Stop what you're doing right now and watch this. Four beautiful young men (Sigh! Younger than me!!), presenting an absolutely beautiful rendition of the best song ever written. Sweeter than honey.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mMVxzEueJ6A
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
The Destiny Project
I just finished an eight week "class," unlike any I've ever taken. It's in the model of "group coaching," so the facilitator is more like a guide than an instructor. However, let me say for myself, there was a LOT of learning going on, girlfriend!
Might this surprise you? I've spent the majority of my adult life being really annoyed with myself.
Let's not get into that right now. Remember, I'm normal, like you dear. (You might also relate with the idea of being annoyed with yourself...) Another post for another day-- or a series of posts for posterity.
Finally, just a couple of years ago, I learned to NOT say to myself, in my exasperation, "WHAT is WRONG wih you?!!"
Figuring, rightly, that there is NO good answer to that question-- as one might forsake a bad habit, I've been teaching myself not to let it leave my lips. But that doesn't mean the question didn't still live on in the inner chamber of my mind.
Surprise of all surprises: God's good timing, and intricate ways of working in the lives of his creatures, brought me into contact with Shannon Bruce, a certified Christian Life Coach with Inner Wisdom Coaching Services. And she proposed this "class," with enthusiasm and spirit.
I said no. I said no again. And finally I said, "I'm ready."
Now I delightfully recommend it to other women who are ready to "cast out into the deep" with God, but maybe don't have any clue how to get there without sinking. Shannon is kind-of like the Westport Fishing Boat captain. She can help you get to where the big catch is, and safely, because Jesus is right smack dab in the middle of her boat.
And you won't be all alone, because a few other special sisters will join you on the journey, and new friendships will be born.
That's it. I can't say any more becuase I want you to think about it and ask me questions, and I want you to look into it for yourself. There. Think. Pray. Act. And Trust-- God loves you and knows you, and knows your destiny. It is for your joy.
"Absolutely Julia" is a practical result of some of what God is doing in my life as a direct result of seeking Him in a deeper way.
A Transformational Journey for Women
"God has a specific destiny in mind for your life; one He has woven into the fabric of your deepest desires, passions and joys. He has prepared a path for you to follow, and given you a unique quest to fulfill. And He is waiting to reveal it
to you, in all of its wonder and beauty."
For more information about the Destiny Project please visit http://www.yourgreaterpurpose.com/
Might this surprise you? I've spent the majority of my adult life being really annoyed with myself.
Let's not get into that right now. Remember, I'm normal, like you dear. (You might also relate with the idea of being annoyed with yourself...) Another post for another day-- or a series of posts for posterity.
Finally, just a couple of years ago, I learned to NOT say to myself, in my exasperation, "WHAT is WRONG wih you?!!"
Figuring, rightly, that there is NO good answer to that question-- as one might forsake a bad habit, I've been teaching myself not to let it leave my lips. But that doesn't mean the question didn't still live on in the inner chamber of my mind.
Surprise of all surprises: God's good timing, and intricate ways of working in the lives of his creatures, brought me into contact with Shannon Bruce, a certified Christian Life Coach with Inner Wisdom Coaching Services. And she proposed this "class," with enthusiasm and spirit.
I said no. I said no again. And finally I said, "I'm ready."
Now I delightfully recommend it to other women who are ready to "cast out into the deep" with God, but maybe don't have any clue how to get there without sinking. Shannon is kind-of like the Westport Fishing Boat captain. She can help you get to where the big catch is, and safely, because Jesus is right smack dab in the middle of her boat.
And you won't be all alone, because a few other special sisters will join you on the journey, and new friendships will be born.
That's it. I can't say any more becuase I want you to think about it and ask me questions, and I want you to look into it for yourself. There. Think. Pray. Act. And Trust-- God loves you and knows you, and knows your destiny. It is for your joy.
"Absolutely Julia" is a practical result of some of what God is doing in my life as a direct result of seeking Him in a deeper way.
The Destiny Project
A Transformational Journey for Women"God has a specific destiny in mind for your life; one He has woven into the fabric of your deepest desires, passions and joys. He has prepared a path for you to follow, and given you a unique quest to fulfill. And He is waiting to reveal it
to you, in all of its wonder and beauty."
