FrhTpQctt62I_zJ5u9AhYdXi_FlYj3LOMnIY0_tdl_d-U1LIO6acg/s1600/IMG_6994.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" naa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBYuQ4tVpcbpP9Nw438hDPgZV5bLJTl5SLJEBxPYzw1Tv2riAuRKjMN8YWlCxULy8ccXR10odQe-BQc_S-bt-dI0FrhTpQctt62I_zJ5u9AhYdXi_FlYj3LOMnIY0_tdl_d-U1LIO6acg/s320/IMG_6994.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">An hour and a half or so after leaving the house, my kids and I returned home, having sold 10 plates of cookies. All but one of the neighbors that we went to eagerly bought a plate of cookies from the kids. At one home, two preteen children ran to their rooms to find money to buy their own plates and contribute willingly to the cause. Each Castor child played a role in the sales. Zac usually "pitched" the cause, while Elly handed out the cookies, and Ben kept the dog in control or pulled the cooler along. We were pleasantly surprised and so encouraged by the generosity of neighbors. In the end, the kids raised $110 for their cause. The kids, especially Zac who knows the value of a dollar more than the other two, were thoroughly pleased. Zac commented that we have some really great neighbors. I agree whole heartedly!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Within an hour of being home, I forwarded the money via PayPal, to TLC with a note to Thea. The next day, the kids got an e-mail and a lovely e-card from Thea. Thea wrote that TLC would use the money to buy warm pajamas for the toddlers. It is now winter and, due to some circumstances, they did not have proper heat. I was thrilled to see that the kids (with a little help from Mom) were able to meet a real need in an amazing </span><a href="http://www.tlc.za.org/"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">home</span></a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> meeting the needs of kids every single day. It wasn't much in terms of the overall need, but it was something. And, perhaps, more importantly, the children were integral in the planning and carry through of this project to serve.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My hope is that the kids, Ken, and I can do more of this together in the months and years to come. Not necessarily baking, but doing something fun and creative with an intent to serve. I hope even more so that my children will develop a heart for serving others in our own community and around the world...even serving one another along the way! The world is smaller than we realize, especially when we expand our hearts and open our hands to reach around it.</span></div>Kathy Castorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14472704791064291744noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4257356303721631205.post-54184562277163375192011-08-06T12:24:00.000-05:002011-08-06T12:24:32.339-05:00Out of the heap (or something like that)<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Right now I am sitting down by the lake, watching my three sweet children swim.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My poor dog is going crazy, tied to a tree, leaving him just out of reach of the water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The cool breeze and the shade from the large trees mask the heat and humidity of another hot summer day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> T</span>he laughs and cheers from my children as they play and imagine together bring a smile to a quiet place inside of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Life, at this moment, is good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is a moment for which all the hard work seems infinitely worth it.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjARRm9ChozhrezCqaoRlVeTY82fsF-QO4yGQoGIRCGKTNydaCPfOQvNE4obkzM_H91NuqkyfGNpJKN86dWFkP-RTWFIifuXtJ9sXnE4wuEf6KMzjPIAVuz6-I20-4X2tKyimVJCCPTpsE/s1600/IMG_7094.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjARRm9ChozhrezCqaoRlVeTY82fsF-QO4yGQoGIRCGKTNydaCPfOQvNE4obkzM_H91NuqkyfGNpJKN86dWFkP-RTWFIifuXtJ9sXnE4wuEf6KMzjPIAVuz6-I20-4X2tKyimVJCCPTpsE/s320/IMG_7094.JPG" t$="true" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR8DenrvI8Q7CWAi5STo90zE9fvrOYMKPOLszSbh_tiUJFcjRa2k4B2kqyXZVrGoePndb1TBbbTHXHRyF1awmLXgtB3HN7YHFLuu4q5aSHg9eMxGAw6s6ccpUMzdF13Kh0IRDGPsJceDY/s1600/IMG_7091.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR8DenrvI8Q7CWAi5STo90zE9fvrOYMKPOLszSbh_tiUJFcjRa2k4B2kqyXZVrGoePndb1TBbbTHXHRyF1awmLXgtB3HN7YHFLuu4q5aSHg9eMxGAw6s6ccpUMzdF13Kh0IRDGPsJceDY/s320/IMG_7091.JPG" t$="true" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxCNnC2HYkwHbDuzoSBtE_Jelhp_Wzn-G0l1kknWVJqE_ZPsjwR3l9W-iL0SR2u__LegCkDE7cg8uxokWYm6IGnshFBrI-ZnWOi_CoWrt44ADjvxGekPe6FjOIns5uuSWdl6lAFjczdJE/s320/IMG_7097.JPG" t$="true" width="320" /></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhvDoWBiku4t7P67PTYslH60DG1ygZvtqJTp-_uF8hLFUg9Eu1M4IRbv8OaUogZDcSbhRkI_StwbkqaAK1RqJ9KnKlJpQDrpGVthihvX7iT3mk8zieIWIs0g6lRcrO81Kybf0uX9YklZg/s1600/IMG_7090.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhvDoWBiku4t7P67PTYslH60DG1ygZvtqJTp-_uF8hLFUg9Eu1M4IRbv8OaUogZDcSbhRkI_StwbkqaAK1RqJ9KnKlJpQDrpGVthihvX7iT3mk8zieIWIs0g6lRcrO81Kybf0uX9YklZg/s320/IMG_7090.JPG" t$="true" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yet, only an hour ago, I was a heap of tears and salty stained cheeks, sitting on the couch unmotivated to move.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a weighty moment of realization that my life is not quite the way I want or expected it to be.</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Before I continue, I must write a “disclaimer” of sorts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First off, this is one of those writings that I am not sure will ever make it to my blog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It may be just a moment of pouring out / writing therapy for me…as a way to walk through the things I feel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Secondly, no matter where this ends up – left on my computer, posted on my blog, or simply deleted – I need to say LOUDLY that I love so much of my life and those within it! I truly have much to be thankful for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So much so, that even as I write, I think “<em>really</em>…in the scheme of the world, do you <em>really</em> think you have it rough?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then I start to feel silly for even putting these words to the page. (See it’s therapeutic already.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thirdly, the feelings that I have – that left me in a heap – are not a result of someone but of something.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These are two very different things and I must continually keep this in perspective.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, I cannot imagine – though sometimes I’m sure I talk myself into thinking I can – a family that is more amazing, fun, unique, special, and just right for me than mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This too, I must remember.</span></div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Okay, so what’s all the blubbering about?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Simply put…it’s about the dark side of ADHD.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Okay – wait – one more disclaimer…I say the “dark side of ADHD” because there are many lovely-light sided-good-Jedi-like moments that are a part of ADHD.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For example – because of super strength and some super spontaneity (inherent in ADHD), my child skied doubles with his cousin the second time that he ever water skied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He thought it looked cool and, without hesitation or much forethought, decided he would “go for it.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not too many other just turned 9 year olds would ever even think that was possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also use this term because, as stated before, it is about the thing (ADHD)...not the person.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So back to the “dark side”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was struck once again – rightly or wrongly – by the fact that my life will never be quite like what I dreamed of long long ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why did this hit me today when so many moments are “just life” or “c'est-la-vie</span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">”? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It started with the office visit…the appointment we have every few months to monitor medications and make adjustments if necessary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I value these appointments as they provide us with a tool that optimizes learning and successful living.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But at the same time, they are an annoying reminder of life as it is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At one point in the past few years, we were attending appointments related to our needs approximately three times a month.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately, we were also slightly late for today's meeting – a combination of bad traffic and impulsive distractibility – which meant a bit of rushing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, this was, I believe, the first of these appointments for which we arrived late.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Quite a feat and no small victory.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps the lateness, therefore, added more to the sting of the appointment <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>today.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In spite of the <em>need</em> for the appointment,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>it went relatively well. Things are generally going nicely with the introduction of a "new" drug in June. Given observations of a typical day, however, it was determined that a slight "tweak" in dosing would likely be helpful, especially with school just around the corner. All in all, it was a pretty quick and painless meeting which was followed by a quick lunch at McDonald’s and good bye hugs to Ken.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Ken is off for a great getaway weekend with his brother, Dave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It should be a fabulous time of brotherly bonding and cheering for the Cubbies!)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The real impetus for the teary mess that ensued, however, was yet another hunt for medication.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes…hunt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Over the past year, I would estimate that 50% of my drug runs (which occur at least monthly), ended up with me running between (or at least calling between) two, sometimes three, different stores.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not enough meds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One drug, but not the other(s).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wrong date on the script.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pharmacy closing soon and can’t possibly fill them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> The dog ate my homework (no wait, that is a different kind of excuse).</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">This is how the hunt went today:</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Stop at Target pharmacy and ask if they have what is needed <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">before</i> leaving the counter. (* note: this is something I learned I must do anytime I go fill a script – I can not assume they will have what I need filled)</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When tech says they do not have <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">either</i> prescription, ask them to call the other Target pharmacy to see if they have it (prior to driving over – another lesson learned).</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When tech says the other Target does not have the drugs, continue shopping for the remaining items on our list.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Kids behaved well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Elly got her birthday party present.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Grocery items bought.</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">While waiting for the kids to check out some video games at Target, I call ahead to Walgreens to make sure they have the drugs prior to going over to the store.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>YES!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They have the drugs…well, all but 4 capsules of one.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can deal with that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Please put them aside for me…I’ll be right over.”</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Go through drive thru at Walgreens.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pass prescriptions through indicating that I just called and the one set of meds have been put aside.</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Different tech comes to the window and says she doesn’t have the meds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I explain again that they have been put aside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Phew.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She finds them and says both will be filled within 20 minutes.</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Kids and I drive around and look at a couple of garage sales to kill time...much to Elly’s joy and Ben’s dread.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Zac is indifferent, as long as he doesn’t have to get out of the car, he doesn’t care.</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">20 minutes later, I return to the drive thru window.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A faceless voice comes over the speaker and asks if the medications are an increase in dosage over the last time they were filled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Yes they are, “ I answer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The mystery woman then explains to me that the insurance has denied the prescription because they say that the increase in medication is not medically necessary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is actually an overstatement, I determine, as they are not saying it is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">not</i> necessary, but that they want the MD to <em>prove</em> it is necessary before they will pay for it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“They should come live at my house,” I say only half joking, “and then they will know whether or not it is necessary.”</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The woman continues to explain that a prior authorization is required, but I could buy the medication on my own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The two prescriptions would cost somewhere around $260 for the month, as opposed to roughly $20 with my coverage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could just buy a few days’ worth, but it could take up to two weeks to have the prescription authorization taken care of.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, due to the nature of the drug, once any of the meds from the script have been filled, the rest of the pills are void and cannot be filled. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A new script would have to be written and an original must be provided (did I mention this office is about 35 minutes from home?).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, I only have 2 days’ worth of his current meds left.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">·<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I tell the tech I need to call my MD and think about my options.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I pull away, the heat and salt of the tears drench my face, which is already wet with sweat born out of frustration and disappointment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pull over and put my face in my hands, trying not to cry too loudly, but unable to hide my sorrow filled frustration.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My children tend to me with gentleness and concern, wondering what has made me so sad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Zachary tries to explain it to the other two, though he doesn’t understand that the sobs are not just about unfilled prescriptions, but the weight of it all coming up again.</span></div><div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-add-space: auto;"><br />
<div> </div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">For the next hour or so, I played phone tag with the nurse and try to hatch a plan…a plan I have not yet decided on…there are few options, really, but I do not know just how many days’ worth of meds to purchase given the heafty price.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, for the hour or so after that, I tried to distract myself by catching up with others on facebook and e-mail. But somehow, when interrupted by little voices asking for something to eat or to go swimming, the weight just feels heavier and I sink further underneath it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One particular voice gets louder and more persistent, even as I ask for time to pull myself together and figure out the evening agenda.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, the tears just flow.</span><br />
<br />
D<span style="font-family: Calibri;">octor appointments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Medication hunts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>$$$ for appointments and medications.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>IEP meetings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fewer freedoms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More demands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Words that sting (from various sources, sometimes well intended).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Altered dreams.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> The "what ifs", "why nots" and "how comes". </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">And, yet...like usual, it was a relatively short lived moment - this ugly heap I was in. My pity party didn't last long. It couldn't last long...nor should it last long. I have far too much to be thankful for...and far too much life to live. I have, after all, an awesome family, an incredible husband, and three fabulous kids. I have a beautiful place to live and big trees in my back yard. I have food to fill my plate and a roof over my head. I have clothes on my back and shoes on my feet. My husband and I are both employed. My children are healthy. We have extended family and friends who love us and care for us. And, most importantly, I have <a href="http://kathycastor.blogspot.com/2011/04/i-can-do-this.html">El Roi</a>.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">So, here I sit, by the lake...soaking in the moment that was meant to be, my children enjoying the stuff that summer is made of, and my thoughts moving in the right direction. I anticipate an evening of pizza, <a href="http://kathycastor.blogspot.com/2011/07/whats-your-passion.html">Whale Wars</a>, and walking the dog. I feel lighter and brighter and less tear stained. Yep, this is a good moment. And, oh so much better than being in the heap.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">(* I have decided I would post this. My primary purpose in sharing, I think, is to be real and "transparent" because I know there are other mom's and dad's who share in the challenges of parenting - whether it is because of a specific area of need or just because this parenting stuff is not always easy. My hope is that if there are others in a heap right now, that it too would be short lived, and that they would know they are not alone by any stretch. Sleepless nights, emotional drains, and moments of "what was I thinking?" are not yours alone...and things get better...and you are not alone....ever. Thanks for reading!)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br />