For more information about the Destiny Project please visit http://www.yourgreaterpurpose.com/
Monday, November 24, 2008
My favorite new website
I recently found this great website, "Catholics Come Home" -- And I'm giving it my "absolutely" thumbs up.
If the Internet is good for anything at all, it's the "information" super-highway. That doesn't mean you can't find an awful lot of crap and garbage. Ick! Parental controls, anyone?
But I LOVE this site. The access to information is astounding!! Even for folks who aren't Catholic, it's a veritable springboard to dive into other healthy web content all over cyberspacce.
You simply must check it out. No bad can come of it. www.catholicscomehome.org.
If the Internet is good for anything at all, it's the "information" super-highway. That doesn't mean you can't find an awful lot of crap and garbage. Ick! Parental controls, anyone?
But I LOVE this site. The access to information is astounding!! Even for folks who aren't Catholic, it's a veritable springboard to dive into other healthy web content all over cyberspacce.
You simply must check it out. No bad can come of it. www.catholicscomehome.org.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Son's laughter a beautiful sound years after tumor
“I dropped the toilet seat on my knee.”
“What did you say?”
“Well, I was letting the toilet seat down,” Patrick, my 21 year old son, says, giggling and rubbing his plaid flannel pajama-clad leg, “and I dropped it on my knee!”
Flashback to 1990. Patrick is 4 years old, tow-headed, precocious and articulate. We celebrate Thanksgiving in Northgate, surrounded by moving crates.
A week later we arrive in Dash Point, dragging furniture, boxes of toys and laundry baskets full of clothes.
Unpacking his plastic Smithsonian dinosaurs, he names each one before placing them on his bedroom windowsill.
“Pachycephylosaurus, Struthiomimus, Parasaurolophus, Tyrannosaurus Rex.” Patrick's eyes are crossed again. His head aches. He's tired from the move.
Three days after we get the last box into the house, we enjoy our first big Sunday dinner. Increasingly lethargic, Patrick chooses to stay on the couch rather than return to the dining room for carrot cake. Heading for bed, he walks across the living room toward the stairs, missing his mark by three feet.
Something is wrong.
We know Patrick is having some difficulties. Months before, his pediatrician referred us to an optometrist, who asserted “nothing's wrong.” The ear, nose and throat doctor claimed Patrick was fine. Next stop is the neurologist, but with four kids under the age of six, the move consumes all our time and energy, and we don't even have a doctor in Tacoma yet.
I call the after-hours nurse and attempt to bring her up to speed.
“Well, you could come the E.R., and we could start at the beginning, not knowing your son, and try to figure all this out,” she counsels. “Or you could take him to his pediatrician in the morning.”
Have you ever gone to bed one night with a vague idea that in the morning your life would never be the same again?
The following day a CT scan reveals a medulloblastoma, a malignant tumor the size of a racquetball, crowding his posterior lobe, working its way into his brain stem. We farm out the kids, make shifts at the hospital, and decide how to live in the present.
When a local church mothers' group learns of our plight, we welcome a barrage of strangers bearing casseroles. We become known in the neighborhood as “the family that moved in whom no one has ever seen.” We learn medical terms, too numerous to count. We become friends with the nurses during the days before Patrick’s surgery, while he's on steroids to bring down the swelling.
On Dec. 7, Pearl Harbor Day, we place Patrick's life into the hands of God and the pediatric neurosurgeons. Afterward, we watch him struggle in the intensive care unit, tied down and on life support. People we've never met ask if they can pray with and for us. And we begin to meet other families touched by childhood cancer.
In the years since, Patrick has endured radiation, chemotherapy, physical therapy, occupational therapy, learning therapy and nearly every sort of medical test. We credit years of intensive growth hormone therapy for his permanent height of 5'2”. He'll need thyroid medication for the rest of his life.
I think the poking, prodding and analyzing has toughened his formerly blithe spirit. Smeagol/Gollum in The Lord of the Rings occasionally takes over as Patrick's alter-ego. And yes, he is cured.
Camp Goodtimes, the American Cancer Society's summer camp for childhood cancer survivors, is Patrick's favorite place of all time. His former caseworker at Fife High School – he finally graduated last year, to thunderous applause -- helped Patrick get a great job, so he can buy his own video games and Weird Al music.
He's proud of his 102-and climbing pin average at the Wednesday Bowling League with Metro Parks' specialized recreation program.