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<div><img class="page-image" closure_uid_3rlsg7="23" galleryimg="no" src="http://docs.google.com/viewer?pid=sites&srcid=ZGVmYXVsdGRvbWFpbnxkaXp6eWRpenp5ZGF5c3xneDo3N2U4YzhkZDJiNzIyOGJi&docid=7566ed5a5a87e7f0a9340721cbf91afa%7C022ed18b670b0be50d062644e1ae54d0&a=bi&pagenumber=1&w=800" style="width: 800px;" /></div></div>Kathy Castorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14472704791064291744noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4257356303721631205.post-26046517050231790852011-08-02T11:21:00.000-05:002011-08-02T11:21:27.023-05:00Playing Dead?<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">A funny thing happened on my way to take a bath the other day. I was about to fill my tub when I noticed a little bug laying on the bottom. When I reached down to pick it up, the bug plopped over on it's back and played dead. I've seen "roley poley" bugs curl up and play dead, but this I had never seen. His tactic did not save him, however, as he got flushed away in spite of his survival strategy. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtTNWgOvZASADEzH8TPMYN1WxwUjUo7bRtm_4NImoXc0wtBGQNOwOnzFjPU6XLhdPB5swsOfv3DhcKJ_ldQ8ZvxntHN1hmdwFpbepmLATqP1DrA3lIPLVRcv7T3ebGCRWL3L6Ji0LkRI-D/s1600/mossy4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtTNWgOvZASADEzH8TPMYN1WxwUjUo7bRtm_4NImoXc0wtBGQNOwOnzFjPU6XLhdPB5swsOfv3DhcKJ_ldQ8ZvxntHN1hmdwFpbepmLATqP1DrA3lIPLVRcv7T3ebGCRWL3L6Ji0LkRI-D/s1600/mossy4.jpg" border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtTNWgOvZASADEzH8TPMYN1WxwUjUo7bRtm_4NImoXc0wtBGQNOwOnzFjPU6XLhdPB5swsOfv3DhcKJ_ldQ8ZvxntHN1hmdwFpbepmLATqP1DrA3lIPLVRcv7T3ebGCRWL3L6Ji0LkRI-D/s200/mossy4.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-size: small;">Later that night, I was walking my dog, Smudge. I noticed him sniffing and starting to paw at something in the dimly lit mulch. At first, it just looked like a blob of brown. Upon a closer </span><span style="font-size: small;">look, I was surprised to see a frog, lying on his back, legs spread wide open, playing dead. Again, this was something I had never seen before. As I gently tugged Smudge away from the cunning amphibian, he flopped back over onto his belly and hopped away to safety. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">What were the chances that twice in one day I would see two critters play dead when they sensed they were somehow being challenged or threatened? I know that some animals do this, but I'd never seen it nor expected to see it twice in just a few hours. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">After I saw the frog fake his own demise in an attempt to avoid confrontation, I started thinking about my own methods of dealing with the "threat" of attack or discomfort. It made me realize that, while I frequently deal with the things life throws at me, there are certain times when I would just as soon roll over, play dead, and hope the threat would just pass me by.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">Unfortunately, that tactic generally does not solve the problem. Like the bug now in the depths of the sewer system, curling up and playing dead in an attempt to hide away from the world, usually ends up with me feeling worse off than I started and trying to keep afloat. I guarantee you, had that bug tried to talk it's way through the predicament, he would be alive today (and probably traveling the world with me making me rich). Had he shown me some life and a little oomph maybe he would have ended up outside rather than down the drain...he was, after all, a harmless bug. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">Rarely do life's problems just go away on their own. Rarely do the situations that somehow "threaten" my ideal life just vanish by my hanging low and under the radar. Most often, they require some attention, problem solving, thoughtful consideration, and action. <strike>Sometimes</strike> Usually, they require more energy than I<i> think</i> I have, but that I<i> must</i> somehow muster. And, yet, in the end, when the problem has been successfully addressed, the energy put in is usually well worth it. Thoughtfully working through the situation - whatever it may be - is nearly always more freeing and fulfilling than rolling over and playing dead.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">On the other side of the coin, there are the infrequent times that I respond to a threat with arms swingin', ready for a take down! (I know that may have evoked just a few giggles or shocked inhalations as most have <b><i>never ever </i></b>seen that side of me.) While there may be, or at least <i>seem</i> to be, times when a fight is "necessary" (usually if it involves a threat to my children, my family, or underdogs in general), most times this fight back response is as unsuccessful as the lay-over-and-play-dead response. Fighting in response to threat is often a visceral reaction, not a planned out or thoughtful reaction. While I may be able to throw a mean hook (figurative or literal) in a moment of threatened frenzy, there are only certain moments when this is a useful and productive response. Unfortunately, sometimes when the fighter in me shows up, it can bring out the ugly in me. True. And, ugly is not a good look on me. </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I learned a bit about this struggle between fight or flight in response to threat when we lived in British Columbia (in Vancouver and Parksville). British Columbia is inhabited (in different areas) by a variety of bears and by cougars. In fact, Vancouver Island (where Parksville is located) "boasts" the highest concentration of cougars in the world. Shortly after we first moved to B.C., we learned that there are different ways to respond to each of these animals should you encounter them. If I recall correctly (feel free to correct me if I am wrong), if you encounter a cougar or a black bear, you first make yourself look as large as you can - standing tall, putting small children up on your shoulder, waving your arms - and back away calmly. If however, you are still attacked, you fight like crazy because your life depends on it and you may be able to scare or battle the animal off. Yet, if you encounter a brown bear or grizzly bear and are under attack, you drop to the ground, curl up in a ball and play dead - protecting your head with your hands as much as possible. Hopefully, the bear gives up and walks away. </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The funny thing about the BC "rules" for engaging wildlife attacks is that I often wondered whether I would remember which response goes with which threat. What if I play dead when I should fight? What if I forget to "look large" and instead run away looking more like a mouse teasing a cat? What would the outcome be if I respond in a way that is not prescribed?</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">In life, our responses to different threats are rarely prescribed. The "rules of engagement" are not clear based on the attack we feel. We can't filter through scenarios and choose the best reaction, wondering if we remembered the right plan. However, my personal history has proven that - whether I feel like I want to curl up and play dead or come out swinging - when I thoughtfully consider my options, take time to problem solve, strive for integrity, remember the Word, and pray, I am far more likely to have a positive outcome and survive the threat. Fortunately, there are few times in life when I am faced with a grizzly sized problem. Rarely, do I have a life or death cougar-like confrontation before me. And, hopefully, the next time I sense a threat to life as I know it, I will neither curl up and play dead nor fight with tooth and nail. Neither one sounds very fun or profitable. And, surely, neither one brings out the best (or beauty) within me.</span></div><br />
</div>Kathy Castorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14472704791064291744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4257356303721631205.post-21744731928332525892011-07-26T00:50:00.001-05:002011-07-26T19:50:49.107-05:00Ever Want a "Redo"?Do you ever have one of those days...or moments...when you wish you could turn back time? I would love to say that I never felt that way. But, the truth is, there are definitely moments when, if I could, I would turn the clock back and call a redo. <br />
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The funny thing about these redo moments, however, is that I would almost never choose to turn back time very far. Most often...dare I say nearly always...my time travel would consist of setting the clock back by mere minutes. I suppose there are the occasional times when I would like to jump through a time spanning wormhole that would deliver me back a few hours or days in the past, but not often. Nope. Mostly, I would chose to set my time traveling Delorian dials back 5 or 10 minutes.<br />
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Stepping without looking. Sitting up too quickly when tucking my son in his lower bunk. An unkind word. A raised voice. An unwise impulsive decision. A selfish action. Speaking before thinking. An impatient response. Ignoring a dog's signal that he needs to pee (ummmm...yeah....that just happened a couple nights ago). Ignoring that little voice inside my head urging me to do or not do something in the moment. Responding out of frustration. Not saying "hello". Saying "goodbye" too soon. You get the idea.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBtTPqYtJmLhc0x-rOiHHNIGXzeOdGEJrZ-eGIJQybIWk5hMSpP65t2Nkps319WsTxVvyQs_MH1JYoMT-hFNv1Heby2oDgcEk5vtHXpGshcXxMcipKO3raZ8rkrXIS_8eLJkb-RXcIyeo/s1600/IMG_6483.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBtTPqYtJmLhc0x-rOiHHNIGXzeOdGEJrZ-eGIJQybIWk5hMSpP65t2Nkps319WsTxVvyQs_MH1JYoMT-hFNv1Heby2oDgcEk5vtHXpGshcXxMcipKO3raZ8rkrXIS_8eLJkb-RXcIyeo/s400/IMG_6483.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The way I feel when I think I need a redo.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>While I occasionally long for a redo when something inconvenient or undesirable happens - cutting my foot, bumping my head, missing a great photo opportunity, etc. - I most often desire a chance to turn back time when the result is hurt feelings, interrupted relationships, a veering from integrity, or simply, but significantly, a yuck in the gut feeling. Sometimes, a simple pause...a catch of the breath...a cooling of temper...a count to 5...a focus on the Spirit...a consideration of feelings...a self reminder of who I am...or a quick prayer for clarity can make the difference between feeling "okay" (or even great) about the moment or wishing I could press life's rewind button. Usually, the difference is made by simply shifting the focus from myself to the other person involved and by remembering who it is I'd like to be more like.<br />
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I read a line somewhere on-line recently that caught my attention. As someone was signing off of a letter, they wrote the following: "Striving to be proud of everything I do today." What a great tag-line for life when used in humility. What a great line to keep the "I wish I would-uvs" at bay. If I consistently strive to be proud of everything I do, while keeping God and others at the forefront of my thinking, I bet I would have very few want-to-redo moments. <br />
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Before it gets any later and I end up wishing I could turn back time to get more sleep, I am going to head to bed. As always, thanks for reading. I hope it's been relevant, easy to relate to, and somehow encouraging to read.Kathy Castorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14472704791064291744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4257356303721631205.post-23623903636862826272011-07-19T08:00:00.005-05:002011-07-19T19:11:14.015-05:00Positively Phototactic!<a href="http://ecoglitz.com/wp-content/gallery/moth/attacus-atlas-female.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="http://ecoglitz.com/wp-content/gallery/moth/attacus-atlas-female.jpg" border="0" height="153" src="http://ecoglitz.com/wp-content/gallery/moth/attacus-atlas-female.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-size: small;">The other night, I put the backyard flood light on so I could take my new pooch out for a final 'go' before bed. When I came back in, I was amazed by the number of bugs hovering around the light and on the window screens. My first thought was "gross!" and my second thought was, "so why <i>do</i> insects go to the light the way they do?" I figured that I must have learned that at one time along the way, but I couldn't remember. So, being the geek that I am, I had to look it up.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Phototaxis. Phototaxis is the movement of a cell or an organism toward or away from a source of light. If an organism is positively phototactic, it is drawn toward a light source, like a moth. If an organism is negatively phototactic, it is repelled by the light, like a cockroach or a worm. Okay. I like that - phototaxis. But, why are so many bugs positively phototactic? Again, the geek in me had to find out.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">A number of sights suggested that bugs use the moon as a navigational tool. One theory is that bugs keep the moon light on one side or the other to keep flying in a straight line, similar to navigating a boat by a stationary point along the shoreline. When the bug sees a flashlight, floodlight, or front porch light, it gets confused and thinks that bright light is the moon. They head toward it thinking they are reaching their destination (although, I am not sure how much actual thinking is involved here) or are still on the correct flight path. When bugs endlessly circle the light, it may be an attempt to keep the "moon" to one side of their body in order to fly a straight path. Poor little guys get mislead and confused, resulting in a failed journey or (sniff sniff) death.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I, like a moth, am positively phototactic. I am drawn to light. On most days, if there is a sunny spot on the floor, from light streaming in through the window, I eventually spend a moment in that place and soak it up - the warmth and the light. And, while I tend to be a night owl as opposed to an early bird, there is something reassuring about the break of dawn...the light of a new day. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I am spiritually positively phototactic, as well. Wow - that was a mouthful! From an early age, I was introduced to and drawn to <i>the Light</i>. Jesus is called (and calls himself) the light of the world. In John 1:5, it says that the light shines in darkness and darkness cannot overcome it (or extinguish it). I am drawn to that light and everything it stands for, desperately wanting to be in the Light.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">And yet, there are times when I get distracted by shiny objects. Like a raccoon who gets his little mitts stuck in a jar while trying to pull out a shiny pop tab, I can sometimes get caught by the shimmery lights of something attractive - popularity, money, Facebook time, a TV show that may or may not be good for my mind and heart, the lure of doing nothing at all, a prestigious job, a decadent dessert, being "right", looking good, sounding smart, whatever it may be. It's not that any of those things are necessarily <i>bad </i>on their own: I'd much rather be an enjoyable chic who has a bit of knowledge than an annoying and ignorant hag-lady. I certainly savour a good sweet treat, especially in the company of friends. And, money is a necessary need and something I should deal with wisely. <i><b>But</b></i> when those things set me off course of the true Light and keep me from fulfilling the stuff I should be doing in the Light (namely being a benefit to others for the glory of God - in whatever shape or form that may take), I am like a confused bug in the night. When pride, focus on self, or focus on the "stuff" of the world become my guiding system, I am at serious risk for being mislead and failing in my life journey. Even good intentions can lead to destruction when they are not guided with integrity, honesty, and accountability (you know the saying about roads paved with good intentions). And, for me, my human attempts at integrity, honesty, and accountability fall short without the Light to illuminate.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I love the way creation points again and again to the Creator. Phototaxis points to the Creator. I am thankful for my positive phototaxis. I'd rather be like a moth than a cockroach any day. Hopefully, I will keep the right light in focus, however, and not get distracted by a shiny piece of jewelry, or worse yet, a bug zapper!</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="http://ecoglitz.com/wp-content/gallery/moth/attacus-atlas-female.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a>Kathy Castorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14472704791064291744noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4257356303721631205.post-36002635326845966012011-07-17T17:19:00.001-05:002011-07-17T17:19:34.028-05:00What's Your Passion?The other day I read a blog posting from an old friend of mine. We were "co-stars" in Tom Sawyer back in the day when Farrah Fawcett locks were en vogue. Apparently, patterned turtle necks under 3/4 sleeve t-shirts were also quite the fashion statement!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7zKFXQEaMMc3TtJxwdEn-syLi-pqSbzlahokmNYtDPMXGU4PTHsPTjgpDPA2IBIo3tBjj0tEQrCOU7qp9fOXBo4LvFJ8DaRzyDXxBMvLQL0TYBdX0ooccEth5etfOaLZrsnGmmvbEiKw/s1600/kathy+play.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="585" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7zKFXQEaMMc3TtJxwdEn-syLi-pqSbzlahokmNYtDPMXGU4PTHsPTjgpDPA2IBIo3tBjj0tEQrCOU7qp9fOXBo4LvFJ8DaRzyDXxBMvLQL0TYBdX0ooccEth5etfOaLZrsnGmmvbEiKw/s640/kathy+play.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>At any rate, <a href="http://stevedevries.blogspot.com/2011_06_01_archive.html">Steve</a> wrote about how he admired those who had "nerdy" obsessions or passions. He indicated that he was more of a Renaissance man with a wide scope of interests rather than a man with a passion about any one thing. As a result, he wondered whether or not this lack of a passion was healthy. This got me thinking.<br />
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Lately, my kids have hooked into a T.V. show that is filled with passion and obsession. Thanks (or not) to my dear sister Sue and her daughter, Jessica, my kids love to watch the show <a href="http://animal.discovery.com/tv/whale-wars/">Whale Wars</a>. I admit it, I too have found myself sucked in from time to time as we watch the Sea Shepherds try anything they can think of to rid the seas of the evils of whaling in protected waters. If you haven't seen the show, it is worth a gander if you want to see people driven to extremes for something they believe in. I admire their passion. I dig their gumption.<br />
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The "funny" thing about this show, however, is the number of times that passion and zeal turn into costly mistakes. Granted, the show would not be what it is without torn up inflatables, broken props, leaks in fresh water tanks, failing helicopter rotors, stranded team members, and so on. But it leaves me to wonder whether their passionate obsession is at times blind to reasonable forethought, planning, preparation, and carry through. Is the impulse to live out their passion in the moment of "engagement" with the whaling vessels short circuiting their common sense? As a viewer I hear myself shouting, "let go of the rope - you're gonna get hurt!" and wondering why in the attempt to "prop fowl" there isn't a smidge more mother wit amongst the Shepherds. And, isn't it true that we have all heard of people <i>so </i>passionately obsessed with something that they are so to the detriment of their relationships, their livelihoods, and to their own well beings?<br />
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Passion is absolutely necessary to get the hard work of the world done. I think most of the advancements of man - whether technological, scientific, human rights related, medical, spiritual, whatever - would not have occurred without a good dose of passionate obsession. Yet the passion, I believe, in order to be most effective must be tempered, to some degree, with practical perspective and sound problem solving. Reckless abandon can become quite wreck-full without some solid forethought and planning. An amazing spark of an idea ignited by passion can burn out quickly if there is not willful determination for patience, perseverance, and, perhaps, even long term "suffering". While I do believe that a person with fiery passion can also possess gifts and talents required for the long haul and perspective keeping, I also believe that some of the Renaissance men and women of the world (along with those even-keeled- but-really-good-at-what-they-do people) are necessary to keep a balance along the way - within a particular cause or generally within the world. A world full of passionately obsessive people lacking some Renaissance-like skills would surely cause some sort of chaos.<br />
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That being said, I believe that most people, somewhere within them, have a degree of passion for something; perhaps not a passionate obsession - which in itself may not be healthy - but some underlying sense of urgency or spark toward an idea, activity, person, or event. Maybe it is the area in which ones buttons are most easily pushed; the thing that you are most easily ruffled over. Maybe it's the thing you can't seem to shake from the back of your mind. Perhaps your passions are seasonal, changing over time or redefined based on experience or availability related to that passion. If circumstances were different, just maybe the ember of passion resting among the ashes could be fanned into a full on fire producing flame. Sometimes, we don't always know how to shape our passions into practical endeavors, however, which may make us doubt that there is any zeal or zest to begin with. I imagine if I sat down with Steve and chatted with him for a while I would find that he has passion hidden under practicality or circumstance. One guess, for example, is that his interest in many things is sparked by a passion (subdued perhaps) for an expanse of knowledge. No one said a Renaissance man has to imply a lack of eager dedication or drive toward something.<br />
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<a href="http://piecesofbee.files.wordpress.com/2011/04/fire-heart.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="http://piecesofbee.files.wordpress.com/2011/04/fire-heart.jpg" border="0" src="http://piecesofbee.files.wordpress.com/2011/04/fire-heart.jpg" /></a><br />
The bottom line, in my mind, is that we were all created uniquely with purpose and value. We all have our own gifts, talents, and interests. It would be horribly boring <i>and</i> thoroughly ineffective if we were all created the same way. Finding that thing or those things which make our hearts beat a little faster or our minds race a little longer is part of discovering how we were created and for what purpose. Neither the obsessively passionate nor the 'jack of all trades' is unhealthy when working in step with divine plan for which one was created. Either one can be a world changer...a mover and a shaker. What is that spark within you? Wherein does your passion lie? Or, if you are more of a well rounded life liver, what drives those things that give you your "roundness"? Whatever it is, it is not by chance, but by the thoughtful design of the One who made you.Kathy Castorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14472704791064291744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4257356303721631205.post-61273198299533358032011-07-16T00:24:00.004-05:002011-07-16T00:52:42.637-05:00Training the trainer<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yikes - it's been a long time! One may notice...and I hope <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">at least</i> one does...that I haven't written for a while.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I started a few times to get my thoughts down, but have been unsuccessful at penning a complete post.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I've got a few "valid" excuses, primarily lack of time and computer troubles, but the truth is I have mostly chosen not to write.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or, when I felt I might have a moment to write, the words just didn't seem to flow. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s been a little over a month since school let out and my summer started.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While this would seem to imply that I have more time on my hands, the reality is I have been more intentional with the time I've had.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I feel, in many ways, like I have wasted fewer minutes in the last month or so than I did when my schedule was full with "work".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My goal has been to soak up the time with my kids and pour out into them, giving them structured fun and learning opportunities.</span></div></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjc9Xl2KXJOX9pjZfwucJVjT5J3bGUredjTKiPeUAqJZLDDbutjfg7ewLPMBB6EnspStz_teREG5tr4TysDRl3pVTnY564P6neDZ-DHeuwQ5REjofkQ3_5pP4b4zwV64fyY3Le7-gUTt4/s1600/elly+lemonade.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="297" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjc9Xl2KXJOX9pjZfwucJVjT5J3bGUredjTKiPeUAqJZLDDbutjfg7ewLPMBB6EnspStz_teREG5tr4TysDRl3pVTnY564P6neDZ-DHeuwQ5REjofkQ3_5pP4b4zwV64fyY3Le7-gUTt4/s400/elly+lemonade.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRv6tvXCGJwLZ_aTcM68nWEYieZZCr6jZDdT20GD7o2mhHTReyAegAOu2J_HgdCdcCjGjhHCe41yOSKsnn88OVx1wa-XtRj9VFr16E3VyvqUd2yADW3SPKpJl4VPnyJAeTUFU4cvvts-0/s1600/ben+water.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRv6tvXCGJwLZ_aTcM68nWEYieZZCr6jZDdT20GD7o2mhHTReyAegAOu2J_HgdCdcCjGjhHCe41yOSKsnn88OVx1wa-XtRj9VFr16E3VyvqUd2yADW3SPKpJl4VPnyJAeTUFU4cvvts-0/s400/ben+water.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPvG_5yPbqVahRnI6nJiyiQbXodHhOT1Sh0r33GLURlf0KTcYcvT3sDjt6UD6TmbZtrXLvRA6ETffZ4GAVUp4i-vSeNCgMi41LlrshY0NKldOgoG7QvT1qUAXvsdw9Gt8J4AmL14ukjDs/s1600/zac+and+smore.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPvG_5yPbqVahRnI6nJiyiQbXodHhOT1Sh0r33GLURlf0KTcYcvT3sDjt6UD6TmbZtrXLvRA6ETffZ4GAVUp4i-vSeNCgMi41LlrshY0NKldOgoG7QvT1qUAXvsdw9Gt8J4AmL14ukjDs/s400/zac+and+smore.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>They have definitely had time for free fun without me hovering, but in those times, I seem to find myself working on projects or maintaining the home. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, as of last week, we added a dog to the mix and have an out of town hubby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mind you, I have watched a few Netflix episodes of Monk along the way… while working on projects or sorting laundry (okay...stop laughing at my choice)...but rarely has a minute been "wasted".<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, while I do not view writing as wasted time at all, there just has not been enough time to spend at the keyboard or to spin thoughts as well as I would like.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hence, my days away and my current attempt to write again...</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGZGoDazbnZjo9xKYiw1LaPsiFvS8nf_jtvcVSB1EVS-8fliNSoA8jS3Oh9RuC4tFKGummGj-iA4-fJGRsz2nNUEvmdKJdlq-mURN8KcvyO34RNRr-JzknhJXcma8v37RvNLDWArsMV0k/s1600/kids+and+smudge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGZGoDazbnZjo9xKYiw1LaPsiFvS8nf_jtvcVSB1EVS-8fliNSoA8jS3Oh9RuC4tFKGummGj-iA4-fJGRsz2nNUEvmdKJdlq-mURN8KcvyO34RNRr-JzknhJXcma8v37RvNLDWArsMV0k/s320/kids+and+smudge.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">In light of my new life at home full time with three kids and a dog, I have been thinking a lot about training.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Isn’t it true that, in many ways, training up a child or training a pet is less about training the child or the pet and more about training ourselves?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, isn’t it true that picking your battles well can be half the battle?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Since we have such a great yard and three kids that run around in it, I have a strong desire to train my dog, Smudge, to poop and pee in one particular area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>According to a number of well-intended pet owners and experts on line, this should be a relatively simple task.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Take pooch out to the same place each time he has to go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Praise him like crazy when he does.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Be consistent and he will soon get the hang of it and eagerly go where he is supposed to go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Huh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wish these experts would have a dog whispering session with my Smudge and let him know what his half of this plan is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cannot even begin to calculate the number of minutes – hours actually – that I have spent this past week in a particular spot behind our garage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The mosquitos are surely laughing at the crazy lady with wonderful veins who stands there just waiting to be eaten repeating “go potty” over and over again to an oblivious dog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For some reason, my dog – a sweet beagle spaniel mix – has a bladder of steel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Honestly, he usually only goes twice a day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Yes, he has all day access to water)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One would think he would want to go first thing in the morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nope – nothing, not even a trickle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And pooping – ugh – last night I was out with him for a long time, brought him in, took my eyes off of him for one minute thinking he was with another family member, and found him starting to go in the boys’ bathroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>ARE YOU KIDDING ME?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ran him straight out to finish his business in my designated area and then praised him for “going potty OUTSIDE!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tonight I figured with three successes and a save within the last day and a half, I would have no problem getting him to go again in the “right” place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was not gonna happen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, after standing around in the same place for far too long, I broke my training plan and took Smudge for a walk/run around the block and visited with the neighbors for a few minutes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then, after watching Smudge pounce on a baby frog, I took him back to the spot for several minutes more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nothing.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioUNPwcRes6ARutP0Y8Rl7sR_nEA2Wtwg55ypQ6tJn6vJp534agWJyVRU4dV4Fc1-HXOlq2ugLrqr16SPgPVZJxvPjpHhGzVZ5CqwX8vXESLixsxYWJSyFxp9pHW_vptM5LaB-W6CpWAw/s1600/smudge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioUNPwcRes6ARutP0Y8Rl7sR_nEA2Wtwg55ypQ6tJn6vJp534agWJyVRU4dV4Fc1-HXOlq2ugLrqr16SPgPVZJxvPjpHhGzVZ5CqwX8vXESLixsxYWJSyFxp9pHW_vptM5LaB-W6CpWAw/s320/smudge.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was at that moment I decided that I needed to surrender, or at least compromise, this battle for the moment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was driving myself crazy, feeding multiple mosquitos, feeling like I was wasting a load of time, and clearly not making headway with my puppy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At that moment, I abandoned my post and decided to walk him around my yard for just a little more time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure enough, back near the woods, he decided to do his thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Good boy!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Good potty outside!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was happy he got the job done within my yard, but silently mourning the lost battle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wonder if Smudge was silently celebrating his victory or if he was just relieved to have relieved himself in a place that fit his olfactory preferences best. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tomorrow morning, I will need to decide how badly I want to get him to go where and when I want him to go...and whether it’s a battle I want to continue and work to train at this point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Consistency is so often the key to training.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When training up my kids, I am most successful when I am consistent with them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Consistent boundaries, consistent rules, consistent expectations, and follow through.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes, in my fatigue or my busy-ness, I give up an opportunity for beneficial follow through. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On occasion, it’s not a big deal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But sometimes, especially with particular personalities, my lack of a reliable response results in a step back in behavior or a manipulation on the part of my child.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My lack of carry-through can create the behavior I want to extinguish.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As well, when I want to be successful with fitness, I need to be consistent in my training.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My recent lack of consistency in fitness is annoyingly evident, but not enough so that I have forced myself over to the Y or onto the treadmill in my warm garage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will likely be bugged by the fact that I’m softer than I want to be, but have only myself to blame.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Consistency in exercise and a healthy diet, as “hard” as it may seem sometimes, is the only way to ensure that I am doing my part to shape my shape.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is hard to be consistent sometimes, but the payoff is directly related to the time put in.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Time in prayer or in God’s word is the same way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I don’t…more aptly, when I don’t… consistently seek some time to spend with the One who wants to spend time with me the most, I lose headway in my “spiritual training.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just like it is easy to put off the gym or a guiding instruction to a child, it is far too easy for me to put off my time with God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This avoidance or simple neglect leads to a greater gap in the relationship that I know I need to feed the most.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>While I may long to be tight with God, if I don’t do my share of the work, by consistently thinking about and spending time with Him, it just won’t happen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And, in reality, this battle is the most important one for me to choose to fight and fight well.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I wish I was more of a steady ship sometimes...that I could set my course and never waiver...that I never lacked the consistency and discipline required to be the perfect parent, the most fit 40 year old around, and the closest friend that Jesus could ever have. And yet, I know that I likely will never be any of those things. However, I know that I am still growing and - if I allow myself to be - still being shaped by the One who knows me best and sees me even in my weakness. As I've said before, He's not finished with me yet. For that, I am <em>consistently </em>thankful!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBEa-tebnRNW01EClFhMk7C2n8cei4I0Hhbkj3d2IGg1nSwWnl5203Z715ZWcSRcp8rQlIw-RqzZb7DjziFCdqzyWJB2ZLw9eIdyJA9_21BS331S3Ghg00zOZ3m9oexx7izRh7kStELd4/s1600/tape+on+mouth+mom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBEa-tebnRNW01EClFhMk7C2n8cei4I0Hhbkj3d2IGg1nSwWnl5203Z715ZWcSRcp8rQlIw-RqzZb7DjziFCdqzyWJB2ZLw9eIdyJA9_21BS331S3Ghg00zOZ3m9oexx7izRh7kStELd4/s400/tape+on+mouth+mom.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can you believe I am posting this picture? This was last winter at my sister's cabin before some late night skiing, I think.</td></tr>
</tbody></table> <span style="font-family: Calibri;">I feel as if I could write more or at least edit what I’ve written to make it flow more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I am going to end here or this will be one more started and unfinished posts waiting to be completed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have been consistently going to bed too late this past week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is one consistent habit I need to change so that I am not too tired to soak in, pour out, and be consistent with my kids and my Smudge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope to get back into the swing of things and write more often again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We will see.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have certainly missed it, but have been thankful for the things that have taken up the time gained by not writing.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">As always, thanks for reading and feel free to share your thoughts or ideas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is always an encouragement.</span></div>Kathy Castorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14472704791064291744noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4257356303721631205.post-84909913961424717582011-06-11T23:11:00.000-05:002011-06-11T23:11:56.517-05:00Oh Mickey You're So Fine....I'm not entirely sure how it happened. I blinked. And that was it. She was once a little smidge of a thing and now....now she has graduated. Oh, I know that a lot that happened in that "blink of an eye", but it feels, in some ways, like that was all it was...a blink. A flash. A hiccup. However, in reality, a grand total of 6659 days somehow flew by in what felt like a mere snap of the fingers. MacKenzie, my niece, has grown up.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbZmNWKujFhw7VsTAzupCh0rI0zngSV03F4NWJ4nK7OrQS9sZ0YUpJ8R-oo2XFi0FefWRR7j518rN6VSol4JP54vK01jYglfj3z3zZk2BX27l8fjcr0oJz5BZ6kx6IABQWS6hiA_CS_WA/s1600/Mickey+and+Kathy+grad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbZmNWKujFhw7VsTAzupCh0rI0zngSV03F4NWJ4nK7OrQS9sZ0YUpJ8R-oo2XFi0FefWRR7j518rN6VSol4JP54vK01jYglfj3z3zZk2BX27l8fjcr0oJz5BZ6kx6IABQWS6hiA_CS_WA/s400/Mickey+and+Kathy+grad.jpg" t8="true" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Before the big event!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I was there when she was born. It wasn't supposed to happen that way, actually. I was visiting my family over Spring Break, a week or so before she was expected. In my heart I really wished I was staying longer and figured I wouldn't get to meet my sister's first baby until well after she arrived. But, leave it to God's timing. My sister went into labour while I was still on my break. I had the privilege of being at my sister's side through much of her labour and then, unfortunately, outside the O.R. during the emergency C-section that finally brought Mickey out into the world. After my brother-in-law, I was the first to get to hold MacKenzie and had the joy of helping with her first bath. Although my time with this newborn was brief, it was a sweet blessing and honour to me.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_beNBnpb5HmvNYsBtZkDdwcV4Qy88XEFw5z-OFI3wDuQgrygCB_m54693qrqAjLMbNBKp3sDQSQXS4ddNfQO6iTH9FXghRcYVvIpi0mNr5NdvWqC6gVxAzAIbOuTVn8MM68JLquNwxt8/s1600/Mickey+at+wedding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_beNBnpb5HmvNYsBtZkDdwcV4Qy88XEFw5z-OFI3wDuQgrygCB_m54693qrqAjLMbNBKp3sDQSQXS4ddNfQO6iTH9FXghRcYVvIpi0mNr5NdvWqC6gVxAzAIbOuTVn8MM68JLquNwxt8/s400/Mickey+at+wedding.jpg" t8="true" width="287" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mickey on my lap at my wedding, just before turning 1 year old.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Despite a few months of colicky crabbiness as an infant, MacKenzie has always been a model kid. One of my best memories of Mickey was driving across the country, from Minnesota to Vancouver, British Columbia. She was about four years old at the time. Her parents, Sue and Pat, agreed to help Ken and I drive our moving van, with car in tow, as we moved to go to Regent College. Ken and I drove from Indiana to Minnesota on our own and then continued on with the Chacich gang as our back-up support and encouragement. It was quite an adventure. <br />