As Thanksgiving approaches, I'm reminded that a steady stream of wonderful, caring people shows up in our lives on a regular basis. Had it not been for the brain tumor, we'd have never met them.
So having a 21-year-old who can somehow manage to drop a toilet seat on his knee and laugh about it is remarkable. I regard it as one of life's miracles. But I still can't imagine how he did it.
Julia Miller of Edgewood is one of six reader columnists for the Perspectives page. (This post is a reprinted column, originally published November 18, 2007, in The Tacoma News Tribune)
“What did you say?”
“Well, I was letting the toilet seat down,” Patrick, my 21 year old son, says, giggling and rubbing his plaid flannel pajama-clad leg, “and I dropped it on my knee!”
Flashback to 1990. Patrick is 4 years old, tow-headed, precocious and articulate. We celebrate Thanksgiving in Northgate, surrounded by moving crates.
A week later we arrive in Dash Point, dragging furniture, boxes of toys and laundry baskets full of clothes.
Unpacking his plastic Smithsonian dinosaurs, he names each one before placing them on his bedroom windowsill.
“Pachycephylosaurus, Struthiomimus, Parasaurolophus, Tyrannosaurus Rex.” Patrick's eyes are crossed again. His head aches. He's tired from the move.
Three days after we get the last box into the house, we enjoy our first big Sunday dinner. Increasingly lethargic, Patrick chooses to stay on the couch rather than return to the dining room for carrot cake. Heading for bed, he walks across the living room toward the stairs, missing his mark by three feet.
Something is wrong.
We know Patrick is having some difficulties. Months before, his pediatrician referred us to an optometrist, who asserted “nothing's wrong.” The ear, nose and throat doctor claimed Patrick was fine. Next stop is the neurologist, but with four kids under the age of six, the move consumes all our time and energy, and we don't even have a doctor in Tacoma yet.
I call the after-hours nurse and attempt to bring her up to speed.
“Well, you could come the E.R., and we could start at the beginning, not knowing your son, and try to figure all this out,” she counsels. “Or you could take him to his pediatrician in the morning.”
Have you ever gone to bed one night with a vague idea that in the morning your life would never be the same again?
The following day a CT scan reveals a medulloblastoma, a malignant tumor the size of a racquetball, crowding his posterior lobe, working its way into his brain stem. We farm out the kids, make shifts at the hospital, and decide how to live in the present.
When a local church mothers' group learns of our plight, we welcome a barrage of strangers bearing casseroles. We become known in the neighborhood as “the family that moved in whom no one has ever seen.” We learn medical terms, too numerous to count. We become friends with the nurses during the days before Patrick’s surgery, while he's on steroids to bring down the swelling.
On Dec. 7, Pearl Harbor Day, we place Patrick's life into the hands of God and the pediatric neurosurgeons. Afterward, we watch him struggle in the intensive care unit, tied down and on life support. People we've never met ask if they can pray with and for us. And we begin to meet other families touched by childhood cancer.
In the years since, Patrick has endured radiation, chemotherapy, physical therapy, occupational therapy, learning therapy and nearly every sort of medical test. We credit years of intensive growth hormone therapy for his permanent height of 5'2”. He'll need thyroid medication for the rest of his life.
I think the poking, prodding and analyzing has toughened his formerly blithe spirit. Smeagol/Gollum in The Lord of the Rings occasionally takes over as Patrick's alter-ego. And yes, he is cured.
Camp Goodtimes, the American Cancer Society's summer camp for childhood cancer survivors, is Patrick's favorite place of all time. His former caseworker at Fife High School – he finally graduated last year, to thunderous applause -- helped Patrick get a great job, so he can buy his own video games and Weird Al music.
He's proud of his 102-and climbing pin average at the Wednesday Bowling League with Metro Parks' specialized recreation program.
As Thanksgiving approaches, I'm reminded that a steady stream of wonderful, caring people shows up in our lives on a regular basis. Had it not been for the brain tumor, we'd have never met them.
So having a 21-year-old who can somehow manage to drop a toilet seat on his knee and laugh about it is remarkable. I regard it as one of life's miracles. But I still can't imagine how he did it.
Julia Miller of Edgewood is one of six reader columnists for the Perspectives page. (This post is a reprinted column, originally published November 18, 2007, in The Tacoma News Tribune)
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