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The moving van, a large U-Haul, was a four seater. It had two front seats and two rear cab seats, which faced inward toward each other behind some tied back cargo netting. Now, if you are any good at math, you will have already figured out that we were one seat short for our cross country journey. In order to remedy this situation, we decided to set a short beach chair on the floor between the two inward facing chairs, thus creating a five seater. No, we did not make Mickey sit on the floor. She was safely secured in her car seat on one of the inward facing seats, behind the black cargo netting. However, given her positioning, her small size (even in the car seat) and the loosely tied cargo netting, presumably available if there was cargo and not people in the rear cab section, the poor little bug could hardly see a thing outside the back cab space, let alone outside the van. For three or four days she rode like this. She didn't complain. She didn't cry (at least not enough for me to remember). She didn't make a fuss. She just went along for the adventure, taking it all in stride. At gas station stops, which were unreasonably long due to a gas tank issue, she "helped" wash windows and chased grasshoppers with her auntie. She even endured crazy hotel stops that had their own little hiccups and a long wait at the Canadian border. She was a mini rock star!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg53S1nzn2RidmjhL1kogPixDUSfhfS-8EEuuH65WFrhKXlzcBCTbu9k7ZMmNytRDwZ3udrweDqTZ5F9CK6pKU9kHLqLwcmShfuYyIW_Qoq8-VCSP5nVa3Vkjxy_rTyw-_lgCubwJJd7ko/s1600/mickey+about+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg53S1nzn2RidmjhL1kogPixDUSfhfS-8EEuuH65WFrhKXlzcBCTbu9k7ZMmNytRDwZ3udrweDqTZ5F9CK6pKU9kHLqLwcmShfuYyIW_Qoq8-VCSP5nVa3Vkjxy_rTyw-_lgCubwJJd7ko/s320/mickey+about+2.jpg" t8="true" width="227" /></a></div>MacKenzie is a kid of character. She cares for others, serving and sharing when she can. She works hard with honesty and integrity, earning her honour cords for academic achievement. She has a foundation in faith, not just blindly following, but wanting to understand for herself the spiritual legacy she has been given. She loves life, laughing at herself and stepping outside of her comfort zone from time to time, rarely taking herself too seriously it seems. She is a lover of justice who aches over hurts in the world, desiring a job as a nurse, perhaps in an area of poverty for a time. She loves her family, immediate and extended, making family time a priority and crying when her faraway family leaves from a visit. I remember far too many of those tears...hating the moment my car would have to pull away from her driveway or when we parted ways to head toward our respective homes. Mickey is easy to be around, rarely putting herself before others, but often going with the flow...though not so hot at making decisions (the two of us together are hopeless decision makers). I like to think I'm Mickey's favorite aunt, but she knows she's not "supposed" to have a favorite...I'll just pretend that I am.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6B9PadiVdY0e9uUgsRs2XMMuK0QecsFuLJ3wmu3i1cNrBZJwbdg5wCIDvJ2AnBZ_8ge7zJ9X5q9_z1z1ppjgAAKO_CgKnxM6Cmx3IHOphyphenhyphenNXRhYs60HWS2TuNplGj0AqSLwhtyIHBONc/s1600/mickey+grad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6B9PadiVdY0e9uUgsRs2XMMuK0QecsFuLJ3wmu3i1cNrBZJwbdg5wCIDvJ2AnBZ_8ge7zJ9X5q9_z1z1ppjgAAKO_CgKnxM6Cmx3IHOphyphenhyphenNXRhYs60HWS2TuNplGj0AqSLwhtyIHBONc/s640/mickey+grad.jpg" t8="true" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pat, Sue, Jessica (little sis), Mickey, me, Mom, and Dad following Mickey's graduation ceremony.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
From a sweet little munchkin of a girl to a lovely young woman, MacKenzie has grown up beautifully. Although, much to my chagrin, I have lived away from her nearly her whole life, I have been deeply impacted and encouraged by Mickey over the years. I am thankful for memories etched in my mind and on my heart. I look forward to hearing Mickey's stories from NDSU and finding out how well she is doing in the adventure of university life. But, I can't deny that I will be sad to say goodbye at the end of the summer, knowing that I won't see her around near as often as I'd like. I will miss getting down with her at Zumba and helping her on occasional school projects. And, family get togethers just won't be the same. But, I've already told her that I'm happy to come have sleep overs in her dorm whenever she wants me to. I'm sure none of her friends will think it's strange that her 40 year old aunt is staying over....after all, it was only a few years ago when I was living in a dorm too, wasn't it?<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizBtiL0FkIMGGirAOkLUwZ0hZkQck27bEjwv6JNfXgPFLHr11S9CGPbjeooZw_ajnupPHZWhvZM7TqzWTwoX6YWKkX1IWIGq2p4igdcvwj0t0832ghAjHbiBwtZZNGRX-7IBflAA9QbWU/s1600/silly+with+mickey+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizBtiL0FkIMGGirAOkLUwZ0hZkQck27bEjwv6JNfXgPFLHr11S9CGPbjeooZw_ajnupPHZWhvZM7TqzWTwoX6YWKkX1IWIGq2p4igdcvwj0t0832ghAjHbiBwtZZNGRX-7IBflAA9QbWU/s320/silly+with+mickey+2.jpg" t8="true" width="320" /></a></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZl7iYtJtxbVMvxAho6sHi_wUOxEmWuSRLgaHjtYBenZUhcOYWHVq0Pm4tJmNYCFmVrTYuOMrHPDTqkCvEY9dV86IcZlSH1Rm4SeuJ2Anq9AF30yl-z7Hbhi-wc0jZgBAbpiWAHihwXSs/s1600/silly+with+mickey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZl7iYtJtxbVMvxAho6sHi_wUOxEmWuSRLgaHjtYBenZUhcOYWHVq0Pm4tJmNYCFmVrTYuOMrHPDTqkCvEY9dV86IcZlSH1Rm4SeuJ2Anq9AF30yl-z7Hbhi-wc0jZgBAbpiWAHihwXSs/s320/silly+with+mickey.jpg" t8="true" width="320" /></a><br />
Congratulations, MacKenzie!! I love you and am so very proud of you. May God guide you every step of the way as you move into your next blink of an eye. And know that I am always here for you if you need an auntie to call on.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/SvQex1RQ5G4?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div> (For the longest time, Mickey thought this song was written about her - an old favourite!)Kathy Castorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14472704791064291744noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4257356303721631205.post-35011994296802389252011-05-31T23:29:00.000-05:002011-05-31T23:29:14.633-05:00Can you pat my back?At least twice a week, after I think my children may be asleep, my bedroom door slowly opens with my little man Benji on the other side. He stands there, occasionally disoriented, looking at me calmly with wide, but sleepy eyes. His usual request, "can you come pat my back?", falls softly from his mouth, surprisingly quiet for such a typically boisterous boy. And, on most nights, I agree to check on him "in a few minutes" as long as he goes back to bed and stays in bed.<br />
<br />
Tonight was no different. Typing away in the dark, I didn't notice the door swing quietly open at first. Then suddenly, a slight movement caught my eye and there he was...standing in the doorway yet again. Clearly tired, but not fully ready to give up the battle, he quietly said, "Would you come pat my back?" As usual, I responded, "I'll be there in a few minutes..."<br />
<br />
Five minutes later, I quietly tiptoed into Ben's room. Not a creature was stirring. Ben was already fast asleep, looking content and peaceful. Despite his slumbered state, I leaned in, patted his chest gently and kissed his forehead. It is not entirely unusual...this falling asleep after requesting that I come in to pat his back or check on him. I think, in the anticipation of my coming...in knowing I am near...there is a peace that falls over his little heart and mind, allowing the elusive sleep to settle in and make itself at home. In this moment, I am reminded that this little sweetheart, the one who probably stretches me most, seems to constantly ride the line between desired independence and desperate need for reassurance. <br />
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And yet, isn't that true of so many of us? We desperately want independence - the ability to stand on our own two feet - and yet we long for some reassurance that we are not in "this" - whatever the "this" may be - alone.<br />
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I know it is true for me. I waffle, at times, between a sense of confident strength and the need for someone to stand with me...or, even, to carry me in a moment of weakness or frailty. While I much prefer my "I am woman here me roar" strength, there are moments when my strength comes, in part, from what someone else is able to share with me. At times, I just need to snuggle up into the arms of my Ken to regain the sense of calm that was somehow elusive only moments earlier. Other times, I need my sister or a friend to share my heart with. Even if they don't have the "fix", their presence in my life is a reminder that I am not walking alone. Oddly enough, in this age of social networking, sometimes even a reassuring word or encouraging note from a far away friend can lighten the load that life can sometimes bear. And, most often, when I take it, my time alone with God can renew my sense of purpose and of worth. <br />
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I love that my little boy loves me. I love that a word from me, as simple as, "I'll be there in a few minutes..." can bring him peace enough to sleep. I love that he feels that way because of the relationship we have. I love that it reminds me of the relationships I have with those who are my cheerleaders and champions...those in whom I know I can call on in a time of need. And, I love that it reminds me of my eternal relationship that I have with the One who made me. It reminds me that in my weakness, He is strong. It reminds me that in my weakness, He gives me others to stand along side me...to stand in the gap or hold up my arms when I no longer can. It reminds me that He will never leave nor forsake me...not when I am trying desperately to be independent (and, perhaps the one inadvertently doing the leaving or forsaking)....nor when I am in desperate need for His tangible presence to sustain me.<br />
<br />
And with that, I, too, am going to go to bed. As I go, I am calmly confident and reassured. And, I trust that sleep will not be elusive tonight.Kathy Castorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14472704791064291744noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4257356303721631205.post-59212553082833750452011-05-25T19:06:00.002-05:002011-05-25T19:11:00.248-05:00When I Grow Up...Tuesday was my day off with Eliana. Unfortunately I had to spend a good chunk of my time doing some busy, but extremely important, work and could not "play" as much as I would have liked. And yet, Elly just hung out next to me most of the day. Never far from reach, often expressing little encouragements, and simply being by her mom.<br />
<br />
While we probably <i>should</i> have had a free lunch at home, we decided to go out to one of Elly's favourite places...you guessed it, McDonald's. We weren't able to go until quite late due to said work that wasn't going quite as smoothly or quickly as I'd hoped. But, Elly patiently waited, watching a bit of T.V. and chilling out next to me.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzzHAeRTjBTo1zo6DuTTkXTHpkosVtgvHfbu3dOlmFMzIBQMOcX5ntv6_U70DNswR0RzsfUNiRhP-7Y6k-e98VAIrftQeZ-WpodQxInP_3rcSOBOke78YvsJxYKwSTJrmzp8FUyjwGhuc/s1600/IMG_5201.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzzHAeRTjBTo1zo6DuTTkXTHpkosVtgvHfbu3dOlmFMzIBQMOcX5ntv6_U70DNswR0RzsfUNiRhP-7Y6k-e98VAIrftQeZ-WpodQxInP_3rcSOBOke78YvsJxYKwSTJrmzp8FUyjwGhuc/s640/IMG_5201.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Clearly not McDonald's - just a fun shot!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiG6L19xVojkRRb7JV6kQx8WeKhoYn6vEXP7_hkx11D1pLnsKe17RJxbWq7q8S6ybCQsWL4BNknwts3X_EfAe2g974GzvgoaQqGOVnDHlYIf3ODFCmjfit_4aKLCKIxtY0NxRn3_GTZ_o/s1600/IMG_5360.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a></div><div style="text-align: right;"></div>At McDonald's, I watched Eliana with a sense of admiration. When we pulled up, she confidently hopped out of the van in her fashionable gray sweater dress and gray tights. She bounced into the restaurant with a light heart and a hint of confident, but respectful, sass. At the counter, she chatted freely with the woman on the register and a man wearing dirty boots and a worker's jump suit. She wondered where he worked to get such dirty boots. She wasn't quite sure what to do when he replied that he drove a truck all around town and down dirt roads picking up garbage. But, nonetheless, with a simple prompt she told him thank you for telling her where he worked. She twirled for the register lady, showing off the dress that earned her a compliment from behind the counter.<br />
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Once we got the food, she eagerly went into the play area (ALWAYS my favourite place to sit!) and found a seat. We were the only ones in there, but there clearly had been a rush earlier as a number of the tables were still dirty. I gave her three choices from the clean tables available. "This one has a little wet spot, but that's okay!" she smiled as she slipped into her seat. She then gleefully pulled out her apples, chicken nuggets, chocolate milk and zooble toy. You would have thought she was enjoying Christmas dinner and opening a special gift. And she chatted away, commenting on big things and little things that many people don't even notice. It caused me to comment, "You know what's cool about God? He cares about the big things and the little things too. Nothing's too big or too little for Him." She briefly pondered this comment and then continued on, talking about her brothers and other things that made her happy. While it may sound like "excessive" talking, it wasn't. It was just fun.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUPDyp311q2saHwqzsl2BHYPp17h-U7kBssLJJjq8I7xY1OEvwn63VByaq7Q-WyWyaj4dDfooqsTa6rgWmzS9x5Lvu5pxLHzf1Rq4itbvqCESuv9H2qdgJjygTCYvK8MaBwc5SbbYEcDI/s1600/IMG_5327.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUPDyp311q2saHwqzsl2BHYPp17h-U7kBssLJJjq8I7xY1OEvwn63VByaq7Q-WyWyaj4dDfooqsTa6rgWmzS9x5Lvu5pxLHzf1Rq4itbvqCESuv9H2qdgJjygTCYvK8MaBwc5SbbYEcDI/s640/IMG_5327.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Again....Not McDonald's.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>"Do you think I should give my stomach a break and play for a little bit?" she sheepishly grinned and asked. I normally say no to mid-meal play breaks, but what the heck? "Sure," just be sure to wipe your hands really well before you go on and when you come back. Up she popped, wiping her hands and skipping over to the play equipment. While she played, an employee came in to wipe tables and clean up spilled milk. As Elly scrambled off the end of the slide, she cheerfully greeted the young man. "Hello!" she yelled. And up she went again. "Watch me drive, Mom! Can you see me up here in the window?" She chattered on about who knows what and the cleaning guy, who'd also seen us when we first came in, asked, "how old is she?" "She's five...well, five and a half," I replied. "Wow! She sounds really smart," he said. "Yep, she's a smarty," I replied, not totally sure what to say. As he and I chatted about a variety of things...yes, I do often talk to the workers of fast food restaurants...she occasionally popped by and chimed in. After a little while, cleaning guy said goodbye as he left the play area, thanking us for coming in to eat. "Goodbye! Thank you!" Elly yelled out her encouragement.<br />
<br />
As we left McDonald's, I prompted Elly to say goodbye and thank you to the woman who helped us at the register. She attempted without success two times and then scooted closer to the counter. "Goodbye and thank you!" she cheerfully echoed. "You are welcome! And thank you!" said register lady. And then Laquilla (I think that is the right name), the familiar manager, asked Elly if she would like a kiddy cone. "Hooray! A kiddy cone!" Elly said as she bopped over to the counter. Again - Christmas in May! "Tell Miss Laquilla thank you," I prompted. "Thank you, Miss Laquilla"...and then "Thank you, Miss Melanie" (aka register lady). And out she went practically skipping, just as she came in.<br />
<br />
As I watched Eliana, admiring her confidence, her positive attitude, her desire to connect and make others feel good, her joy and delight in the simple things, her sweetness, her charisma, her innocence, and her unabashed fun, it hit me. "You know what, Eliana?" I said as I buckled her into her booster seat. "What, Mom?" she said licking the edges of her cone. "When I grow up, I want to be just like you," I said. She laughed and said, "Mom, you can't have blond hair like me!" "No, no," I said, "I want to be like you" and then told her a few things that I saw in her that I liked. Elly just grinned and started to bite her kiddy cone cone.<br />
<br />
It is true. As I grow up...or at least grow older...I would love to be more like what I saw in Elly today, and most days, actually. And, I would love to be more like what I saw in my <a href="http://kathycastor.blogspot.com/2011/05/as-fine-as-frogs-hair.html">Grandma</a>. It is possible. He's not finished with me yet. He's begun a good work in me and will be faithful to complete it (Phil. 1:6). I'm sure of it! <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIo8y-rG3A2aepkiZVkBivVYV7shFn9jQ_Mo9VPv24ocen76cEQoSQKXPLNCQLFH_jzGDJNXvhos6Gc0kK1HDn8iYqDjFkiFTqjAoP8JdVbiSG1yEjeY91hlQcQJMFpytdantk5qhXYtU/s1600/IMG_5360.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIo8y-rG3A2aepkiZVkBivVYV7shFn9jQ_Mo9VPv24ocen76cEQoSQKXPLNCQLFH_jzGDJNXvhos6Gc0kK1HDn8iYqDjFkiFTqjAoP8JdVbiSG1yEjeY91hlQcQJMFpytdantk5qhXYtU/s640/IMG_5360.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Definitely not McDonald's! But how fun and free spirited is that?!?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Kathy Castorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14472704791064291744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4257356303721631205.post-7487246706927391852011-05-24T21:12:00.000-05:002011-05-24T21:12:53.277-05:00As Fine As Frog's HairI hope this finds you fine as frog's hair! That's how my Grandma Mader used to start nearly every letter or card she wrote to me. It always struck me so funny and brought to mind images of frogs with fine wisps of hair and wee little combs to manage it. I've never heard anyone else use this phrase of endearment and, until today, I'd have been shocked to ever hear it again. I am sure now, however, after this post, it will become a household greeting that sweeps the nation.<br />
<br />
This past weekend, I spent a lot of time getting dirty with my kids. Digging...planting...finding worms...finding frogs (make that toads)....and fishing off the dock. In the midst of this dirty play, I found myself thinking a lot about my Grandma Mader. It kind of caught me by surprise. My grandma has been gone for a long time now and, because of living so far away for so many years, I didn't see her very often in the many years prior to her passing. In fact, there are days when I grieve that my memories of her are not clearer...that I didn't really get to know her when I was old enough to really appreciate her.<br />
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My Grandma and Grandpa Mader, one of the cutest couples you would ever meet, lived in the small town of Antigo, Wisconsin. Antigo, about a four hour drive from where I grew up, was, and for all I know may still be, one of those towns that just felt like a step back in time to simpler and quieter days. It was the land of baseball, hotdogs, apple pies, and Chevrolets...or so it seemed...with corner candy shops, a Dairy Queen, an old funny smelling department store, and flags flying in many yards. In my mind's eye, I picture the old hospital, my Grandparent's church, the local park and swimming pool, the farms on the edge of town, and the houses along a tree lined street. More than that, I picture my Grandparents' home and their cabin which, while a definite drive out of town and into the wooded countryside, seemed like an extension of "home" while we were there. I picture the "kitch" and true treasures that my Grandma proudly displayed, African Violets, the lake, the art work and funny sayings hanging in halls and in the bathroom, and the enchanted woods of the Mader's Pleasant Acres. The smell of my Grandpa's pipes, baking pastries and infamous kolaches, old home basement, and big ole artery hardening breakfasts linger in my memories. The sound of ticking clocks - cuckoo, grandfather, chime - that kept me awake when I slept on the Davenport always seemed in contrast to the otherwise still and quiet home, rarely interrupted by any artificial "modern" noises (aka white noise), but often interrupted by a good story, laughter, a fish tale, or the sound of playing cards and poker chips.<br />
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One might wonder how in the world I went from digging in dirt to thinking of my Grandma. To anyone who knew my Grandma, the leap is only a small one. My Grandma was an amazing gardener and was often found with her hands in the dirt. I believe she may well have been a plant whisperer. Her home was surrounded by flower beds and rose bushes while she boasted two large gardens in her back yard. I honestly can't recall all of the flowers, fruits, and veggies that she had planted. In her basement, she had an African Violet mini-nursery. She knew how to grow these often fickle plants, giving them just what they needed to grow - even in a basement. Often, when I see a garden that is somehow impressive, I think or say outloud, "Man, Grandma would have loved to see this garden." And just the other day, as my daughter was talking about Lady's Slippers, the Minnesota State Flower, I immediately thought of my Grandma walking with me in the enchanted forest pointing out this delicate looking flower. Grandma Mader had a gift for growing.<br />
<br />
Pulling up worms with the kids also made me think of Grandma. She was no prissy, afraid-to-get-dirty grandma. She could bait a hook and catch fish with the best of them. In fact, I'm not sure who enjoyed fishing more, my Grandma or my Grandpa. And, without a doubt, she had her share of tales about the ones that got away. And, while she had her rules about fishing that had to be followed, she was almost always open to having a little one tag along in search of the elusive monster fish lurking just out of reach. Grandma Mader had the guts for getting dirty.<br />
<br />
Although it has nothing to do with dirt, I cannot think of my Grandma without thinking of her baking and hospitality. One of the things that made the four hour drive to Antigo bearable to an antsy little girl, besides the 8-track tapes of Oklahoma (OOOOOklahoma where the wind - kuklunk - comes sweeping down the plains) and Roger Whittaker and mystery radio theater (ouch - just dated myself and revealed my geekiness!!), was knowing that upon arrival, I would be greeted with hugs, kisses, and fresh baked pastries. To a child with a sweet tooth, it was almost paradise. To top it off, nearly every meal was completed with some sort of sweet treat carefully crafted by loving hands. I don't recall, though it may have happened, her ever "rationing" out her treats. I do recall, however, her asking me to run a dish of goodies or a packaged up meal across the back yards to a neighbor in need. And, I do remember that she didn't seem to waste a thing. Grandma Mader had a heart for hospitality.<br />
<br />
My memories of Grandma Mader are not nearly as clear and neatly packaged as I wish they were. I envy my sister's and older brothers' recollections of times they had with her and Grandpa. Their stories seem much more coherent and vivid. I regret not making a point to make a few extra long haul road trips to see them before it was too late to see them again. Yet, the things that matter most will always linger in my mind and settle on my heart...the way my Grandma grew...not just flowers, but compassion and love toward others, and a creative spirit that encouraged me to run in her back yard, check out butterflies, and dare to try my hand at a new game of cards (and not get too bothered by my incessant singing while playing). The way my Grandma got dirty...not just literally (in the garden, among the worms and the fish), but figuratively as well...surviving the Depression, living humbly and giving freely, sharing her faith and encouraging mine. The way my Grandma showed hospitality and taught it to me...welcoming "weary" travelers, being prepared for someone to stop by unexpectedly or to give to someone in need, visiting those who needed a lift of spirit, always making me feel welcome and walking along side of me.<br />
<br />
I was rejuvenated digging in the dirt this weekend. I felt as if I had missed working the earth and digging for worms for far too long (odd, I know). And, surprisingly, I was refreshed by the memories of an amazing woman who was unexpectedly brought to mind. I hope the memories don't flee too soon. I have much to learn from them and am not yet ready to let them go.<br />
Kathy Castorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14472704791064291744noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4257356303721631205.post-90811683039901310352011-05-19T23:20:00.001-05:002011-05-19T23:42:39.917-05:00Parenting on the Edge<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipIJhnyKuop6wZ_vVpBvXYBVhIzB0mrowDEcsvzXz9meMjnaxgVgAotb0MOCQ-IyDREpOB_yshvbVbtp-PWoRYnY_JrYaaUODM80TDpelYA_o0N3mn2YwvgGimPd0AXb2eAuKmsextA38/s1600/goose+family.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipIJhnyKuop6wZ_vVpBvXYBVhIzB0mrowDEcsvzXz9meMjnaxgVgAotb0MOCQ-IyDREpOB_yshvbVbtp-PWoRYnY_JrYaaUODM80TDpelYA_o0N3mn2YwvgGimPd0AXb2eAuKmsextA38/s320/goose+family.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(not my geese - photo from northstar-realty.com)</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
I see her nearly every time I drive down this particular stretch of road. She stands between the small lake and Marshall Road, with her mate nearby. Their gazes seems to shift back and forth between the babies and the road, making sure they don't venture out suddenly. At times, this mama goose and her man stand right on the edge of the road with babies in line as if waiting for an opportune time to cross. I often cringe as I drive by, sometimes shouting in my head, "why on earth don't you move those little babies!?!".<br />
<br />
<br />
These geese are living on the edge of a dangerous world...a moment of impulsive-gosling-road-dashing and their family size could diminish by one or two. Yet those geese clearly love (as much as a goose can) their little babes and are doing their best to keep them safe in the place they have made home. Oddly enough, I see other geese doing the exact same things along the sides of other roads and lakes. It seems like the goose thing to do.<br />
<br />
As a mom of my three amazing kids, I can relate to that mama goose. In today's world, we are really living right on the edge of a dangerous world. There are potential risks around every corner, aren't there? Yesterday, in fact, I had a wee scare when I couldn't quickly find one of my kids who went outside just before dinner, leaving the immediate area without letting me know. We searched in the house, we looked in the front and back of the house, and then I hopped on my bike and took a little ride through the neighborhood, knocking on one friend's door. Although I knew my kiddo was likely fine, my mind started to jump to the possible dangers... what if he got hit by a car? what if he wandered off to one of the lakes or ponds and somehow fell in? what if someone grabbed him? what if he rode his bike the wrong way and got disoriented? what if....?<br />
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Thankfully, as I was heading back to the house, thinking I'd have to call Ken home early from a meeting, I heard his familiar voice call out, "hey mom!" as he came out of an empty lot that he'd been biking in (behind dirt mounds so that he was not easily seen and did not see me). <i> </i>I was relieved, thankful, and a little ornary. The relief and thankfulness won out over the ornary and I was able to calmly yet firmly express my concerns and remind my kiddo about rules and dangers and expectations. "I just don't want anything to happen to you," I kept repeating.<br />
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Some days, I feel like I just want to isolate my kids...take them and my hubby and move to some remote corner of the world where they can't be touched or tainted by the world and the influences therein. I want to protect them from those who might bully them. I want to protect them from the creepy guy who might suggest they send him something highly inappropriate on their cell phone. I want to protect them from adults who think it's okay to do drugs with young kids, even their own children. I want to protect them from the hurt that causes a suicide attempt that resulted in permanent brain damage. I want to protect them from pressure or decisions that results in a 15 year old raising her 5 month old and, therefore, having a really tough time making it to school every day and living a typical teenage life. I want to protect them from so many things that I encounter on a regular basis in the schools I work in (yes, those are all stories from my school, all of which occurred within the last few months). And, I want to protect them from the things that just happen in life. I wish I could take them and isolate them...but I can't.<br />
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When Ken and I were in Florida we learned about a certain bird nesting in the J. N. "<i>Ding</i>" <i>Darling</i> National Wildlife Refuge. I'm not positive, but I think it was a <a href="http://www.photoseek.com/86GAL-11-06-Yellow-Crowned-Night-Heron.jpg">yellow-crowned night heron</a>. Besides being a beautiful bird, it had a unique nesting strategy. It chose to nest above the place where alligators often lie or nest, even if it was right next to the road. The naturalist said that it nested above an alligator because the alligator keeps away other predators that could more easily sneak into the tree to steal an egg or a baby bird. He said, although the birds had to be careful not to knock an egg or baby down to the alligator below, they would go to any length to keep those eggs and babies safe, even if it meant a less than comfortable place for them, above an alligator and next to the only road going through the refuge. Funny that they would choose to live next to a road and above an alligator, rather than find a comfy quiet nest in the middle of the refuge or on a sunny spot (my favorite) in a mangrove tree at the edge of the water. But, they somehow know that the seemingly most comfortable place isn't the best place for them to be.<br />
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As a mom, I would go to any length to keep my babies safe. And yet, I need to live in the world where we are placed or where we have been led. I clearly can't take them and isolate them away from the world...within that response, there would only be perceived safety. I can't be with them every minute of every day - <i>that certainly wouldn't be a safe idea for anybody, we would allll go a little crazy and make some not so great choices, I'm sure</i> (chuckle chuckle) - they need the opportunity to make choices, grow and learn on their own, developing outside relationships along the way. Part of keeping my babies safe is helping them to learn to navigate the world independently.<br />
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I can't isolate my children from the world. But, I can love and protect my children as best I can, standing guard along the side the edge of the dangerous world (or, more precisely, <b><i>in</i></b> the dangerous world), watching for traffic and sending out warnings when necessary, ensuring they learn all the things they need to to become confident, caring adults of good character. I can encourage them in their faith and help lay foundations of integrity, justice, humility, caring, and good choice making. I can pray <i>for</i> them and pray <i>with</i> them. I can point them to the One who created them. I can hold their hands when they need me to and step out of their way when I should. I can love them unconditionally, even when I don't like the condition of a choice they made. I can provide a place to call home and a place to always come home to. I can walk hand in hand with my husband as we parent, sharing in the joys and the frustrations, trusting that we both want the same things for our children. I can ask others for help or encouragement when I need it to be the best mommy that I can be. I can admit my mistakes and learn from them - and there are many to learn from. And, perhaps more than anything, I can trust that God is with me through every step I take as a parent...even if, in a moment, I feel alone standing on the edge of something bigger than I can handle on my own. He has gifted me with these three babes and wants the very best for them. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh37SDzYSne0Sn6tKjinVcfaIbIeI0JJ2DvdaTid6ztgBp-coVd6S0_EzSoNSrFDFUmAWx3GWQNfBCUYY6LCDF1-idC93U79lPhnYRew7SlPrtLIAZtOJaNhRouyFAJ4t-CQM5Hdpof1qo/s1600/zac+smore.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh37SDzYSne0Sn6tKjinVcfaIbIeI0JJ2DvdaTid6ztgBp-coVd6S0_EzSoNSrFDFUmAWx3GWQNfBCUYY6LCDF1-idC93U79lPhnYRew7SlPrtLIAZtOJaNhRouyFAJ4t-CQM5Hdpof1qo/s400/zac+smore.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My three during our S'more cookout. S'mores are really just the best!</td></tr>
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I would love to relocate that sweet goose family to a place that seems safer than the side of a busy road. My guess is they would find their way right back to where they are now. It must be just the right place for them. I won't relocate them, but I will expectantly watch for them each time I drive past. And, I will hope with great hope that they grow up safe and sound, ready to return next year.<br />
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If you have a babe of your own, give them an extra squeeze from me. If you don't have a babe of your own, encourage someone who does. And, as always, thanks for reading!Kathy Castorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14472704791064291744noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4257356303721631205.post-28843720140552257222011-05-08T17:17:00.000-05:002011-05-08T17:17:29.790-05:00Run, Kathy, Run!<div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">As I wrote about Ben's first track <a href="http://kathycastor.blogspot.com/2011/05/run-ben-run.html">meet</a>, I found that I needed to sit for a while in my own teachable moment about not looking around when your running a race. Rather than stick my thoughts in the middle of that entry, I thought I would add another one. So here it is...</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">How often do I get distracted when running my races in life – as a person of faith, as a wife, as a mother, as an employee, as a daughter, as a sister, as a friend? It’s not surprising that I get distracted at times given all the roles I have. I enjoy all the roles and would not want to give them up (except, at times, the employee bit). But, far too often I forget to keep the main things, the main things. Far too often, I get distracted by the “stuff” of life. I get distracted by what others might think of me. I get distracted by things that don’t even exist yet, a.k.a. the unknowns (what will happen when….? What if I don’t have enough ….? How will we ever …?) I get distracted by things that don’t necessarily <i>add</i> to the joy of the moment or to the purpose to which I am called. I get distracted by things that may not even be all that good for me (<i>she writes as she grabs just one more Whopper Robin Egg from her left over Easter candy</i>). And, yes, I can even get distracted by things that may seem entirely good.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Ultimately, I know that all of my life’s individual races or events fit into the culminating race of my faith journey – being called by and following in the footsteps of Jesus, living each day and moment to God’s glory and for the benefit of others. I know this and yet, daily, I get tripped up, looking to the side to see who or what is going on around me. Daily, I get distracted from this critical marathon of life. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">In fact, even writing this blog can be a distraction if it doesn’t somehow fit into my calling (in the moment or in the long run). If I get so preoccupied in getting the words out that I miss the life going on around me, I am not keeping my eyes on the prize, but allowing "stuff" to get in the way. Even if what I am doing is a good thing - exercise, ministry or building relationship with others - it can become loose gravel causing me to stumble if it stands directly in the way of my first callings to love and develop my family for God's glory. If my motivation is wrong while I run - if I am consumed with "what will they think of me now?" - my sprint to the finish will be in vain as insecurity or pride weighs me down. If I find myself comparing me to others or being critical of someone for no good reason, I know that my eyes must not be strained on the right thing. When I caught myself wanting to get in on the gossip at work the other day, I knew I was tripping up in an ugly kind of way. Needless to say, it was not the kind of finish I would want to have at work or in life.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
God surely intended for us to enjoy this life - as evidenced by all the cool stuff He created. He also intended for us to take care of ourselves and be healthy and well. So, I don't want to be a stuffy, serious, and boring race runner who is so focused on winning that I forget to enjoy the scenery and those on the track with me. That is far from what God intends for me and far from what I intend for myself. And, yet, I need daily to dig into the race and focus on the things that will get me to the finish line in good standing – <b>spiritual disciplines</b> of reading scripture, meditating, and praying, as well as, <b>relational "disciplines"</b> of encouraging, loving, engaging, and serving. Enjoying the race? Absolutely. Detrimentally distracted during the race? I sure hope not. Trusting that despite my flaws I can finish well? You bet!<br />
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Oh, and by the way, for all of those who have cheered for me along the way ("Run, Kathy, run!" "You can do it, Kathy!" "Keep looking ahead!"), I am forever grateful. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"> </span><br />
<div style="color: blue; font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: small;">1 Corinthians. 9:24</span><span style="font-size: small;"> Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize.</span></i></div><div style="color: blue; font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br />
</div></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Hebrews 12:1-2 Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a huge crowd of witnesses to the life of faith, let us strip off every weight that slows us down, especially the sin that so easily trips us up. And let us run with endurance the race God has set before us. We do this by keeping our eyes on Jesus, the champion who initiates and perfects our faith.</span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Kathy Castorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14472704791064291744noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4257356303721631205.post-56140932786295267372011-05-08T17:16:00.001-05:002011-05-08T17:18:57.495-05:00Run, Ben, Run!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1BOu7nemybUExTzhIlcnd6KjzljWoDCaX1oN3K_2Ozw_0DCi4wK_EOa8hoWyf-mG6DoyyHk_BjCY7N6b7PQKIr2BIUe9KAkzhGIUOMihad25vRkJzaRrJafWjSOLRTbp6lVJQElt0GcA/s1600/Ben+stretch+track.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1BOu7nemybUExTzhIlcnd6KjzljWoDCaX1oN3K_2Ozw_0DCi4wK_EOa8hoWyf-mG6DoyyHk_BjCY7N6b7PQKIr2BIUe9KAkzhGIUOMihad25vRkJzaRrJafWjSOLRTbp6lVJQElt0GcA/s320/Ben+stretch+track.jpg" width="236" /></a></div><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"> Ben participated in his first track meet yesterday. His first practice was earlier in the week and he is not yet completely sold on the merits of this sport yet. This is not surprising, however, given that Ben would much prefer to hang out with his siblings, play video games, or do something with his friend across the street than participate in anything that might give the allusion of missing out on something better. Nonetheless, off we went at 8:20 a.m. to race like the wind amongst 300 other young athletes. Remarkably, we were the first of our team to arrive at the track. This act in itself was worthy of a ribbon! </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">I'm not entirely sure why, but the morning's events started off with the two longest races; the two longest, that is, with the exception for the extremely daunting 800 metre (1/2 mile) which is run at the very end by the die hard kids (or perhaps more aptly described, the kids of die hard parents who are living vicariously through them and urging them on). I do not recall seeing Ben ever running 200 or 400 meters at a time before, at least not in a flat out run with no other purpose than running. I'm sure he has easily gone these distances and more playing "Capture" at the cabin or tag in the back yard, but this was different and I wasn’t sure what to expect.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">The kids lined up out of my view half way round the track. I couldn’t see Benjamin and I felt a little anxious about how he might be feeling…and how he might do. Was he nervous? Did he need me there to offer him starting block encouragement? Would he remember to stay in his lane? Would he keep looking straight ahead? What if he trips? </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">The gun went off and I waited in anticipation for his jewel blue shirt to appear. There he was! From his staggered start position, he was moving up among his peers and then he was breaking out ahead. I am sure I was yelling louder than any other parent in the crowd. “Go, Ben, go! Go! Go! Keep going!!!” And then I saw him looking to the side…the thing I told him not to do…to see where everyone else was. “Look ahead! Keep going! Don’t look back!” I continued to yell. While looking to the side, Ben visibly slowed down slightly, seemingly unconcerned about winning, but appearing comfortable and at ease on the track. </span><span lang="EN-US">As he ran past, I ran with him. I am sure I looked a bit silly with my big ole camera bag - a banana resting on top - flung over my shoulder, running with camera raised, and yelling my pretty little head off. </span><span lang="EN-US">“Go, Ben, Go!!! Eyes ahead! Run!” </span><span lang="EN-US">The banana fell off somewhere in my brief sprint and was later handed to me by a giggling mom. “You lost your banana,” she laughed.</span><span lang="EN-US"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">In the end, Ben finished this 200 metre race in second place, behind a boy who passed him just after he started looking off to the side. It was a proud moment for Ben and for me. He'd done an excellent job on his first race! It was a natural teachable moment for us both as well – “don’t look back when running your race.” It's likely, had he not looked back, he would have made first place. But that's okay! </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">(*for some additional thoughts on this teachable moment as applied to me, <a href="http://kathycastor.blogspot.com/2011/05/run-kathy-run.html">click here</a>.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moving up from his staggered start</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moving into the lead position</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In the lead and looking off to the side..."will that guy in the red catch me?" or, perhaps, "hmmm, I wonder where Mom is."</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2nd Place!! First ribbon of the day and a proud moment.</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">By the time we left the track (we had to leave before the shuttle run and the dreaded 800 due to another commitment and the fact that the meet ran a little long), Ben finished with a ribbon in every event that he participated in. In fact, he ended with the above mentioned 200 metre second place, one fourth place (in the 400 metre), and FOUR first places (100 metre, 100 * 4 relay, running long jump, and the baseball throw, which is the predecessor to the shot-put). </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg_ec6vERKrLWnhOvxvqdVEd69ywToGuRo73ZwPxO-aPWH3Fz1Pd6AmfQIrPcjyS_8nlfPy-sZoi-VfiCA-WAimUDEHCRdPMy5_2MplcspwVUkTTGBhdHy3rphIAmqd19X3ngvFWYD-2M/s1600/IMG_5410.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgg_ec6vERKrLWnhOvxvqdVEd69ywToGuRo73ZwPxO-aPWH3Fz1Pd6AmfQIrPcjyS_8nlfPy-sZoi-VfiCA-WAimUDEHCRdPMy5_2MplcspwVUkTTGBhdHy3rphIAmqd19X3ngvFWYD-2M/s400/IMG_5410.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">AMAZING!!! Was I ever a proud mama! Not bad for a novice or for someone who really isn’t sure whether he likes track. I am hopeful that Ben will decide that he likes… maybe even loves...the sport. I know he feels good about doing well. Yet, I hope along the way he finds he enjoys it even if he doesn’t win a ribbon every single time. I hope that along the way that I can reassure him that I am proud of him even when he doesn’t place or come in first because he is looking off to the side, enjoying the moment, or simply has an "off" day. I hope that along the way, he can develop a positive “work ethic” and perseverance toward something that doesn’t always seem fun. More than anything, I hope that somehow, Ben can gain glimpses of God during his moments on the track and within this Mom cheering him on from the infield or stands.</span></div>Kathy Castorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14472704791064291744noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4257356303721631205.post-23074698860259164432011-05-05T21:59:00.000-05:002011-05-05T21:59:17.843-05:00Lots of things make me smile each and every day. And yet, I realize that I should find more reasons to smile. When I'm having a particularly bumpy day, I occasionally force a smile - even a fake one - because, sometimes, just the feeling of a smile can make me feel better. And, if my fake cheesy grin doesn't lighten my spirits, it is sure to give someone else a chuckle as they wonder what is wrong with me and my joker face. <br />
<br />
In addition to my usual smiles over the ordinary stuff, I thought I would share two other things that made me smile today.<br />
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Smile #1<br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">This afternoon, I took two of my three kids swimming. The other one I dragged along much to his chagrin. He'd hoped I would let him stay alone, but "not tonight," I said, "we might need to run to the store afterwards and I don't know how late we will be." After an uncharacteristic protest, he knew there was no escaping this fate. Rather than swim, however, he chose to sit and work on one of his Superteam Comics. While three of us "exercised" our bodies, he exercised his creativity.</div><br />
At our YMCA, there is a Vortex pool. The Vortex is an oval shaped current pool that allows you to exercise by working against the current or "go with the flow" and ride along in the current. I, personally, enjoy getting a good work out against the current and then kicking back with a pool noodle for a relaxing float. <br />
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Hanging out in the Vortex today was one of "the regulars". This particular "regular" makes me smile every time I see him. I don't know his name. I don't know much about him at all. What I do know is that he is a large young man, likely a teenager, who is loved by God and valued beyond measure. My guess is that he has a diagnosis of a severe cognitive disability and autism. I've never heard him say a word, but I hear him every time he is there. I learned that this young man, along with some sort of support worker, comes pretty much every day to partake in this special daily routine.<br />
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The thing that makes me smile about this young man is the amazing enjoyment he clearly gains from his nightly plunge. He spends an hour or more going around and around in that Vortex. He slowly bobs up and down in the current, sometimes rolling over, sometimes completely submerging himself. Much of the time, he vocalizes loudly, nothing specific,but clearly happy. While he appears somewhat oblivious to others around him, he manages not to run into anyone else sharing the waterway with him. Every so often, his support worker tosses him a ball, which he holds onto as he circles. When he comes around to her again, he hands the ball back to her. Much of the time, his face holds no readable expression. But suddenly, without warning, he might break into a large grin with eyes that sparkle as if he is keeping the best secret ever. My guess is, although he can't express it, he enjoys this experience more than anyone else in the Y. Despite his "limitations", he is living these moments full out with unabashed delight. He is literally soaking in the moment and living out loud. Every time I see him, I am challenged, encouraged, and delighted. Every time I see him, he makes me smile.<br />
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Smile #2<br />
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I love the great outdoors. Unlike many women, I don't mind roughing it or getting a bit grimy. Some of my favourite moments are those spent in nature. Our Calgary home, therefore, was a bit of a stretch for me. While the amazing Rocky's were not far from where we lived, our yard and neighborhood itself was far from my ideal physical environment. Good neighbors - yes! Good scenery - no.<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">This evening, after returning from the YMCA and a quick grocery stop, I headed outside to tend to our bird feeder. This, in itself, brings me much satisfaction as there is a great variety of birds in our back yard. In addition to my bag of seed, I carried along some corn cobs. The corn was for our resident deer.<span style="font-size: small;"> We don't see them now near as much as we did in the winter, but tracks in the yard bear witness to their continued presence. On a few occasions, we have had 9 deer at a time in our yard. At any rate, as I stopped to put out the corn - <em>I usually take a minute or so to break off some of the kernels</em>-, I looked up into a big tree in our woods. Over a few days at the end of February and the beginning of March, we saw a raccoon in that big tree. Ever since, then, I often look into that tree, expectantly hoping to catch a glimpse of our little friend. Sure enough, there <em>they</em> were...not one, but two large raccoons. After a moment they looked up. For a few minutes we stared at each other. I waved the corn as a peace offering half hoping (and half nervous) they would climb down to greet me. Eventually, they scurried into their hole in the tree, peeking back out before making a final farewell. What a treat! And then, to top it off, I heard loons chattering on the lake across the road. In that moment, I felt so privileged and humbled. I know it may sound cheesy, but I just am so grateful to have this available to me, just outside my door. I couldn't help but smile and thank God for this amazing ending to my day.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI7hfKMUtsbORZhgavdfi1w5EcVz9gJ6gP9Tjj_dWUtR8b78f4gB-JeVR0iqQixUIq4YA_I6CQJXCFnJCQDzIdRshd6TD8VshJCDOPvK7HhsTtHz-0XExxxGEg_P5pcbzffiHH0WAOHIs/s1600/racoon.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI7hfKMUtsbORZhgavdfi1w5EcVz9gJ6gP9Tjj_dWUtR8b78f4gB-JeVR0iqQixUIq4YA_I6CQJXCFnJCQDzIdRshd6TD8VshJCDOPvK7HhsTtHz-0XExxxGEg_P5pcbzffiHH0WAOHIs/s200/racoon.bmp" width="178" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">What makes you smile? Feel free to share...chances are, it will make someone else smile too!</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">[I actually wrote this last night, but need to do a quick read over before posting it because it got too late last night. I thought I would add that tonight, while coming home from the YMCA -<em> I had Zumba, which also makes me smile and would make you laugh</em> - I saw a little red fox about 3 miles from my house. Once again, I had to smile and give thanks for the creation critters that roam so near.]</div>Kathy Castorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14472704791064291744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4257356303721631205.post-43947717549462727462011-05-03T00:19:00.000-05:002011-05-03T00:19:46.483-05:00No chance to say goodbyeThey didn't giver her any warning. No hints about what was coming or when. They simply showed up at lunch and gave her the news. It would be her last day at school. They were moving away. <br />
<br />
"You should have seen her, Kathy," Ben's teacher said. "She just cried and cried. She was a mess." They came, ate lunch, told the sweet 2nd grader the news, and then left her behind to finish out the day in a heap of tears. They didn't even warn Mrs. K until that morning, so no party or special goodbyes could be planned. Just here one day and gone the next.<br />
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"How long ago did she move?" I asked. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKp0oj87y9W4I_UydlyudRa15zcnFdWNi-3npj9mVqF2fLvZpPSDuXxEAMVSPgn2uO55wRQagqXWpdXQFfV61btRACLW1xGJkho_yHgums31A5KA3dDj9rVkzdqGBwqcuwkWFFaITmlpE/s1600/eeyore.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKp0oj87y9W4I_UydlyudRa15zcnFdWNi-3npj9mVqF2fLvZpPSDuXxEAMVSPgn2uO55wRQagqXWpdXQFfV61btRACLW1xGJkho_yHgums31A5KA3dDj9rVkzdqGBwqcuwkWFFaITmlpE/s200/eeyore.jpg" width="196" /></a></div>I suspected that I already knew the answer. The day before, I started forming a hypothesis in my mind about when Ben's best classmate, Kaylee, moved away. You see, approximately three weeks ago, we had a really bumpy "off" week. My middle man was more sensitive and readily frustrated than usual, walking around like Eeyore under a rain cloud, but with no overt or apparent explanation. But, for some reason, just the other day, I recalled that a month or so prior to week of gloom, I learned that Kaylee would be moving "sometime" before the end of the year.<br />
<br />
"Ummm...let's see...that would have been about three weeks ago," Mrs. K said reflectively.<br />
<br />
I knew it. Within my heart I knew there must have been a reason for the drearier than usual week or so in the beginning of April. And yet, my sensitive man, who doesn't always find the words to express himself, <strike>did not</strike> could not explain what it was that troubled him so. From all outward appearances, things were business as usual around the house and at school, but clearly something was brewing inside. I just couldn't figure out what it was. Mrs. K probably figured Ben would tell me this significant news, but his broken heart wouldn't betray him. Instead, he simply buried the hurt I now suspect he felt and exchanged it for an external attitude and cloud of dread.<br />
<br />
When I realized all of this, my heart just broke. My heart broke for my son's sweet friend Kaylee. I just couldn't imagine how hard that day must have been for her. Without warning, her whole world changed. The security of life as she knew it was shattered in the span of a 20 minute lunch in a crowded <a href="http://kathycastor.blogspot.com/2011/02/surprise-lunch.html">cafeteria</a>. No goodbye party. No special goodbye book or photographs. No opportunities to exchange parent e-mail or snail mail addresses to give at least the allusion that friendships could somehow continue from a distance. No chance to say goodbye to the staff members that weren't present that day. [Mrs. K mentioned that, just a day ago, they found a note taped to the wall for one of the other staff members who wasn't able to say goodbye. Kaylee wrote it and taped it on the wall without telling anyone, with the hopes that this other special adult in her life would find it.] No chance to process the move with her parents prior to returning to class and sticking it out through to the end of the day. "She just kept crying." <br />
<br />
I wish I could have been there...to hug her, to reassure her, to tell her how happy I was that she and Ben were friends, to let her know that she would make good friends again soon, to hug her again, to remind her that she is a valuable person, to thank her for making Ben's move to a new school just a little bit easier. I wish I could have been there to show her I cared about her. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXWIHa1sO6zRbUBBQ0bJzmnBftqQlZnridvp_VV0d8jBQO_QETBKhQMhCqr8t9-4ae7ovYKTsNT_b1qWtWKw_ZcmzRtIbiMTc60S5PdEdeYLwgukL9kbEP7OKZAvjUYevJTNCr2MJOptk/s1600/broken+heart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXWIHa1sO6zRbUBBQ0bJzmnBftqQlZnridvp_VV0d8jBQO_QETBKhQMhCqr8t9-4ae7ovYKTsNT_b1qWtWKw_ZcmzRtIbiMTc60S5PdEdeYLwgukL9kbEP7OKZAvjUYevJTNCr2MJOptk/s320/broken+heart.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>And, of course, my heart broke...crumbled really...for my Ben. I ached for his tender heart that surely felt this as another loss, whether or not he could verbalize it himself...first his tummy mommy, then his best friends in Parksville (Ty and Nick), next his best friend in Calgary (Isaiah), and now his best classroom friend here. I felt sorry that I didn't know and couldn't help him process through seeing his friend fall apart, knowing she would no longer be his best peer connection in an environment that challenges him on a daily basis (in really good, but really hard ways). I couldn't help but feel sad knowing that I did not know why he was acting the way he was, but was so frustrated by it. In reality, had I known, perhaps I would have been more patient, more gentle, more of something that he needed to work through this. As many mommys might, I worried that my amazing son might not quickly find another little friend to help fill this need in his life...how valuable it is for each child to have at least one classroom friend that they feel they can be themselves with. Kaylee, for whatever reason, was this person to Ben. From what I understand, Ben was that to her as well. She was always the first of Ben's friends to greet me when I stopped by for a visit and the first one he picked to join us when we sat at the Guest Table. I wish I had known and could have been there for Ben...given him a safe place to share the feelings he might not have even understood or was afraid to voice. I wish I could have known and given Ben an extra bit of attention and care...maybe cut him some slack...and just loved on him even more. I wish through this time, he would have known just how much I cared about him and the things that are of importance to him.<br />
<br />
I should have known something was up. I just couldn't put my finger on it. I should have known better, but I didn't. Sometimes I hate these life lessons as they can be painfully humbling, reflecting a weakness in my perceived perfection (*note: I am giggling inside as there is NO perceived perfection here. However, I do perceive myself more put together than I am sometimes...and sometimes, I perceive myself less together than I really am. Funny - in a sad sort of way - that we play these silly head games, waffling between pride and insecurity. That is a thought for another day, however). At any rate, as sad as I was for Kaylee and Ben, I was happy to know the root of the ugly that hung around for a few days. I was glad to have a "reason" for the exaggerated yuck. As well, it reminded me that while always finding excuses for crummy behaviour isn't a good thing, understanding when there is something more than meets the eye is. Perhaps this experience will help tune me in a bit more to the moments that I would rather tune out. And, perhaps, it will remind me not to take my Kaylees for granted.<br />
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Now, go hug your kid (if you have one) and tell one of your Kaylees how much you appreciate them. And, as always, thanks for reading!Kathy Castorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14472704791064291744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4257356303721631205.post-35299579816279661262011-04-29T23:17:00.000-05:002011-04-29T23:17:08.814-05:00Kids that color together...One of my favourite things is seeing and hearing my children get along with one another. There is such contentment in watching them work together, play together, and encourage one another. A kind word shared between two or three of them is like a song to my spirit. A helpful hand or supportive gesture is a gift not only amongst themselves, but directly to me as well. Cooperative laughter and giggles is the best kind of medicine.<br />
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<br />
One of the cool things my kids enjoy doing together is drawing or coloring. Over the last year, especially, I have found them time and time again, lined up in a row, coloring together. Often times, one starts out, proclaiming that he or she is going to color. Before I know it, another has joined in. Eventually all three are lined up in a row at the bar or gathered round the table. Often, Zachary can be found coaching or encouraging the younger two as they strive to draw something as intricate or "awesome" as he did. At times, Elly asks Ben to help her as well, such a confidence building moment for this big brother. Much of the time, stories are generated along with the drawings...wonderful creative minds at work.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There are, of course, some moments when the cherubs do not get along so well. But moments like those above are a soothing salve over the scrapes of sibling rivalry. The joy found in a simple act of putting pen to the page <em>together</em> bonds these three in special ways. Who knew the power hidden in a <strike>marker</strike> moment of togetherness? I can't wait to experience more and more of these moments along the way. Now, if only, I could figure out to slow the sands of time...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">(Short and simple tonight - it's been a busy end to the week!)</div>Kathy Castorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14472704791064291744noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4257356303721631205.post-43944645579054015122011-04-26T20:55:00.001-05:002011-04-26T20:58:26.403-05:00Sometimes I feel like a fish...huh?!?There is a little stream or creek about 2 miles from our house. It connects the two large lakes close to our home, Spring Lake and Upper Prior Lake. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5JzZeOShw3gl8p0mIQviafebQFU1udMuCDrxxhqEeaSUHzLKWhwiL_-TKZVjnZtk_nUUvCLMGTF8hhaZlDa-0YHGliN8Hb4qzPAsQ_Py7UMxUTtulywNM_clX87Qtf12JyerDcajcoTs/s1600/Map+of+our+area.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="264" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5JzZeOShw3gl8p0mIQviafebQFU1udMuCDrxxhqEeaSUHzLKWhwiL_-TKZVjnZtk_nUUvCLMGTF8hhaZlDa-0YHGliN8Hb4qzPAsQ_Py7UMxUTtulywNM_clX87Qtf12JyerDcajcoTs/s640/Map+of+our+area.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is a map of where we are living. My neighborhood, on the left with a blue dot, is not yet developed in this view. For my far away friends, I've added dots indicating where my parents and my oldest brother live to give perspective of just how close we are to them now that we have moved. My sister lives just a bit off the map on Lower Prior Lake, which is an extension of the lake to the north. I feel really fortunate to be so near family and to have so many lakes near by.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>For the last couple weeks, I noticed people standing on the banks of the stream looking down into the rushing water. I kept meaning to stop to see what the fuss was about. So, yesterday, Elly and I decided to check it out. I figured there must be a few fish or crayfish hanging out near the bridge. What we saw, however, surprised both of us! There were not a few fish, but hundreds of fish!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi07vAHS9Wp9dujsp1XWpDkmdkc3jZH1D4cMO9ORTiyd3iYG6NfwdQdHHLOr5E5pU-jSt68XOds9_QVCRJY6QkvhchtFR3GOIxtCumFWjxXJ2HMHnlT4hK4pgBsOCjMk7Y0V-6KE6Jo-b0/s1600/IMG_5323.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi07vAHS9Wp9dujsp1XWpDkmdkc3jZH1D4cMO9ORTiyd3iYG6NfwdQdHHLOr5E5pU-jSt68XOds9_QVCRJY6QkvhchtFR3GOIxtCumFWjxXJ2HMHnlT4hK4pgBsOCjMk7Y0V-6KE6Jo-b0/s400/IMG_5323.JPG" width="266" /></a>At first, when we approached the water, I noticed a few of the fish along the shoreline. But it wasn't until I stood back and really looked at what I was seeing to realize the sheer number of fish that were really there. Originally, I thought the stream bottom was black. But then, when I looked from a different vantage point, from the direction that the sun was shining, I realized that there were hundreds of fish all massed together, turning the rusty tan stream floor into a black undulating mass. Oddly there was a natural break from one mass to the next, as seen in the photo to the right. All that black is fish on top of fish, blending one into another, one hardly distinguishable from the next. <br />
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Clearly, the fish were attempting to make their way through the concrete tunnel under the bridge and out to their spawning destination in Spring Lake. This past fall during road widening, the bridge was reconstructed, however, changing the waterway slightly. According to my dad, there is some concern that the fish may be having a harder time getting through this year. As you can see, there are only a few that have made it to the concrete and, from what Elly and I saw, there seemed to be none on the other side.<br />
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Elly and I really enjoyed watching the fish. El decided that she would like to be a fish, though she was sure she did not want to fall into the fish mass. Later, we also brought the boys by to see this fun phenomenon.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFdMtI8YnCQPOt7rvnLEk4hppl3rULnCFnFR0-zMn_YAqTZo27EQdebIKHwt5mQpvRdtaQzR_j-09qK314YZD7lVAYDKwM6498AKapbASm313BN3xppEJL4tMTQxLmq36Kb8eoLIJp-38/s1600/IMG_5325.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFdMtI8YnCQPOt7rvnLEk4hppl3rULnCFnFR0-zMn_YAqTZo27EQdebIKHwt5mQpvRdtaQzR_j-09qK314YZD7lVAYDKwM6498AKapbASm313BN3xppEJL4tMTQxLmq36Kb8eoLIJp-38/s640/IMG_5325.JPG" width="640" /></a> </div>Sometimes, I feel like one of those fish. Sometimes, I feel as if I am fighting upstream. I know where I am supposed to be headed. I may even be able to see the end in sight or know that it is just out of reach. But, as I fight to gain ground (or water, in the fishie analogy), I feel like I am just stuck....treading water, sometimes making a big 'ole splash, but making no headway. Maybe the route that has worked in the past suddenly (or not so suddenly) has a new barrier that needs to be overcome. Perhaps, the rush of day to day life just pushes too hard for too long and I can't seem to break through it to regain momentum. Most days are not like this, but some days are. Thankfully, I know there is One who is with me in those moment, fighting the battle along side me.<br />
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Sometimes, I feel like one of those fish. Sometimes, not very often, I feel as if I am just one in a mass of many, hardly distinguishable from the rest. I wonder on occasion, "What sets me apart? What makes me unique? What, if anything, is my 'je ne sais quoi'?" Although there are times when blending in is a plus (like when you are a zebra trying to confuse a lion or if you don't want to be called on in class), most of us want to be seen as having something of worth or something unique. Most of us want to be noticed for something - a charming or enduring quality, a unique job, an achievement or accomplishment, the hard work we do, the positive choices we make, the glimmer in our eyes when we smile, the silky softness of our hair (okay, now I'm just being silly). Most of us don't really want to be just another fish fighting an upstream swim. When I start to feel this way, I remind myself of the One who made me, fearfully and wonderfully, and <a href="http://kathycastor.blogspot.com/2011/04/i-can-do-this.html">who sees me</a> even in my day to day when no one else might.<br />
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Thankfully, sometimes, I feel like one of those fish. While I am not a lover of always blending in with all the other fish around me, I am a lover of community and the support it brings. Imagine if you were the only fish in that stream trying to make your way through to the next lake. The water is pushing against you, the hawks are circling above, some city guy messed up your route, and here you are all alone. (I can hear the sniffles of shared compassion for that fish now.) Since I am not a fishologist or fish psychologist, I cannot say whether or not fish have some degree of "emotional" need for community that humans do, but clearly (given that many breeds of fish school) there is at least a primal survival need for community. My need for community is emotional, physical, spiritual, and survival-al (I am sure that is a word). I am not sure how I would do this life without the support, encouragement, and just plain fun of others. I cannot count the number of times that a good friend, partner in ministry, or family member came along side me (or my family) in a time of need. I cannot imagine parenting without others occasionally cheering, affirming, guiding, and listening. I would surely flounder (pun, possibly intended) if I tried to walk my faith walk without other believers...it can be done, but I'm sure glad I don't have to do it.<br />
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And, how boring would life be if I could not also be a part of someone else's community? I get great joy from being a support and encouragement to others <i>and</i> I just plain loving having fun with others. Today, I had to miss out on 3, count them 3, adult relational activities due to my sickly daughter (only pink eye, but the risk of spreading eye crust to others kept us hibernating) and the need to be home for one of my sons this afternoon. I could have had a fabulous Y work out, followed by an early movie or lunch, followed by a late afternoon play date, but I had to turn them all down. (Okay, in reality, I am not sure I could have handled <i>that</i> busy of a schedule today, but I am all warm inside just knowing that the option was there - I am growing in my community!). While three back to back opportunities may have done me in, I am so thankful that the One who created the universe, created me with a longing for <a href="http://kathycastor.blogspot.com/2011/04/afraid-of-dark.html">relationship</a> and community.<br />
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Wow! Who knew that watching fish could bring about so many thoughts? Okay, probably anyone who knows me well at all knew that something like fish watching would cause me to think a little more than maybe I ought. No wonder I have such crazy dreams while I sleep. I gotta work out all the things I didn't get to finish thinking about during the day! Ha ha! At any rate, be glad you're not a fish and have a great night! Oh, and feel free to let me know if and how you ever feel like a fish. :)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Kathy Castorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14472704791064291744noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4257356303721631205.post-43481135694878511572011-04-24T23:11:00.000-05:002011-04-24T23:11:26.086-05:00Just for funVideo games are a big deal at our house. Somewhat to my chagrin, my kidlets, primarily my boys, really love to play video / computer games. For one child, this has not really been a big deal. Like a social drinker, he can handle going a few days without playing games quite nicely. But when given the opportunity, he enjoys kicking back and playing one of his favourites. He especially enjoys showing off his creative creations that some of the computer games allow him to generate. For one child, however, video games have an addicting effect. Video / t.v. time limits must be enforced in our household because of this addict-like longing. Despite knowing the draw that games like MarioCart and Wii Sports might have, I never would have fully predicted the hold that the gaming realm would have on my sweet pea. And, if I could turn back time, I'm not sure I ever would have allowed the systems into our house. Funny...I don't ever remember Pong having such a hold on me. <br />
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</div>While I could draw a TON of life lessons from this observation, I am not going to do so tonight. I may at a later point, but I am far too tired right now. Rather, I wanted to use that observation as a segue to something I found recently that made me laugh. (By the way, I just learned that the word segue is spelled s.e.g.u.e., not s.e.g.w.a.y. - cool.) A FB friend of mine posted a video by Julian Smith the other day and I got hooked into watching a number of his videos. He is very creative and funny. I must say, off the bat, however, that there is at least one character/sketch series (I have not viewed all of his videos) that I am NOT a fan of for a variety of reasons (Jeffrey). But, many of his videos are witty and fun. Some offer funny insights into issues of the day and the ridiculous things that we do. This particular video falls into this category. It made me (and my kids) laugh out loud. Enjoy...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/dYjz-cjVR3k?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Kathy Castorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14472704791064291744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4257356303721631205.post-21156370046288601112011-04-23T13:00:00.001-05:002011-04-23T13:00:00.972-05:00More for LessEverything was going along swimmingly. I got home from a decent day at work. The kids were playing well together. They chatted and giggled happily about who knows what. Much to my children's delight, I announced that I would soon be making my infamous breakfast dinner. Thus, with a little time to spare, I sat down for a little "me" moment, catching up on the day and others via my "social network" of choice. (Actually, my social network of choice would have nothing to do with computers and everything to do with a face to face visit some place really comfy.)<br />
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And then it started. Slowly, but surely, the picking began. You know, honestly, I can't even recall what all the jabs were about or why they started. But they came nonetheless. Little knocks at one another, not necessarily all intentional, but causing frustration in one another...and causing resentment to build between one another. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can you imagine these guys ever fighting? I hear the resounding "YES" from those who have seen it in action. Ha!</td></tr>
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You know, I find it such a fine line - knowing when to step in and knowing when to let them work it out themselves. Sometimes I know I jump in far too soon, while other times I probably let it go on a little too long. It is, perhaps, a fine art...one which I have not mastered. At any rate, one too many comments laced with a touch of poison and I jumped in with my own voice, raised louder than I intended. Before I knew it, the peace of home had been misplaced, even if only momentarily, by the selfish intents of 3 little people and, perhaps, 1 larger person.<br />
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Thankfully, it wasn't too long before attitudes were adjusted, hearts were better aligned, and peace was generally restored. I know that some of the change was due, in part, to the kids' desire to please their mama. But I also know that much of the improvement was because they wanted to watch a movie after our pancake feast. They knew that things needed to shape up if they wanted to earn this privilege. Yet, I made sure that I talked through with them the impact of hurt feelings and broken relationships within a family. I wanted apologies to be sincere and changes to be true. "Sorry doesn't mean anything unless you try to change your behaviour", the broken record played. However, I knew, at some level, that some of the improvement was based on the "first...then" principle. <i>First you shape up and treat each other right. Then you get a movie night</i>. At it's<span style="background-color: white;"> core, I am doubtful that the change of heart was completely out of altruistic sibling love (if you have ever been there, I'm sure you are catchin' my drift)...and, at this stage of the game, I wouldn't expect it to be.</span><br />
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As my brain would have it, this little series of interactions led me to think something like this: How we treat others when we have nothing to gain is the true measure how much we value the relationship and, in reality, who we are underneath. Anyone can treat someone well if they think there is something to gain from it. It takes character and integrity to consistently treat someone with respect, care, compassion, and dignity whether or not there is something to gain. <br />
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As I started to write the last sentence, I almost wrote, "...whether or not there is something (other than relationship itself) to gain." But then I realized that even expecting a relationship is an anticipation of something to gain, therefore, something for me. The way I treat complete strangers, simple acquaintances, and even those I will never meet face to face, speaks volumes about my character and the condition of my heart.<br />
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Just imagine if everyone treated each they encountered in a "do unto others, as you would have done unto you" sort of way, without the purpose of getting something in return. What a radical idea! Radical, perhaps, but certainly not new. It was, in fact, Jesus who said <i>"Do unto others as you would have them do to you"</i> when he was giving his famous <i>Sermon on the Mount.</i> And it was Paul (in Philippians 2) who said, "<i>Do nothing out of selfish ambition or vain conceit, but in humility consider others better than yourselves. Each of you should look not only to your own interests, but also to the interests of others."</i><br />
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I can only imagine the peace that would come if the world adopted those principles. I can hope and pray for that kind of peace in my home, desiring that each of us (big and small) would adopt <b><i>and <u>daily</u> live out</i></b> those principles. I<b> know</b> the peace and satisfaction I experience when I <i><b>choose</b></i> to do unto others in humility. And, although I can't <i>make</i> my children do nothing out of selfish ambition, I can sure try to model it for them. I can't make my co-workers treat one another and all students as they themselves would want to be treated, but I can try to live in such a way that others might see this lived out through me. And, when I see these principles being displayed by a family member, a friend, a co-worker, or even a stranger, I can offer acknowledgement and encouragement for a moment well lived.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Food packing for Impact Lives in the fall.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I am far from perfect when it comes to consistently showing care and good treatment to others while expecting absolutely nothing in return. My human nature longs for a little something...at least a crumb from the table...in return. And yet, He's not finished with me yet. Maybe one day I will get to the point where I altruistically give my all to others with no expectation of gain, but I kind of doubt it will happen this side of heaven...though wouldn't it be cool if it did! In the meantime, step by step, I hope to move in this direction of giving more out of <b>selfless</b> ambition. I long to leave a legacy of living in such a way, to the glory of God and for the benefit of others. Only time will tell.<br />
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As I wrap up my writing, it is my pleasure to note that my children ended their night well. <u>Mater's Tales</u> was the film du jour and enjoyed by all. Popcorn was the tasty treat. Elly decided to have a sleep over in Ben's room, a fortnightly event in our home. The kids are now fast asleep. Peace reigns in the Castor home once again.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7O0ZYkizud1cwW5oQ_MS1fuD0r5vbIA7hCsHHJJs1Y7iCCfP4ssqKmRODaxnDcYj-h4EgwYRQtPp_R2RJNGe1DjFw4NiH_umTGyiE69ASHEOu01VlEWmOGkDCPmtUDs2Zj0GSEhIsL1w/s1600/elly+and+ben+under+bed.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7O0ZYkizud1cwW5oQ_MS1fuD0r5vbIA7hCsHHJJs1Y7iCCfP4ssqKmRODaxnDcYj-h4EgwYRQtPp_R2RJNGe1DjFw4NiH_umTGyiE69ASHEOu01VlEWmOGkDCPmtUDs2Zj0GSEhIsL1w/s640/elly+and+ben+under+bed.bmp" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A foreshadow of the slumber party friendship these two would have...taken in the winter/spring of 2007</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Kathy Castorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14472704791064291744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4257356303721631205.post-21474789491161654222011-04-22T12:42:00.001-05:002011-04-22T12:47:15.115-05:00What kind of Friday?Over the last few days, my mind keeps coming back to the name that was given to today. Good Friday. I can't imagine that anyone <i>witnessing</i> the events of this day would have considered it good. Can you imagine the appalled look that would have come across the faces of Jesus's friends and family members if someone said, "you know, one of these days, we'll all look back and call this a good day"?<br />
<br />
Can you imagine how Peter must have felt, knowing that, in the hours leading up to this day, he had repeatedly denied the one he repeatedly said he loved? Can you imagine Mary, the mother of Jesus, watching helplessly as her son hung beaten and bloodied on the cross? Can you imagine Joseph and Jesus's brothers, likely physically strong men (being carpenters), holding themselves back, knowing there was nothing they would be able to do? Can you imagine all those people Jesus had healed in the previous 3 years, wondering how the one who had done so much for them was now in this place? Can you imagine the bewilderment in the mind of the boy who had given Jesus 3 loaves and 5 fishes and watched him feed over 5000 people with it? Can you imagine the heavy hearts of those called "sinners" and "unclean" (and far worse names, I'm sure) as they watched the man who accepted them and cared for them just as they were? Can you imagine the sheer terror in that day? I simply cannot imagine that, truly, to anyone that the day would have seemed "good".<br />
<br />
I think that even those responsible for Jesus's death, zealous religious leaders and Roman political leaders, could not have <i>really</i> felt good on that day. They knew that Jesus was not a criminal worthy of death. They knew that He had not done anything wrong. They were afraid of Him, of what He represented, and of how He could upset the order of things in their lives, but they could not substantiate death on a cross. I imagine that a number of these men...and those that physically beat and hung Jesus that day...maintained an outward appearance of superiority and confidence in the decisions that lead to this moment. Yet, I imagine that on the inside, many, if not all of these men, felt a sense of disgust, horror, and shame at the thought of what they had just done. Like so many awkward villains portrayed in movies and television that know the error of their ways, but cannot seem to break out of the wrong doing that holds them captive. Like Judas, the betrayer, I imagine others struggled with their own self worth and value after this "good" Friday.<br />
<br />
Even Jesus on the cross, despite being fully God and fully man, likely, in that moment, would not have called anything about that day good. He carried the weight of the world's sin on His shoulders as He hung in indescribable pain. His lungs bared the weight of his unsupported body, held up only by the nails that held Him in place. The physical pain perhaps paled in comparison to the emotional pain of it all. He called out "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me!" revealing scripture / prophecy about himself (Psalm 22), but also in His agony and in His momentary separation from the Father. Even the earth, bringing forth an earthquake, cried out in anguish. The weight of the day was so far from good.<br />
<br />
And yet, today. Today, we know the amazing truth of the story that was unfolding on that horribly awful day. Today, we know what happened three days later. Today, we are aware that death on the cross, as wretched as it was, was a necessary part of a beautifully good plan. Today, we can celebrate the fact that Jesus died so that we might live. Jesus took the weight of our sin so that we would have forgiveness. Today, we can look back and know that in an oxymoronic sort of way, it was indeed, a very good Friday.<br />
<br />
A few days ago, my brilliant and handsome husband reflected on the goodness of today in his <a href="http://www.kencastor.com/2011/04/a-very-good-friday-3.html">blog</a>. So, rather than going on and on myself, I will <strike>steal</strike> borrow his words to end this reflection.<br />
<br />
<h3 class="entry-header">A Very Good Friday (from kencastor.com)</h3><blockquote>Jesus came for the sick.<br />
Jesus seeks after the lost.<br />
Jesus searches for runaways.<br />
Jesus finds the hidden.<br />
Jesus heals the broken.<br />
Jesus gives footing to the lame.<br />
Jesus opens the closed ears of the deaf.<br />
Jesus restores sight to the blind.<br />
Jesus frees the prisoner.<br />
Jesus has coffee with the prostitute.<br />
Jesus loves the sinner.<br />
Jesus forgives the repentant.<br />
Jesus strengthens the weak.<br />
Jesus fills the empty.<br />
Jesus dwells with the lonely.<br />
Jesus comforts the mourner.<br />
Jesus weeps with the sad, the hurting, the grieved.<br />
Jesus breathes into the lifeless.<br />
Jesus lifts up the trampled.<br />
Jesus gathers the displaced.<br />
Jesus feeds the hungry.<br />
Jesus quenches the thirsty.<br />
Jesus puts the last at the front.<br />
Jesus eats with the unsanitary.<br />
Jesus dines with the despised.<br />
Jesus carries our burdens.<br />
Jesus dies for his enemies.<br />
Jesus bleeds for his friends.<br />
Jesus stretches out his arms for us.</blockquote>------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- <br />
By the way, I posted this within less than a day of my last post. So, if you didn't read that one yet, feel free to check that one out as well by clicking <a href="http://kathycastor.blogspot.com/2011/04/afraid-of-dark.html">here</a>. And, as always, thank you for reading and feel free to add your thoughts or comments below. Kathy Castorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14472704791064291744noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4257356303721631205.post-53834074794266987172011-04-21T18:09:00.000-05:002011-04-21T18:09:25.607-05:00Afraid of the Dark<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-CA</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>X-NONE</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/> <w:DontVertAlignCellWithSp/> <w:DontBreakConstrainedForcedTables/> <w:DontVertAlignInTxbx/> <w:Word11KerningPairs/> <w:CachedColBalance/> </w:Compatibility> <w:BrowserLevel>MicrosoftInternetExplorer4</w:BrowserLevel> <m:mathPr> <m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/> <m:brkBin m:val="before"/> <m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/> <m:smallFrac m:val="off"/> <m:dispDef/> <m:lMargin m:val="0"/> <m:rMargin m:val="0"/> <m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/> <m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/> <m:intLim m:val="subSup"/> <m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/> </m:mathPr></w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
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</style> <![endif]--> <div class="MsoNormal">I was roughly 10 minutes from home when I got the call.<span> </span>A panicked, quiet voice barely breaking through from the other side caused my heart to skip a beat and my thoughts to swirl.<span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Mom....I’m scared.<span> </span>(brief pause)<span> </span>I think there is someone in the house.”</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">“Okay...What do you mean, honey?” I asked, hoping not to lead the response in any particular direction.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I figured I would have received this call at least once by now, given that my eldest is having more frequent home alone time. Nevertheless, it was still a call I hated to get.<span> </span>Not because I actually was concerned that anything was going on, but because I knew the feeling that he was experiencing.<span> </span> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I vividly remember some of the moments I spent on my own before my parents came home after work.<span> </span>I recall once locking myself in my bathroom and calling my friend when I heard something unfamiliar. <i>(As if a burglar could not break through my hollow bathroom door.</i><span>) </span>I was hoping my friend could talk me out of my momentary fear that <i>someone</i> must have made the noise I just heard. And, I was hoping she could reassure me that everything was just fine. It worked.<span> And, </span>no, there were no cell phones <i>way</i> back then (I don’t even think we had a cordless).<span> </span>But, for some unknown, but brilliant, reason, we had a phone outlet in our bathroom. Maybe the previous owners also thought the bathroom was a good place to hideout or conduct important business.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">My son’s call also brought to mind how I would run from light switch to light switch in order to get from upstairs to downstairs, or vice versa, at night.<span> </span>As my <strike>energy conserving</strike> penny saving parents did not want us to leave un-necessary lights on, the unlit hallways appeared to grow longer as I contemplated how I would get from point A to point B without being consumed by the dark.<span> </span>So, like any clever dark-fearing-girl might do, I ran from light switch to light switch, often singing or talking out loud along the way, flipping the switches on or off according to the direction I was headed. Looking back, I'm sure this was quite the spectacle.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Why is it that so many of us are afraid of the dark?<span> </span>Why is it that we can make the leap from a ticking sound of an expanding heat duct to ‘<i>someone must hiding under the stairs’</i> so quickly?<span> </span>Is it simply the fear of the unknown or something else?</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">While I am sure there are many different pieces to the fear puzzle, I am convinced that part of fear is related to aloneness or separation from those we care about.<span> </span>Why do I think this?<span> </span>Because of the way my son handled his fear and the ways I often handle my fears.<span> </span>When my son thought someone might be in the house, he almost immediately called me – for guidance, for support, for help, and, ultimately, for connection. <span> </span>My hunch is that he <i>knew</i> no one was there, but he longed for reassurance and relationship.<span> </span><span> </span>When I was afraid as a kid, cowering in the bathroom, I called out to a friend for the same reasons.<span> </span>I knew she couldn’t come help me (we were far too young to drive), but I knew she would listen and share connection.<span> </span>Talking and singing out loud in my light switch running was, in addition to being a little silly, a subconscious attempt to communicate with someone...to feel not so alone in the dark.<span> </span>Even today, when I have a moment of fear or anxiety, my desire is to reach out and connect to someone that I know cares about me.<span> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">We all long for connection.<span> </span>For relationship.<span> </span>For intimacy.<span> </span>It’s the way we were designed.<span> </span>From the outset of the world, we were made to be in relationship - first with God and then with others.<span> </span>The Genesis creation story shouts this out.<span> </span>After all the amazing work God did in creating the stuff of the world...all of which He called “good”...He desired something more.<span> </span>So, before He decided to rest, God made people in His own image.<span> </span>In the garden, he created Adam to walk with, talk with, invest in, and share relationship with uniquely...and it was <i>"very</i> good".<span> </span>It was so good that God decided to allow Adam the pleasure of this relationship with Eve as well.<span> </span>And so it began...our desire to connect with others was created within us.<span> </span>And, this relational desire will always be a part of who we are as human beings.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">When I got home a few minutes after receiving the call, my son sat alone on his bed, even though his brother had come home in the meantime.<span> </span>His little brother, though he tried, could not offer him the kind of connection that he needed in the moment.<span> </span>It didn’t take long, however, to talk him down from his level of heightened alarm and fear.<span> </span>We determined that the wind was causing the garage door to make an unusual noise.<span> </span>I was glad that a combination of rational thinking and loving relationship moved him beyond being stuck. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I half expected the call to come again yesterday or today.<span> </span>It didn’t.<span> </span>But, if it did, I hope I would have been ready to listen, to reason, and, most importantly, to simply be in relationship with my son. <span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><blockquote><h1><a href="" name="_Toc451715659">Afraid of the Dark - <span style="font-size: small;">Shel Silverstein</span></a></h1><div class="MsoNormal">I’m Reginald Clark, I’m afraid of the dark</div><div class="MsoNormal">So I always insist on the light on,</div><div class="MsoNormal">And my teddy to hug,</div><div class="MsoNormal">And my blanket to rub,</div><div class="MsoNormal">And my thumby to suck or to bite on.</div><div class="MsoNormal">And three bedtime stories,</div><div class="MsoNormal">Two trips to the toilet,</div><div class="MsoNormal">Two prayers, and five hugs from my mommy,</div><div class="MsoNormal">I’m Reginald Clark, I’m afraid from the dark</div><div class="MsoNormal">So please do not close this book on me.</div></blockquote>Kathy Castorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14472704791064291744noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4257356303721631205.post-31186175851503310842011-04-17T22:50:00.000-05:002011-04-17T22:50:10.874-05:00A King on a Donkey Eliana stood proudly in her "puppy princess dress", lovingly named for it's beautiful princess quality, complete with a hot pink bow, and fashionably placed dalmatian print pattern. Her fancy dress was topped off with sneakers and white bobby socks. A perfect combination for my little warrior princess. I'd asked her earlier, as we were leaving the house, if she would wear sneakers with her wedding dress one day. "No way," she giggled, as if this was an absurd question. "I will wear high heels!!" <br />
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The kids had filed into the middle school auditorium waving palm branches and singing...or not singing...as they made there way up onto the risers. They started off our Palm Sunday service with three songs this morning. It was a wonderful way to begin a new week. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPQdWKZLhF7roq1wFU4zX75A3EBoT8ITv6SJTaiZ93h5-ROE2YB7PUndVg82KYJ8V0N60F7rhJys9wVNFhBG34XwuG2ryopQ2LIcAAJHuKfUD4UIOjznY_WdaTPA4WGHRFlSlsblHb9bU/s1600/IMG_5183.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPQdWKZLhF7roq1wFU4zX75A3EBoT8ITv6SJTaiZ93h5-ROE2YB7PUndVg82KYJ8V0N60F7rhJys9wVNFhBG34XwuG2ryopQ2LIcAAJHuKfUD4UIOjznY_WdaTPA4WGHRFlSlsblHb9bU/s400/IMG_5183.JPG" width="168" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLw7HuvGKiB8PTMl0KLuW7lXS_D05QNl3Hch6A9sji77jJGvZx5ew5nY16l6_Sm3Xm1bnwkqgqdRast2_fCIXHRN9FLDdMtScQD_DqUY8RknMWOldUYBwiTn9os6zHVhpLJA25jlcfU54/s1600/IMG_5167.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLw7HuvGKiB8PTMl0KLuW7lXS_D05QNl3Hch6A9sji77jJGvZx5ew5nY16l6_Sm3Xm1bnwkqgqdRast2_fCIXHRN9FLDdMtScQD_DqUY8RknMWOldUYBwiTn9os6zHVhpLJA25jlcfU54/s400/IMG_5167.JPG" width="117" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFlGzFbAUxAjOY0RjkdcTHI3dgHzVlJ5SORxs2T_RGNTN2e4_dicrTmui0mWa16RchHUy_s7o5pNe2wcIoPI4J6FGssqQ9RQozguMnYdXr975PUswtVD4W7ZZDOzEjBi9fvpkfvk-5ytc/s1600/IMG_5182.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFlGzFbAUxAjOY0RjkdcTHI3dgHzVlJ5SORxs2T_RGNTN2e4_dicrTmui0mWa16RchHUy_s7o5pNe2wcIoPI4J6FGssqQ9RQozguMnYdXr975PUswtVD4W7ZZDOzEjBi9fvpkfvk-5ytc/s400/IMG_5182.JPG" width="227" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>[Elly waiting backstage prior to the service (left and center) and then during the "concert". Thank goodness she wasn't sitting while she sang in front of everyone!] <br />
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As they were rehearsing prior to the service, the children's pastor, who is becoming a friend of mine, asked the kids whether a king rides a donkey. Of course they all shouted "no", to which she replied something like, "that's right. But Jesus did come on a donkey and He was a king". It made me recall something that I had heard for the first time earlier in the week, which I then shared with my new friend.<br />
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Apparently, back in the time of Jesus, a king rode in on a horse if he was coming in a time of war. However, if he was coming to announce peace, he rode in on a donkey. The people welcoming Jesus into Jerusalem on Palm Sunday so long ago, did so waving and lying down palm branches to pave the way for their king, who was coming to bring peace. The people had no idea the way in which Jesus would eventually bring peace. It certainly was not in the manner they expected. <br />
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As Easter approaches, I hope to carry the image of Jesus, as a king bringing peace, with me. The temptation will be (and already is) to stress myself out this week with things that need to be done. Today, that stress already bit me in the behind at least once or twice. And yet, the Prince of Peace...the King of Peace...wants none of that for me. He wants me to rest in Him, in my bobby socks and sneakers, expecting for Him to bring about some peace in ways that I cannot even imagine or expect. <br />
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....and may the peace of God, that passes all understanding, keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus (Phil. 4:7)Kathy Castorhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14472704791064291744noreply@blogger.com0